The Blues

Dear Friends and Followers: I found Big Dope asleep at this computer this morning and the following was on it. I snuck in beside him and posted it before he woke up. Enjoy!

 I recall a man I worked with on my first full time day job as “filling-station” attendant. His name, I seem to remember, was Calvin and he was probably in his thirties with a family. His job was washing cars. He didn’t own one himself. He walked home and back for dinner (lunch) and one day he was five minutes late getting back, so the boss, a real Arkansas a**hole, fired him. Being late was just an excuse. The real reason? He was “uppity.” Didn’t show proper respect for his “betters.” I’ve never been able to erase the sight of him as he walked back toward home with his hands in his pockets and his head sunk into his shoulders.

I don’t imagine Calvin ever sang the blues. A person could get fired for doing that as well.

I also recall the “cotton-choppers” that traded at my father’s little country grocery store. A truck with a covered bed would pick them up before daylight to take them to the fields. They would stop at our store and buy food to eat at noon. Then, after chopping all day, they would stop back by after dark and get something for supper and, if there was enough money left, breakfast.

This went on until the crops were laid by. I don’t know what they did for food until it was time to pick the cotton.

I’ll admit I never heard them sing the blues. I never heard them sing at all. They were too tired.

I do know that I have heard stories about this farmer and that one who would “short” them on pay and laugh about it for the victims had no recourse for justice. Maybe they did sing the blues in the quiet and safety of their own homes.

I also know they led a wretched, oppressed life in which they couldn’t drink from a white water fountain, use a public restroom, send their children to a decent school, or—oftentimes—vote.

From what I understand, it must have been
those poor black folks up north that sang
 the blues. Those in the south were happy
 with their lot. Saw that on Fox News. - C.W.

I do know that anyone who would believe they chose such a life would be ignorant enough to believe that we choose our sexuality, or that we should be either rewarded or punished for it.

I do know that these experiences caused me to try to lead a life that would attend to the poor in spirit and the downtrodden and to be wary of those who worship riches too much, whether they be hedge-fund managers, corporate executives, or televangelists. I’ve also remained aware of the many unearned benefits resulting from enough northern-European DNA to have me classified as “Caucasian.”

 

Maybe that’s why I don’t watch reality TV shows about rednecks. Nor do I pay much attention to what they say or think, unless they say something that is really, really, stupid. Then it makes me remember all the Calvins I have known. All the a**holes, too.

Government

Dear Friends and Followers: Big Dope is being a jerk again. I reported him to the ASPCA, thinking it was an organization to prevent cruelty to aliens. Turns out, it has to do with dogs and cats. Why do they need protection? They are the most pampered and protected species on your planet. Fascinating.

Anyway, he caught me watching “The History Channel” on TV. Said if I wanted to know anything about your country’s history, I needed to quit watching shows about pawn shops and read.

So I did as he ordered and it required me to think, and that makes me tired and irritable. But, I did run across an interesting quote from one of your country’s so-called “Founding Male persons whose sperm unites with an egg, resulting in the conception of a child.” (Editor’s note: he means Founding Father—translator problems again).

The quote goes like this: "What is government itself but the greatest of all reflections on human nature? If men were angels, no government would be necessary." One must assume he intended to include women in the observation, but one never knows about that bunch and who they intended to include when they founded your country.

Anyway, that seems to make sense to me. All men are certainly not angels. Take Big Dope for example. Case closed.

But what is puzzling to an Alien is this: here we have an architect of your constitution, none other than the future President James Madison expressing the need for an organized and regulated society. Then we have all these folks you have elected to public office lately who believe just the opposite, like the guy from Kentucky with the weird hairpiece. Their belief seems to be that we should eliminate all government and then things will work out fine.

My counterpoint who was sent to a country called Somalia tells me this isn’t true.

These fellows were no angels.
Just ask Kunta Kinte.
But they did seem to put more thought into
things than this current bunch. - C.W.

And anyway, would angels need no supervision? Can you see the confusion in the morning when they line up to get their harps if a senior angel isn’t there to keep order? Who would lead the Heavenly Choir? Can you imagine them flying around in all directions with their wings flapping with no regulation of the cloud-ways? Fascinating.

Anyway, I’m tired of thinking for today. Believe I’ll watch TV.

I’m back. I wanted to see if your senate was going to vote to invade Iran. Big Dope wants a report. Nothing in the news, though, but some guy with a strange beard who thinks that black people would be happier if you re-enslaved them.

You have a strange country.

180. Alternatives

As funny as it may sound, I find myself worrying about C.W. from time to time, like yesterday. I was minding my own business reading a magazine when a lone figure walks in, plops down on the couch, and folds his hands in his lap. It is a man of indeterminate age, casually dressed in a flannel shirt, rumpled khaki pants, and running shoes. His eyes formed two lifeless orbs that seem to watch something far away, something that he really wasn’t quite certain existed.

“Don’t make sense to me,” he said, without looking at me.

I said, “C.W.?”

He said, “I just don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?”

“Why you people can’t see the truth.”

“What truth?”

“You know,” he said, turning toward me with no expression. “what they teach us on TV.”

I said, “Have you been watching Fox News again?”

“Haven’t you?”

“Uh, no,” I said.

“How do you keep up with current problems? For example, why is your species so concerned about the color of a person’s skin?”

I said, “Did they actually ask that on Fox News?”

“It is a choice,” he said. “A simple choice.”

“A what?”

“It is a lifestyle choice,” he said. “If a person chooses to have black skin, they shouldn’t be upset when they learn that Santa Claus is white.”

There are times when, as the young boy said when he fell into the molasses barrel, my tongue is not equal to the task. I simply stared as he continued.

“Some people want us to change our ways to fit them that choose other paths. It just ain’t right.”

“Us? Who is ‘us’”?

“You know,” he said, “the decent folks. Job creators, true believers, them that holds to traditional family values—the ones that want to save America from the dark forces. I’m talking about the ones that make the right choices in life.”

“White people?”

“That's always a good choice.”

“Males?”

“That helps. We do have some folks that choose to be wise women. Take Sarah Palin for example.” For the first time his face took on some expression. He smiled, winked, and made a clicking sound. “What a gal.”

If a person doesn't exist, does the color
of their skin really matter? - C.W.

I ignored him and continued. “Born right here in America?”

“Where else would you choose to be born?” He turned slowly and stared away again. Then he turned back and looked at me. “Say,” he said, “you ain’t one of them that believes in accepting makers of bad choices.”

“Oh no,” I said, playing along.

He seemed to brighten. “Good, he said, “come on, the Sean Hannity Show is about to start.” He stood, made a slow right face, and began to shuffle toward the door, still staring ahead blankly.

Weddings

Oh dear friends, another troubling news release (clickhere). I hate to read these but the Falloonian Elders are making me write up a report about a tendency within your species for life to imitate art. I used an episode of a TV series that is a favorite of Mrs. Big Dope, called “Star to Trek.” It was a comedy series about space travel.

The show had a weird collection of characters and a hilarious portrayal of intergalactic travel. It always causes a break without complete separation of parts me up, as you say. (Editor’s note: he means “cracks me up. Don’t ask).

Big Dope always says that marriage is a risky
 proposition. I see what he means. - C.W.

Anyway, in one show, two planets are being forced to wage war by unseen forces that control events from afar but don’t actually take place in the brutalities. Turns out the “forces” are two youngsters on a faraway planet playing a game.

By the way, can any of you verify a rumor that a new video game called “Wedding Party” is now in production?

Must go, the Elders now want me to compare and contrast a film called “Network” with another comedy show favored by your species, “Fox News.”

 

Your Friend,

The Alien C.W.

Affluenza

Friends and Followers:

Please someone help me. I am trying to explain a troubling news story (Click here)  to the Falloonian Elders. Can someone please tell me what “affluenza” is? Are the rich above the law in your society because of it? Would there be a contrasting disease called “povertilosis” that would excuse poor people from criminal activity? Please, my Cannacopawitit glands are smoking.

Sometimes I have to defend your species from
charges of pervasive insanity and my words
are not equal to the task. - C.W.

(Editor’s note: He refers to a condition in which a Falloonian’s mental processing facilities become overloaded and malfunction. Remember how Captain Kirk would defeat a logical mind by introducing illogic?)
If you have any explanation whatsoever, please comment below.
Oh, and please click on an ad. It makes Big Dope (who doesn't suffer from "affuenza" in the least) a little money.
The Alien C.W.