449. Beliefs

It was my time to ask C.W. questions. For once, he cooperated. I must have caught him on good day. He had assumed the shape of a learned professor after all. A few minutes before, I had been talking to what seemed like a reincarnation of Liberace. He left for few minutes and returned as a Carl Sagan clone. I was confused, and said so to him.

“How do you manage all this shape-shifting? Can all Falloonians do it so seamlessly? How do you make the changes?”

“You must have fallen asleep in your psychology and anatomy classes,” he said.

That hurt my feelings. “No,” I said, “I paid attention.”

“To what?” he said, making a mocking smile. “Was Mrs. Big Dope in your class?”

“Are you going to taunt me or teach me?”

“You probably think,” he said, “that you are seeing my shape now, right? You think that little rays shoot out from your eyes … little emissions so to speak … land on me and send back what they find.”

I tried to think back. “Not really,” I said. I think my eyes are just receptors, or something like that.”

“Maybe you’re not totally stupid,” he said.

That was a relief.

“Suppose,” he said, “that I don’t change shapes at all.”

“But I see you.”

“Shut up and listen,” he explained.

“Okay.”

“Suppose that, because we are a superior species in so many ways, we Falloonians have perfected the relationship between our beings as senders and your beings as receptors. For sight, that would involve how we control information that strikes your retinas, triggering the signals that are sent to a region in the back of your brain. There, they are translated, in the words of your scientist James E. Alcock, into “colors, textures, and forms that are then compared with past experience.”

“And?”

 

Left a copy for Big
Dope to read.  You may
like it too. - C.W.

“Then the process constructs an image.”

“An image”

“Actually, a construction. Does that explain how you see me in different forms?”

“But I can touch you.”

“Same question.”

“And hear you.”

“Same question.”

“I guess I could taste you if necessity demanded it.”

“Same question.”

“And smell you. Lord I can smell you sometimes.”

“Same question. Do you want to learn or be cute?”

“Do you mean to tell me that your shapes are merely constructions that you signal?”

“Keep trying. You are on the right path but walking wobbly.”

“But?”

“But nothing.”

“You could signal something evil or non-productive.”

“Only for weaker minds. I may be programmed for periodic mischief but not for creating evil. I couldn’t if I wanted to. Remember, I’m a mental construction designed to promulgate belief, and various belief systems demand specific levels of cognizance.”

“You mean belief systems exist in a hierarchy of sorts?”

“I mean, in the parlance of your species, that dumb is as dumb does.”

“But what if a renegade from your planet came to earth with evil plans to energize the masses in revolt against a stable society?”

“That could cause a cause a problem. Won’t happen though.”

“Why not?”

“The shapes involved would be so strange and weird that even the most perceptively challenged among you would find them repellent.”

“Wait,” I said, “Didn’t you imply that our creation of these so-called constructions depends on preciously held beliefs?”

He looked at me sharply, thought, and said. “I’m tired. Have you learned enough for today? I think I’ll go watch the news.”

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Don't Get Me Started

Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw Press, Amazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.

424: Science

Oh my, I hadn’t seen anyone smoke a pipe in years. Didn’t know they still made them. But there was C.W. puffing away on one, sitting at a patio table. His shape was a lot like the late playwright Arthur Millar. He had books and papers scattered in front of him.

He motioned for me to join him and I did.

He waved a hand across the pile of material before him like he was giving it his blessing. “I think,” he said, “that I’ve about figured it out.”

“How to look anachronistic?”

He ignored me. “Why your species is so unwilling to move into the future,” he said.

“Elucidate.” I could tell he was in one of his serious moments, and I enjoy those.

“Do you ever think about the monumental and complex problems facing your planet?” he said.

“All the time.”

“Ever thing of what it will take to solve those problems?”

“Probably things that we haven’t thought of yet.”

“Precisely,” he said.

That made me feel good. He rarely acknowledges that I know anything.

“Continue, please,” I said.

“Ever wonder,” he said, continuing in a questioning mode, “why one of the world’s richest families, emanating by the way,” he said, “from your own state, has joined hands with major religious institutions and a dominant political party in a plan to abrogate your current system of educating your children? Ever say, to yourself, what do they have to gain by denouncing reason, science, and the ability to address problems in a cognitive way?”

“You are right. It doesn’t make sense.”

He smiled, nodded, and picked up a large book from the table. “Ever read this?” he asked. It was a worn copy of The Golden Bough, by Sir James George Frazer, a Scottish social anthropologist, influential in the early stages of the modern studies of mythology and comparative religion. He is often considered one of the founding fathers of modern anthropology.

I nodded and smiled myself. “Yes, but it was a long time ago in a different lifetime.” A flood of memories washed over me. “I credit Frazer with freeing me from the shackles of mythology forged on me as a child.” I was sort of screwing with him by resorting to flowery language.

He ignored me. “Then you know how he recorded humankind’s cognitive process, beginning first with magic as a method of controlling the environment.”

“I seem to remember.”

“Then,” he continued, as it gradually dawned on your species that dances and incantations weren’t really able to change things, and that people didn’t suffer because you made a doll-like image of them suffer.”

“Go on.”

“So,” he said, “the thinkers of that time decided that external forces must guide their world. They chose religion, assuming there are personal agents, superior to man, controlling nature.  It has been said that this is a far more complex notion than that of magic, and requires a much higher degree of intelligence.”

“This is getting a bit deep,” I said.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Hang with me.”

What else could I do?

“We are now at the point in the evolution of your people at which they thought that reliance on a divine source might be the best technology to be used in controlling the environment.”

“And some still do,” I said.

“Oddly enough,” he said. “This troubles the Falloonian Elders to no end.”

“I can see. What happened next?”

“In simple terms?”

“In simple terms, please.”

“In simple terms, religious contemplation led to complex thinking, and complex thinking led to science.”

“Science?”

“Science,” he said. “And as science emerged, your species hardened in its belief that the world had to be controlled, and, to a thoughtless few, that control had to be carried out on their terms, and for their ends.”

“And?”

 

Oddly, someone once suggested that
alchemy led to the scientific method. - C.W.

“Well hell,” he said, “can’t you see?”

“See what?”

“How science got their way.”

“I think maybe I do.”

“Let me help move you along,” he said. “I haven’t got all day.” He puffed on his pipe until he started the smoke flowing in bullous clouds. It was aromatic and not unpleasant. “Humankind can conceive all sorts of weird ideas and proposals. The problem, then, is that science can test those ideas and proposals.”

“And?”

“And how do you exert control over people with ideas that science can prove wrong?” He puffed again. “Let me give you an example. Let’s say you want to make people satisfied with their state of poverty. So, you tell them you’re going to cut their source of revenue and that will increase their income.”

“That sounds a bit familiar.”

“Doesn’t it though? Now, the problem is, as you well know, a second-year college student majoring in mathematics—some call that science—can prove that proposition false in a few moments. How do you maintain your control? You can’t kill all the college students.”

“No,” I said, “but how do you exert control over people with ideas that science can prove wrong?”

“Simple,” he said. He blew a huge cloud of smoke my way and I inhaled a bit of it. “You kill science.”

“But how?”

“First,” he said, “you kill all the teachers.”

I rose and walked away, staggering just a bit.

See also:

Delta Dreaming

All Hat No Cattle

Enjoy these at all? If so, order Big Dope's Book at Wattensaw Press, Amazon, or other book sellers. It will make him so happy. Also, click on an ad. It earns him a little and costs the advertiser, sort of a win-win.

367. Questions

Oh no. It was going to be a “Why? Why? Why? day.” C.W. bounded in, having assumed the shape of Little Ricky, the troublesome ten-year old. I tried to sprint from the room but he blurted out, before I could escape, “Why do they want me to buy gifts on every day we celebrate something?”

“Have you been watching commercial television again?”

“Yeah, the UFO Channel.”

“I didn’t know there was a UFO Channel.”

“They used to call it the History Channel,” he said. “Why do so many of your species believe in aliens from outer space when they watch TV, but they don’t believe in me when they read your attempts at humor.”

“I don’t know.”

“Why do they think aliens would come to Earth and just fly around forever and not land?”

“Because they think the aliens know that we would kill them the moment they land.”

“Why don’t they understand that is impossible? Your species hasn’t invented the Cosmological Ossifying. Neutralizing, Desensitizing, and Unifying Mechanism yet?”

“I don’t understand why that is important.”

“Didn’t you know that CONDUMs are the only defense against unwanted aliens? Why doesn’t your species understand more about science?”

“We are busy with other things.”

“Such as creating bizarre television commercials?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To sell things.”

“Why do they make automobile commercials featuring men and women driving cars on public highways at two or three times the legal speed limits?”

“I think it satisfies some innate desire for mastery of the universe.”

“Your species wants to be master of the universe?”

“Quite so.”

“Why? It’s not a very manageable place. Your people could get drawn into endless conflicts that would drain your energy and resources.” He stopped, thought, shook his head, and said, “But that has never bothered you before. Why?”

“Why don’t we stick to television commercials?”

“Why don’t they make movie ads that make you want to see the movie?”

“To keep the crowds down?”

“Oh.”

“I was kidding.”

“No, I think you might be right. Now, why do the food ads feature meals of two or three thousand calories when your country has such a profound obesity problem?”

“We love to eat.”

“Why? Species in other galaxies regard it as simply a refueling necessity.”

“We orient our lives around eating.”

“Why? It just makes you fat.”

“We don’t care.”

“Then why are all the models on TV commercials so thin?”

“We love diets, too.”

“So why do the diet commercials say you can eat all you want and lose weight? Why has your species abandoned any sense of understanding science?”

“So many of us believe in a higher truth than science.”

“Why? There's no such thing.”

“Just because. Maybe it makes us more manageable.”

 

This child just discovered how
you elect presidents. - C.W

He thought about this. Then he said, “That reminds me. You still haven’t answered my question about this gift-giving obsession that the marketing segment of your species has.”

“What got you off on that?”

“Your religious holiday called Easter is coming up.”

“Yes.”

“I just saw this strange ad. Why would gift-giving be related to Easter?”

“You saw an ad for gift giving related to Easter?”

“Yes.”

“What did it say?”

“It said, ‘While you wait to celebrate The Resurrection, why not resurrect your marriage with a gift from Jay’s Jewelers.’ You’ll be her savior forever, and remember, resurrection is contagious.’ Why?” He looked at me and waited for an answer.

I wasn’t sure what the question was, and could only offer, “It seems that our country is out to test the absolute lower limits of propriety and good taste.”

“Why?”

Also check out www.allhatnocattle.com

And buy Big Dope's book at Amazon

or  www.wattensawpress.com .

Science

Man, your species is weird.
- Your friend C.W.

Ask The Alien: Science and Logic

Dear Ask the Alien:
My brother is saving every cent he can find to pay for joining an expedition to find something called Noah's Arc. Supposedly, he says, a pair of every species on our planet lived on it for weeks during a worldwide flood that killed all other living creatures. He says modern scientific methods will now guide the expedition to it. He is becoming obsessed. What can I do?
Signed,
Distressed

Dear Distressed:
You might point out to him that they might find it, by simple mapping and without travel expense, by simultaneously re-tracing the DNA trails of all living species and the fossil trails of the extinct ones. The converging lines should lead them right to it. If it doesn't, you might suggest that he enroll in a community college that offers a course in logic.
Your Friend,
The Alien C.W.

265. Phrases

“Hey,” C..W. yelled at me, “come here.”

“What’s up?” I said as I walked into the room and found the old comedian Jack Benny staring at me from my computer.

“You have some explaining to do.”

“Really?” I said, “The last time we talked you said I couldn’t explain to a snake how to do the rhumba.”

“I’ve changed my mind,” he said, deadpanning like the old trooper he whose shape he had borrowed. “You and the snakes seem to have learned a lot from one another.”

I ignored him, “You had a question?”

“About your language,” he said.

“The language of Shakespeare and Milton?”

“No,” he said, “the language of Kohen and Tymber.”

“Oh,” I said, “modern usage.”

“Quite so,” he said. He looked at the computer screen, “Here’s a dandy,” he said. “What, exactly, does it mean when a man posts an announcement on VisageDocument that ‘We’re pregnant,’ referring to him and his wife.”

“Uh,” I said, “I think it means he wants his friends on Facebook to know that he and his wife are going to prudence a child.”

“It takes two of them?”

“In the fertilization phase, yes.”

“So the man fertilizes himself as well?”

“Not exactly.”

“The man carries a portion of the gestation assemblage to term? Shares the discomfort of pregnancy and the pain of childbirth?”

“Not exactly.”

“So what does he mean when he says, ‘We’re pregnant,’ as if it were a joint activity?”

“How the hell should I know,” I said. “When I was a kid, we weren’t even allowed to use that word. A woman was ‘expecting,’”

“Expecting what?”

The Falloonian Elders have been concerned
about overpopulation on your planet.
I think I've found the solution. - C.W.

“A child, although that was never made clear to us. Sometimes we were told it was a puppy.”

“You are a strange species,” he said. “I suppose you had incomprehensible euphemisms for other biological functions?”

I thought for a moment. “Well, we did ask if we might go ‘wash,’ if we needed to …” I struggled for the words.

“To do what?”

"Number One or Number Two,” I said.

“I’m sorry?”

I explained. He shook his head and then stared at me with another of his blank expressions.

“Oh, good grief,” he said. “And I thought you got to be such a dope all on your own.”

 Please click some ads. I need to buy Big Dope a new dictionary.

Oh, and see www.wattensawpress.com

And ... www.allhatnocattle.com

Finally, buy Big Dope's book so he'll shut up about it.
- C.W.

Available at major on-line retailers, or
www.wattensawpress.com

234. Authenticity

“Now get out and leave me alone. I want to take a nap.”

“But listen brother …” C.W. wouldn’t stop. “This plan is so simple, plain, or reliable as to leave no opportunity for error, misuse, or failure.”

I finally rolled over on the couch where I was resting. “So what is so foolproof about it?”

“Ah,” he said, “I thought you would never ask.” He was in what he calls his “TV Preacher” shape with a huge head of hair in a ridiculous pompadour and his shiny suit with all sorts of expensive-looking jewelry. “It fits you and I perfectly.”

“You and me” I said. “But how does it fit?”

“Our strengths,” he said. “You know what a good salesman I am.”

“That’s questionable,” I said. “Remember your weight-loss scheme?”

“Okay,” he said, “so it’s hard to sell a weight-loss program based on diet and exercise. That was a loser, but this is a winner for sure. Just consider your great strength.”

“And,” I said, “That is?”

“Lying.”

“What?”

He said, “I hear the things you tell Mrs. Big Dope. Don’t tell me you’re not the town’s greatest exaggerator.”

“Leave me alone,” I said.

“No,” he said, “this is great. There’s money to be made in these false news outlets.”

“These what?”

“You know … these supposed news outlets that have the look of acceptance or belief as conforming to or based on fact”

“You mean these sources of fake newscasts that look authentic? Like  Fox ‘News’ or ‘The Onion’”?

“Exactly. We’ll start one called ‘The Deciding Factor’ and make a fortune selling ad space on it, except our stories will sound real. Want to hear some I’ve already made up?”

“Why not?”

“Okay,” he said. “Here we go … flash … a candidate for the American Presidency yesterday stated that, if elected, he would increase tax revenue by cutting taxes.” He laughed. “Pretty well-to-do, prosperous, or opulent, eh?”

“Pretty rich all right,” I said. But two things.”

“What?”

“One, you must get your Galactic Universal Translator fixed and two, that fake news cast happens to be true, many times over.”

“No,” he said. “Nobody is that stupid.”

“Sorry.”

“Well here’s another,” he said. “Flash … “A recent publication stated that 13 percent of Americans believe that President Barack Obama is something called the Antichrist.”

“Sorry,” I said. “Sorry but fact.”

He was crestfallen. “There are that many Americans who believe that?”

“Afraid so.”

“Are they allowed to run free?”

“Afraid so.”

“That may,” he said, “ruin my next one.” He consulted a notepad he carried in his pocket. “Some Americans believe that humans and dinosaurs co-existed?”

“Afraid so. Same bunch.”

“Oh,” he said, a somber look on his face. He flipped a page in his notes read, and looked up. “The Universe is 6,000 years old?”

“Afraid that one is taken as well.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Maybe I’m using too many simple stories.” He flipped to a new page. “Here’s one specifically oriented to your state.”

“Arkansas?”

“That’s the one. Now here are some factual rankings based on all 50 states.” He took a breath. “Your state is … Are you ready?”

“I might as well be.”

“Number 48^th in the country in the health of your citizens.”

“Yes.”

“Number 48^th in the percentage of college graduates.”

“Yep.”

“Number 7 in obesity of your citizens.”

“Sad to say.”

“Number three in infant mortality.”

“Regrettably.”

“Number 44 in number of doctors per 1,000 citizens.”

“Alarmingly.”

“Number two in persons below the poverty level.”

“Sadly.”

“Number 12 in violent crime.”

“Frighteningly.”

“Shall I go on?”

“No,” I said, “you’ve made me despondent enough.”

“So here’s our fake news release. Flash … your governor just announced that his number one priority for your state is .... Are you sitting down? cutting taxes. That will get us some chuckles.”

I tried to speak. “Uh …”

“Good one right?”

“Uh, C.W. …”

“A real knee-slapper.”

Uh, C.W. …”

“What? I’m working here.”

“Some bad news for you …”


I'm using this photo for my cover on the monthly
reports to the Falloonian Elders now. - C.W.

Click an ad and increase our revenue the old-fashioned way.
And see also www.wattensawpress.com
www.deltadreaming.blogspot.com
- C.W.

Midweek Thought from C.W.

The juxtaposition of your TV images sometimes amazes me. Yesterday I watched for a moment. There, on one channel was something called “Antiques Road Show” in which experts were appraising items of no physiological value whatsoever for huge sums of money. Pressed a switch and saw folks wasting hydrogen hydroxide—essential for human survival, the depletion of which will mark the end of civilization on earth, and which is disappearing at an alarming rate—by pouring it on one another’s head to encourage an act that your Jesus said you should do willingly and without external encouragement. Big Dope was unable to explain.

- C.W.

 

See also www.wattensawpress.com

 

203. Religion

Sometimes I don’t know if C.W. is knowingly joshing me, or if his Retentive Analytic Transcriber—his RAT—has taken a flight of fancy. Today, I think he was somewhere between jokester and political analyst. He was shaped close enough to Glenn Beck as to be institutionalized and we were having, what I thought was, a serious conversation.

“So,” he said, “I think your species has what you earthlings call a “deep romantic or sexual attachment/intentional intense dislike” relationship with science.”

“We seem to have a “love/hate” relationship with many things,” I said.

“With science it is strange,” he said. “You love to take your antibiotics, even for viruses.” He stopped and shook his head sadly. “But the facts of natural selection cause you to feel uncomfortable. That is unique in the Galaxy. Don’t your schools teach the relationship between medicine and evolution, as you call it?”

“I’m not sure how much longer we will teach science in our schools,” I said. This made me feel nauseated so I moved the subject a few points to windward. “What about our obsession with religion?”

That’s when he went into his act. Here it is verbatim, with apologies to Judge Noah S. "Soggy" Sweat, Jr.

“If, when you say religion you mean the evil institution, the hateful scourge, the bloody fiend that contaminates the innocent mind, dethrones reason, destroys cities, creates misery and hegemony, yea, flies airplanes into buildings, and traumatizes young children with the image of a loving spirit figure who has a fiery pit awaiting them; if you mean the evil concept that topples men and women from the pinnacle of logical, carefree living into the bottomless pit of ignorance, and hatred, and distrust and violence, and despair, that persecutes those whom nature blesses with a unique sexuality, skin color, or gender, then certainly I think your species has a problem—a big problem.

“But, if when you say religion you mean the oil of community life, the philosophic elixir that binds people and nations, the sublime thoughts that are explored when people get together, that puts music in the hearts and laughter on the lips of those gathered, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean universal charity, if you mean the stimulating contemplation that puts the spring in the old gentleman’s step in his twilight years; if you mean the way of life which enables one to magnify joy and happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life’s great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that religion that comforts the poor in spirit, exalts the meek, honors the peacemaker and seeks universal righteousness through good will, mercy, and purity in heart, the goodness of which provides tender care for our sick children, our blind, our deaf, our pitiful, aged, infirm; and least of those among us, I think your spirituality train would be on the right track.”

Please tell me more about this kindly old man
who runs the fiery pits of Hell. - C.W.

I nodded.

“But,” he continued before I could speak, “it does seem to me that the train has veered off course of late, and a debilitating indifference has allowed it to happen.”

Out of the mouths of aliens.

“Now,” he said, “let us go and see what Kate Middleton is wearing today.”

Be sure and click an ad or two so Big Dope can pay the rent. - C.W.

Also visit www.wattensawpress.com

192. Controversies

It is said that hope springs eternal. That seems to be the case with C.W. as he is determined to “suddenly attack it bountiful,” as he puts it.

“And just how do you propose to strike it rich this time,” I said as he appeared in one of his favorite forms, Richie the member of the Young Conservatives of America.

“Easy,” he said, straightening his club tie. “I’m starting a charter school corporation."

“And?”

“It will be designed for children of parents who fear the advance of knowledge.”

“Your conservative friends.”

“Without vaguess.”

“Exactly what will you teach?”

“Controversies.”

“Controversies?”

“Controversies. In fact the name will be Controversy Charters Incorporated.”

“You must be kidding me.”

“Why would I make you a baby goat?"

“No,” I said, “you can’t be serious.”

“Why not? Your species seems addicted to alternate versions of the truth. I’m simply filling a demand.”

“That’s what Al Capone said.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. What makes you think you could be paid to teach alternate versions of the truth?”

He said, “Didn’t your own state just award a charter to a company that had used in its curriculum a mythical version of science, something called ‘creationism?’”

“Seems I read that.”

“Interesting,” he said, producing a set of notes. “That myth has, in itself evolved, no pun intended.”

“Evolved?”

“Yes,’ he said, reading. “It began as something called ‘creation science,’ then evolved into ‘creationism,’ then into ‘evidence against evolution,’ then ‘intelligent design,’ and finally, ‘teach the controversy’ and it has all generated a great deal of merriment within the Galaxy.”

“I’m glad we provide a service,” I said. “So what controversies will you teach?”

“Glad you asked,” he said, handing me a sheet spelling out the course curriculum, I read:

Unicorns: Nonexistant or Just Shy?

Earth: Round or Do We Just See it That Way?

Introduction to Witch Identification

Earth-Sun Revolution Realities—The Day the Earth Really Stood Still

Air and Water Pollution: Nature's Character Builders

The Life and Death of Paul McCartney

Moon Landing Conspiracies

 

Preparing Guardian Angels for Tsunamis

Osama Bin Laden: Comparative Theories

Anti-Christ Identification: The Clinton-Obama Controversies

Contrails: Government Plot or Alien Panspermation?

I said, “Maybe you should tread lightly on the alien angle.”

“Hmm.” He took the sheet from me and made a notation. “Maybe we’ll move that to ‘Advanced Placement,’ along with the 9-11 Controversies.”

I groaned. He said, “Got to go. Can I borrow your car? I have to pick up a man at the airport from Liberty University.”

This would seem even more hilarious to the Galaxy
if so many of your species didn't believe that your
Civil War wasn't about slavery. - C.W.

I must have looked confused.

“He’s bringing plans for the new building.”

“New building? You’re constructing a new school building?”

“Yes.” He beamed and smiled. “It’s going to be a replica of Noah’s Ark, with the stalls serving as classrooms.”

I slumped into a chair. “Beam me up, Scotty,” I said.

He frowned. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “You know that could never work.” His face brightened. “You know that,” he said, “and I know that.” He began to make notes. “But they don’t know that.” He looked away, thought for a few seconds, and resumed writing. “Tele-transportation—How The Government Keeps it a Secret.” He thanked me, took my keys, and ran out the door singing “Happy Days Are Here Again.”

Also check out www.wattensawpress.com

178. Thanks

From the so-called “mind” of the Alien C.W., edited by the Blogger.

 

Since arriving in your midst, I have been puzzled, bemused, amazed, and sometimes astounded at your habits. But your attitude on Thanksgiving takes the soft sweet bakery item. (Editor’s comment: He means “cake”). You seem to have so many fortuitous dynamics that have created a society basically free from the wars and pestilence that plague so many other societies. Yet, on this day you seem to be most thankful for an overabundance of food and the chance to spend money. It makes my boughntacojitet gland smoke. (Editor: it roughly translates to his “brain,” such as it is).

As a visitor to your society, I would suggest other subjects of this giving of thanks. To wit:

- The historical figure of Jesus of Nazareth who, though failing gloriously in his “end of the world” predictions, left you with such epochal and wonderful admonitions ( abandoned since your 1980s) on brotherly love, cautions against judging, forgiveness of your brothers, care for the poor, and honoring the peacemakers. As an aside, I think you might also be thankful for a current President who would risk the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” to pursue the last. But I am just a shifty alien and what do I know?

Buddha, who, if you would pay attention, showed you a path upon which you might not, in medical terminology, be wound so tightly. (Editor: don’t bother. He’s on a roll).

John Newton, who first gained our attention on the planet of Falloonia when he took you from the “take aways” and “goes intas” stage of mathematics and allowed you, eventually, to escape gravity, of both the physical and religious type.

- Charles Darwin, who explained some very elementary things to you. I was highly amused when Big Dope told me about his epiphany regarding the findings of natural selection. Seems he had encountered the basic theories in a junior high school science class and had been pondering the implications for several days when, while taking a shower, he dropped his washrag. As he, without thinking, retrieved it with the toes of one foot, a great truth of the universe opened for him. Goes to cause to illustrate, doesn’t it? (Editor: “show”.)

- Abraham Lincoln, who held your union together and set the stage for the freeing of a huge segment of humanity. Wonder how many votes he would get today?

Would not a quiet day of reflection work as well? - C.W.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who empowered and ennobled the “least of those, your brethren.”

Martin Luther King, Jr., who truly died for your sins.

William Jefferson Clinton, who gave you eight years of peace and prosperity in the face of unprecedented hate and persecution, and, in return, only asked for a simple … (Editor: Censored).

Hillary Clinton, because the Falloonian Elders thinks she is wonderful.

 

Matthew McConaughey, because Mrs. Big Dope thinks he is dreamy beyond words.

The list could go on, but I am at a borrowed keyboard and must bid you farewell. Let me close by saying that I am thankful today for the time I am getting to spend with you.

Peace.

150. Rage

It was to be a quiet walk in the neighborhood. I had gotten three blocks from home and crossed a major street near I-30 when I was joined by a tall, neatly dressed African-American man whom I recognized immediately as one who often strolls our city’s River Market area. He eased in beside me and we walked to the next corner before he stopped and spoke.

“This is where it happened, isn’t it?”

I stopped, thought, and remembered. “Yes, along here somewhere.”

“Did you see it happen?”

“No, but I might have. I walk this way almost daily.”

“And I as well.”

“You didn’t witness it?”

“No.” He looked wistfully at the scene. “It would have been an interesting experience to report to the Elders. Your species has a unique approach to settling disagreements.”

“C.W.?”

“Who did you think it was?”

“I never knew … I mean … has this been you all along?”

“I sometimes wander the earth without you.” Before I could speak, he continued. “But tell me about this ‘rage of the road’ that is so unique to your kind.”

“This was apparently a classic case. Two motorists got into a feud on the interstate and both pulled off at this exit and stopped. One got out of his vehicle and started toward the other. The man in the second car produced a gun and shot the man three times, killing him.”

“In front of the man’s family?”

“Yes.”

“What could cause such an angry response?”

“I have no idea.”

“Perhaps one saw a car on the highway with one of those ‘these colors don’t run” bumper stickers?”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps they each had seen one of those TV shows where the hero solves problems by beating up someone.”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe they watched that so-called news channel whose pundits tell their listeners that the government is coming to get them.”

“I don’t know.”

“Perhaps those guns of which you are so fond have an unsettling psychological effect on a person.”

“Dammit I just don’t know.”

“Have you ever carried a gun?”

“Once. For a time I carried one with me constantly, even when I ate. I stored it next to my bed at night. It was my constant companion.”

“Did it make you crazy?”

“I dunno.”

“What happened to it?”

“The United States Government took it away from me one day.”

“Well, there you go,” he said. “That’s too bad.”

“Oh no. Quite the contrary. It was one of the happiest days of my life.”

“You are weird.”

I thought this was a little bizarre coming from a shape-shifting alien and told him so.

“So we have one man dead in front of his family and another facing first-degree murder charges because of a minor fracas that either could have avoided.”

“That’s about it.”

“This worship of the gun and automobile, where do they teach it?” He pointed toward the spire of a church a couple of blocks away. “There?”

“No. They are supposed to teach just the opposite.”

“Supposed to?”

“Some of them have gotten a little off-track.”

All in all, I think music produces
a better effect on your species
than does driving a vehicle. - C.W.

“Surely your schoolteachers warn that your DNA contains dormant remnants lying ready to activate and produce violent responses during times of stress.”

I pointed at the church. “You and I have talked about this before. They don’t quite approve of teaching science to young kids.”

He stood silent for a moment. Then he lowered his head until his chin rested on his chest. “I hope …,” he said, then stopped to gather his thoughts.

“Hope what?”

“I hope that my next assignment is to a simpler planet.”

104. Television

My wife was off on an adventure with her mother, so C.W. and I decided to spend some time watching television. Want to guess his favorite show? Yep, you are correct. It’s the “Big Bang Theory.” In fact, he was using his multi-tasking skills to write a fan letter to the show’s female character, Penny. Appropriately, he had assumed a shape closely resembling the big brother on the old series “Leave it to Beaver.”

“How’s this sound?” he said, looking up from his writing. “You certainly have a carcass capable of generating heat.”

I thought for a moment. “I think you probably mean, ‘hot body.’”

“Exactly.”

“That might be a little strong for the first letter,” I said. But he didn’t hear me. The character in question walked across a room in the scene we were watching and it caught his attention.

“Would you look at that …, “ he began.

“I can see it,” I said, interrupting him. “May I ask you something?”

“Wait a minute,” he said. Then, after Penny had left the scene, he turned to me. “Are you sure it makes you go blind?”

Ignoring him, I continued, “I would easily understand why you like a show about four young physicists,” I said. “But you seem fixated on the only non-scientist on the show.”

“Shut up,” he said. “I just had a thought.” He returned to his letter, speaking the words as he wrote. “Physicists are a dime-for-twelve but your body is a solitary splendor that would fetch top dollar.” He paused. “How does that sound?”

“I’m sure she will be overwhelmed.”

“I think television is one of your species’ more interesting phenomenon,” he said, sticking the pencil lead to his tongue and then to the paper.

“Then why is a sitcom your favorite? Why not one of the more educational shows?”

“Such as?” he said, turning to me with a questioning look.

The question took me by surprise, and I couldn’t come up with a quick answer.

“Your so-called ‘History Channel?’”

“Well, maybe not that one.”

“Not unless one really believes that Leonardo de Vinci was an alien.”

“Well …”

“I’ve told you over and over again,” he said. “We have only planted one alien unit on Earth in all our panspermian efforts.”

“I know. I know.”

“And you know that we placed it in a remote spot to minimize the chance of catastrophe.”

“I know.”

“And?”

Dear Penny: If you would only give me
the chance, I couild teach you a thing or two
about physics that those four guys
never dreamed of. - Your fan, C.W.

“She ended up running for Vice-President,” I said.

“And?”

“You had to come here to keep tabs.”

“Exactly,” he said. “Now leave me alone. He started to write, “I want so badly to stick my tongue in …”

“C.W.,” I said.

“A dish of Falloonian Congomeracity Pudding, when I see your sweet smile.”

Then he stopped and looked at me.

”What?”

102. Diets

Where C.W. gets his inspiration I don’t know. Maybe it’s a Falloonian thing. Maybe our culture has him in its thralls. Maybe he picked the wrong earthling as his liaison. One thing I will say, though. He’s a persistent little critter.

For example, his latest caper is a venture into the publishing business. I caught him typing away in the guise of the late Orson Welles this morning. He “shushed” me as I walked into the room so I stood drinking my coffee as he pounded away.

With a flourish, he hit “save” and looked up at me.

“Just about done,” he said.

I couldn’t resist, though I knew better. “At what?”

“My new book,” he said. This is going to get me the Fallooniaskregreb++.

”The what?”

“Falloonian Voyager of the Year Award.”

“And it is?”

“A book on how to lose weight. They sell like hot breadlike pastries in your country.”

“And why, exactly, will yours sell like hotcakes?”

He looked at me as if I had just asked why women wear makeup.

“Because it will be easy.”

“Easy?”

“No effort or sacrifice whatsoever.”

I pondered this. “Don’t you have to reduce your caloric intake to lose weight?”

He laughed, and his great belly shook derisively.

“And exercise?”

He laughed again, a huge rolling response that shook his jowls in merriment.

“You are so evidenceless,” he said. “With my system, you won’t even need a pedophile.

“I think you may mean ‘pedometer’ and I may be clueless,” I said. “But I have been to college.”

“Just my point,” he interrupted. “Most of my readers haven’t, or if they have, they worked hard at not learning anything.”

“Let me guess,” I said. “You have a magic powder to sprinkle on one’s food.”

“Too expensive,” he said.

“You have a secret combination of ingesting particular types of food that creates a magical chemical reaction that produces weight loss.”

“Too complicated,” he said. “Remember our audience.”

“You just ingest carbohydrates,” I said. “And some process buried deep in our evolutionary past reacts by burning fat.”

“We might get sued for that one.”

“So,” I said. “What is your secret?”

“You won’t let it out, will you?”

Was he kidding? “I promise.”

He looked around with a flourish that suggested some deep conspiracy. “You eat your food standing up,” he said.

“Standing up?”

“Yep.”

“You’re sh… uh, kidding.”

“A secret discovered by the ancient Mayans. Doesn’t add a single calorie. Have you ever seen a fat Mayan?”

I was speechless. Finally, I managed to respond. “You are crazy.”

“Not as crazy as people who believe you can talk to the dead.”

He had a point.

“With your understanding of science,” I said. “Wouldn’t you rather publish a fact-based treatise on healthy living?”

“Tried that,” he said. “Didn’t sell a copy.”

As I thought about it, he waved me away.

“Go read or something,” he said. “I’m already working on my sequel.

Your species loves to try anything
that doesnt' require thought, work, or
taxes to pay for it. - C.W.

“Your sequel? How are you going to top this one?”

“Oh,” he said. “It’s a book on how to have sex without contraceptives and not get pregnant.”

It dawned on me then. “Let me guess,” I said, “You do it …”

“Out,” he said.

88. Awakenings

C.W. had warned me he was working on a project, so I was not surprised when I got to the condo and found him hard at work. What did surprise me was the extent of his efforts. He is a little on the lazy side at times.

“Hey, Big Dope,” he said, with his usual respect. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be just a moment.”

This was gracious of him as it was my apartment. I ignored it and sat down to watch him work.

His appearance was reminiscent of a Hollywood director of the golden era, complete with beret and knee britches. He sat at one end of a folding table and watched a DVD player. He had evidently been reviewing films. As he concentrated on the monitor, I scanned the titles. They were from a single genre, monster films of the 1950s. Scattered in piles were familiar titles, including, Godzilla, Them!, Attack of the 50 Foot Woman, The Incredible Shrinking Man, the Beast from 20,000 fathoms, Wasp Woman, It came from Beneath the Sea, and others.

I declined to grant him the pleasure of an inquiry.

After a few moments, he glanced up from reviewing one of my personal favorites, Tarantula.

Want to know what I’m doing?

I’m all aquiver,” I said, striving to act disinterested.

“Providing a service for your species.”

“A service?”

“Yes, as in doing something nice for humankind.” He paused and reflected. “After all, most of your people believe, as Sam Harris pointed out, that I made the journey to your planet just to molest ranchers and their cattle.”

“I see,” I said, although I didn’t.

“Take all these films,” he said. “What are the common threads?”

“Uh,” I said, suspecting a trick question. “Scary?”

“Well first,” he said. “They represent physical characteristics that defy any scientific fact.”

I had long suspected that. Click here for further clarification.

“I figured as much,” I said.

“Second, they all seem to emerge from a hidden fear of nuclear, or other scientific experiments gone bad.”

“Yes,” I said. “Remember that they appeared shortly after a world war in which 40 million people were killed.”

”So we have monsters appearing that had been hidden for eons and then released by some new catalyst.” He paused. “Am I getting too technical for you?”

“I’m with you so far,” I said. “But where is this going?”

“Ah,” he said. “Fast forward to present time in your country.”

“Present time?” I said.

“Yes. Your country in particular seems to be confronting social monsters that most believed long dead.”

”Social monsters?”

“Yes, just consider the attacks on the rights of women, denial of science, not wanting to care for the sick and elderly, anti-veteran sentiment, and the spewing forth of racial hatred generated by the election of a president of color in the most powerful nation on earth.”

I was stunned.

“Weren’t these monsters slain decades ago?”

“We thought so.”

”So what is the current catalyst? Can’t be atomic bombs this time.”

“I don’t know.”



Rick Santorum's greatest nightmare - C.W.

 ”Ah,” he said. “So here is my gift to your species.”

“Your gift?”

“Yes,” he said. “I have the answer.”

I bit. “And?”

“Bottled water.”

“Bottled water?”

“Yes, the decision to begin paying for a free substance had to be a mental catastrophe of near Biblical proportions.”

That’s all folks.