Laughing Stock

Dear Friends and Followers:
I’ve enphased back in time to when Big Dope was young and performed some research. It seems like when there was a “fallen girl” in his class: her parents shut her away and pleaded with her for redemption, true friends prayed for her, her teachers shamed her, the other girls avoided her, the boys lined up for a (very secret) date, and the father(s) of any unforeseen results ran for cover.

Nowadays, your species will air her statements in the national media like she was Moses come down from the mountain.  The fact that she seems to have no education, knowledge, analytical skills, or moral foundation seems not to matter.

 

Now it even seems she is allowed to comment on the fate of a young genius who is a role model for all young students, a young man whose book satchel she shouldn't even be allowed to carry. As Big Dope would say, "Ya'll got some 'splaining to do."

Do you realize that this sort of thing is making your species the laughing stock of the galaxy?

Your Pal C.W.
(Don't tell Big Dope I posted this.)

276. Why oh Why?

C.W. is worrying the hell out of me. That’s not unusual, but this time he has assumed his shape of the teenager he calls Ronald Chadsworth, the National Merit Scholar. He appears as a youngster of color with piercing eyes, curly hair, countless questions, and a voice that would remove wallpaper. He always tests my patience.

The first question he asked illustrates my point. “Mr. Big Dope,” he began—when he is polite, I shudder, “why do the media report on what people ‘tweet?’ Isn’t that a bit like reporting on what one sees written on a bathroom wall in a truck stop?”
 

“Who knows,” I said. “Doesn’t it seem easier than actually going out and digging up news?”
 

“Why wouldn’t they want to go out and dig up news? It couldn’t be that difficult.”
 

“Have you ever tried it?”
 

He thought. “No, but all you would have to do us exchange text messages with the right person. Isn’t that right?”
 

“What if the right person didn’t text back?”
 

That stumped him, so he altered course. “Speaking of the right person,” he said, “when you were my age, did they print the ramblings of a sl … uh … a … a … what you called a ‘loose woman’ as news?”

“Only if she were arrested standing over a dead body with a smoking gun in her hand.”

“So bad girls with very little education weren’t considered experts?”

“Well maybe,” I said, “in certain fields, but they certainly didn’t discuss those things in the media.” I stopped. “Why so you ask?”
 

He didn’t respond, just opened a binder he was holding to a picture of Bristol Palin.

“Why don’t you go read Shakespeare?” I said.

“Can I ask you another question?”

“May I ask you another question,” I said, “and the answer is no.”

“What’s with the lady in England that wears all the funny hats?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why is that newsworthy? Wouldn’t it be more interesting to find a turtle that could do the ‘two-step’ and report on that?”

“Find one and we’ll see,” I said.

“Or a group of cats that have formed a Mariachi band?” He stopped. “Oh wait,” he said. “I did see that in the news.”

“In the news?”

“On Visage Page.”

As I understand it, the marriage
contract says she must look silly
at all times. Weird. - C.W.

“What’s on Facebook is not news,” I said.

“Back to the lady with the hats,” he said, “why do they report on what she does?”

“She’s the wife of a prince.”

“So he buys her the hats?”


“With his allowance, yes.”

“Oh,” he said, “and what does one do to be born a prince?”

“Be the son of a prince.”

“Is that the only way?”

“Or,” I said, “he could be the son of queen.”

He employed one of his sudden shifts in attention. “What does it mean to ‘pull yourself up by your own boot straps?’ I see it in the news all the time? Wouldn’t that defy the Law of Gravity? And,” he said, “your species is quite concerned with observing the law, I understand.”

“It’s a metaphorical saying,” I said, ignoring his sarcasm, “indicating the social desirability of taking responsibility for your own success in life.”

“Like the lady with the hats?”

I thought. “Yeah,” I said, “like the lady with the hats.”

“I thought so,” he said. “Now …”

I interrupted him. “Have you mastered matrix algebra yet?”

“Oh,” he said, “that was easy compared to understanding your species.”

He had me there. “Well what about so-called ‘String Theory.’ Couldn’t you go work on that?”

“I knew all there is to know about that before I came to your planet,” he said. “Now tell me about birth control.”

Oh hell. “Some people don’t like it,” I said.
 

“So what do they do?”

“They try to get rid of it.”

“So there will be more babies born?”

“Yes.”

“Some to women who can’t care for them?”

“Yes.”

“Who cares for them?”

“We don’t worry about that, as long as it isn’t the taxpayers.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t know. Saves money I suppose.”

“Oh,” said, nodding his head. “I understand. Now,” he said.

“Aren’t you supposed to be exploring the writings of Kant?”

He ignored me. “Tell me,” he said, “about the high cost your country pays for incarcerating prisoners.”
 

 Please click some ads. Mrs. Big Dope needs a new hat.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

Nightmares

It's this way... I never know whether C.W. sleeps or not. He pretends to, but then he may just be having some fun at my expense. In either case, he slides in this morning as I was writing, looking much like a sleepy, confused teenaged boy, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
"I had a nightmare last night," he said.
I continued typing. "That's nice," I said.
"It scared me."
"That's nice."
"Are you even listening?"
That got my attention. I stopped and looked at him. "What's up?"
"I had this scary dream."
"About what?"
"That weird preacher who's running for president."
I thought. "The one that acts a little crazier each day?"
"That's him."
"So what did he do in your dream?"
"It was about that bizarre woman in Kentucky, too."
"There are lot of bizarre women in Ky...." Then it dawned on me. "Oh," I said. "That one."
"Yeah," he said. "The one they locked up."
"Yep. But what did she have to do with the crazy preacher?"
"Did you see where he offered to take her place in jail?"
"Seems I read something about that. Why?"
"In my dream they took him up on his offer."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. They let her out and locked him up."
"A real zero-sum exchange," I said.
"He got out after awhile, in my dream."
"None the worse for wear, I hope."
"Oh no. He seemed very happy."
"To see his wife and family, I suppose."
"Oh no," he said. "Just the opposite."
This really got my attention. I turned and said, "Tell me more."
"He was holding hands with someone."'
"Really?" I said. "His lawyer."
"No, another inmate."
"No. Who?"
"A big, ugly, mean-looking man."
"Get out of town."
"Really," he said. "You won't believe what he told the reporters."
"What?"
"He said, 'I have quit ignoring this thorn in my side, and I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Rufus Lee.' Then he started to leave."
"What happened next?"
"He said, 'I'd talk more but we're going over and get my divorce papers and a marriage license. You can get them both at the same place in this county.'"
"C.W," I said, 'why don't you go back to bed?"

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www.allhatnocattle.com

Labor Day Special

This morning C.W. walked in, having assumed one of his more somber shapes, that of "Perry C. the Ph.D," a thoughtful man in a tweet jacket and smart bow tie. He wanted to question me about a man I had introduced him to, a person to whom I had been close my entire life.

“I’m still curious,” he said. “Are you telling me the truth—that he is retired on a comfortable company retirement?”

“Yes.”

“He was a Union man?”

“A Union Steward.”

“So his retirement grew from Union membership?”

“Yes.”

“And he enjoys the benefits of what you call ‘Medicare’ in his retirement?”

“Yes.”

“And you tell me that he is a closeted gay man?”

“Yes.”

“How closeted?”

“Not entirely.”

 

"And he professes to be very religious?"

 

"Yes."

 

"So he would consider homosexuality a 'thorn in his side' and a sin?"

 

"Yes."

“You’re saying he didn’t ‘cure’ himself through his religion?”

“Yes. I’m telling you that, and believe me when I tell you.”

“Then tell me something else,” he said.

“What?”

“You say that he votes conservative now, not progressive?”

“Yes.”

“And he refers to the President of your United States as that ‘Ni …”

“Yes,” I said, interrupting him.

“Tell me,” he said. “Does it have anything to do with the 52-inch television that he sits in front of all day?”

“Yes.”

“The one that is turned to that Fox, so-called, ‘News’ channel each time we visit?”

“Yes.”

He sat and thought for a long time. “Then tell me,” he said, “are there many like him?”

“The country is full of them.”

“I may need to go home soon,” he said.

 

See also: www.wattensawpress.com

www.allhatnocattle.com

 

275. Role Models

What in the h…? I couldn’t believe it dear reader and neither will you. I woke up long before the rest of the family and wandered into the living room with a cup of coffee and, oh dear, words are inadequate.

There sat Hattie McDaniel behind my computer. Or, there sat Hattie in her role as Mammy in Gone With The Wind. Or something.

It was C.W., but why?

“It’s Labor Day Weekend, Hon,” she … it… he said.

“So?”

“I’m givin’ you the day off.”

“The day off?”

“I done wrote your weekend piece for you.”

“You,” I said, stammering, “wrote my weekend piece?”

“I did.”

“And you want me to post it?”

“Just come look at it.”

I did. It’s not what I would have done. Too controversial. But, I had to appreciate the thought. Here it is just as he, she, did it.

 Dear Friends and all:

Your actions, as reported in your popular media, indicate that you tend to choose role models to enhance your personal beliefs. This is unusual for me, since Falloonians choose to base our beliefs on logic and analysis. Anyway, I have analyzed your choices of role models, as indicated by recent postings in what you call social media, particularly VisageDocument. (Editor’s note: He means Facebook.)

Now it seems that, at one end of the spectrum, many of y'all have chosen this face as a role model.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At the other end, many of y'all have chosen this face as a role model.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After much thought and analysis, I have come to a conclusion.

Babies, y’all need to work on y’alls' role models. Real bad.

If you wonder why I say that, just think about it for a minute. Would you like for me to report back to the Falloonian Elders that these are the kinds of people your species looks to for guidance in their personal lives?

I didn’t think so either. Why don’t y’all let me make some suggestions?

Here is one. She is Captain Kristen Marie Griest, of your United States Army.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here is another. She is First Lieutenant Shaye Lynne Haver of that same army.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now these two women just graduated from the United States Army Ranger School and they would make fine roles models. At least it seems so to me.

 

At any rate, don’t y’all be messing around with either one of them. And have a good day.

“Well,” he said, after I had looked it over, “reckon it would offend anybody?”

“Only just about everybody,” I said. “But what the heck?”

Please click some ads. I worked hard on this for you.

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