164. Rules

School started back this past week, so naturally C.W. showed up in one of his classic forms. He calls himself Dickie Dunderwood the Diligent Student. He was all dolled up for class, with his Megadeth tee-shirt, dirty sneakers, and backpack. Seems he was contemplating his first essay.

“Your species doesn’t use the concept of “lootaquicksteria++” do you?” he said, using a phrase from his home planet of Falloonia.

“Uh,” I said. “I don’t know. What is it?”

“A simple concept really,” he said. “It provides a stricture forbidding, and a penalty for, an elder who participates in a vote involving the general populace, from which vote the elder may profit.”

I thought. “We do,” I said. “We call it ‘conflict of interest’ and frown down upon it when our leaders fall prey to the temptation.”

“Frown down upon it?”

“We deplore it. Why do you ask?”

“I am preparing a report on this latest crisis in the middle eastern portion of your planet.”

“And?”

“Several of your congressmen who are urging entry into war are guilty.”

“Guilty? Of what?”

“Of lootaquicksteria++, or, as you call it ‘conflict of interest.’ Ours is a much prettier word, don’t you think?”

“I think we would have a problem pronouncing those clicks,” I said. I was intrigued, though. “In what way are they guilty of whatever you call it?”

“They represent states or areas in which weaponry is manufactured for use in wars.”

“So?”

He looked at me as if I had just failed to guess the day of the week. “So, they stand to profit if a war commences.”

“Oh,” I said. “You don’t understand. They don’t profit personally.”

“No? Won’t it please their voters and contributors if their economy flourishes with the onset of war?”

“Well, yes. I suppose,” I said.

“There you have it.”

“No,” I said. “Wait. See it is not a conflict of interest if they simply seek political support by voting in favor of an action that would benefit their constituents.”

“Oh, really””

“Really.”

“If you will pardon the observation,” he said. “That sounds a lot like ‘replitocartawao.’ Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“Repl… what?”

“Replitocartawao. It literally means the obfuscation of economic flow by transferring worth from one personal holding compartment to another.”

A light began to shine. “Taking money out of one pocket and putting in the other,” I said.

“Precisely.” He smiled at me as if I had just given the right answer in class.

Your writer Shakespeare once said:
"There is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so."
I'm finally beginning to understand it. - C.W. 

“You have a lot to learn about our country,” I said.

“I imagine I do. Now … “ he began.

I groaned. “What now?”

“Let’s consider the opposite transgression.”

“The opposite?”

“Yes, It’s called ‘putricastoglia’ and it refers to the sin of an elder making a rule for segments of the populace from which the elder will not be affected or inconvenienced.”

“Well we would agree with you on making that a sin.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said, but somewhat less confident than before.

“Then,” he said, pulling a large bundle of papers from his backpack. “Would you like to read some laws that your male-dominated elder groups  have enacted recently, laws that affect, condemn, or punish only the female of your species?” He waved them in my face.

“Don’t you have some homework to do?” I said.

137. Laws

It may not have been the worst experience of my life. After all, I once lived through being sentenced to two weeks of Vacation Bible School in the middle of summer while the rest of my gang fought pirates and played baseball.

When C.W. insisted that I take him to our state capitol to watch our legislature, I knew better. But, he said, “It is your duty to further my education as the North American host to our planet.” And I suppose it is.

So, when he showed up as a bright-eyed 13 year-old, what could I do? I told him that much of the drama occurred in the committee hearings, so we arrived early and picked a committee at random in the Senate end of the building and took a seat in the rear.

“The opponents of a bill will try to stop it from getting out of committee while the proponents will try to get it voted out with a ‘do pass,’” I said.

“Neat,” he said.

“Uh, yeah.”

At that moment, the committee filed in. There were four members of an eight-member committee present. C.W. produced a membership handbook from his backpack and began to study it.

“I see a quorum present,” the committee chairperson said.

Immediately C.W.’s hand shot up. “They don’t have a quorum,” he said to me, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. He pointed at the list of members of that committee.

“Shhh,” I explained as quietly as I could. “They will proceed unless one of the members calls for a quorum-count.”

“That sucks,” he said, louder. Every eye in the room turned toward us. “They don’t have a quorum,” he explained to them. All eyes returned to the front as the meeting continued.

The first bill was introduced. The bill’s author explained that it would require a woman requesting certain medical procedures to have a probe inserted into her … at this point every eye in the room turned to us again. I turned a crimson red and tried to pretend I was studying some papers I had picked up at the door. C.W. leaned forward eagerly. The eyes continued to stare at us as if I had taken a child into an X-rated movie.

“This is neat,” C.W. said. “But I thought they were supposed to make laws here.”

I tried to make myself as small as possible.

Finally, the meeting continued. The bill’s author having finished, a well-dressed woman representing the ACLU began to speak against the bill, pointing out what seemed to her some constitutional problems. Suddenly, a committee member stood, interrupting her. “Mr. Chairman,” he yelled. “If this ‘person’ is here to waste our time again, I’m going outside for a smoke.” He spun around and left.

“That was uncivilized,” C.W. said. “Who elected him?” Again the heads snapped toward us. At this point the Chair called a brief recess. He whispered to a large man with a noticeable budge under the coat of his suit who then approached us.

“Sir” he said. “We don’t think this discussion is fit for under-aged children.”

“You mean I can’t watch them making laws?” C.W. yelled it this time and everyone stopped to watch.

As I see it, the purpose of legislation is to advance
individual agendas. Interesting. - C.W.

“Not this one son,” the man said. “Come back for the next one. It deals with who can euthanize animals.”

“Gross,” C.W. said as I hurried him from the room.

Outside, I turned to him in exasperation. “Didn’t they warn you in your training back in Falloonia not to watch Americans making laws?”

“No,” he said, his eyes turning into large innocent orbs. “They just made us promise not to watch you making babies.”

69. Corporations

It was the grossest thing you can imagine. I was enjoying perhaps the last warm day of the year sitting on a park bench admiring my city’s skyline. I was, mind you, not bothering a soul. Actually, I had dozed when I awoke to a horrible, screeching, teeth-setting-on-edge sound.

Who should appear but an exceedingly overweight man waddling along the sidewalk playing an accordion? May I add that he was playing it rather badly? I believe he was attempting the old protestant hymn “When We All Get to Heaven.”

I averted my eyes but he sank beside me and nearly pushed me off the bench. He smelled terrible. His arm pounded me as he continued to play. I rose and started to walk away.

“Hey Big Dope, where you goin”? he said.

“As far from you as I can get,” I said. “What kind of person are you trying to be?” I hadn’t seen C.W. since before Thanksgiving and had, of course, been expecting the worst.

“I’m a corporation person,” he said.

“A what?”

“A corporation. Can’t you tell?”

“A corporation?”

He began to play the accordion again. Needless to say, people were beginning to stare.

“You are going to get arrested,” I said.

“How can you arrest me? I’m not physical.” He lit off on what sounded vaguely like “Lady of Spain.”

I groaned.

“Why do you think you are a corporation? And besides, you stink.”

“Naturally I’m a little fulsome. Can’t you see how well I eat?” He hit a sour note and held in it an ear-shattering vibrato.

“You are destroying the peace of the park for everyone else,” I said.

“Their comfort isn’t my problem,” he shouted over the “music.” “My job is to produce and feed my dependents. Gorging isn’t always pretty.”

I stared.

“Listen,” he said. What emerged next might have sounded to a person with a good imagination as “Beer Barrel Polka.”

I cringed.

“What do you think?” he said.

“I think someone is going to knock your block off if you don’t quit.”

“Can’t touch me,” he said. “I’m not really here. I’m a corporation. I only exist in contemplation of the law.”

“Then why are you in such an annoying configuration?”

“Corporations are people,” he said. “Don’t you know that?”

I sighed.

“At least that’s what your species’ supreme agency for hearing legal appeals says.”

“Our Supreme Court said it but that may not make it so in all cases,” I said. “Just look at you.”

Don't worry. Be happy.Corporations
will take good care of you. - C.W.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t be such a ninny.” With this, he made some unrecognizable sound on the instrument. “I call this ‘A Light From On High.’”

I flinched.

“I wrote it for the justices that made me a person. I like to think of them as my fathers.”

“Your what?”

“Yep. I transmitted their dossiers to Falloonia today as part of my ‘Great Legal Minds’ series.”

I gasped.

“You want to get something to eat?” he said.