369. Poetic Justice

Well, he was a pretty good imitation of the kid Anthony in the famous Twilight Zone episode called It’s a good life. Only he had orange hair for some reason. It was going to be a long morning. As the sky lightened, I thought of all the sunrise services that folks were attending this Easter morning, at least the true believers among the Christians. But I had to deal with Anthony, or C.W. if you prefer.

He was reading from a book and taking notes. Oh, and he was muttering to himself. He looked up as I walked in, pointed his pen at me, and said, “I don’t like poetry. Poetry is a bad thing and I don’t like it.”

“Oh,” I said. “What don’t you like about it?”

”I don’t like things that make no sense to me.” He pointed to a section of his book. “What does this mean when it says, ‘April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the barren sterile land,’ for goodness sake?”

“I think it says breeding lilacs out of the dead land.”

“That’s what I said. I don’t like it when people disagree with me. I can read for myself.”

I started to say something catty in return but a feeling came over me. “It’s good,” I said, “that you can read for yourself.”

“So, tell me what it means.”

“I think,” I said, “the author is referring to the ancient belief that the earth died in the winter, and had to be coaxed back to life in order to be reborn in the spring, reborn by the shedding of blood, human sacrifices in fact, hence the reference to cruelty. The poem was also written not long after a world war in which over 17 million people died. Quite a shedding of blood in order to renew the earth.”

“I don’t like it when your species sheds blood for no reason,” he said.

“It’s good that you don’t like it,” I said.

“How did they do it? This shedding of blood to make the earth come alive?” He paused. “That’s a pretty silly idea, isn’t it?”

“Very,” I said. “It probably seemed less silly to those who weren’t shedding the blood. But, to answer your question, there were countless ways. Sometimes they sacrificed a beautiful young virgin girl, sometimes a virile, handsome young man. Sometimes they had men fight to the death, and the winner was king until a younger man came along and dispatched him.”

“That’s stupid,” he said. “I don’t like that at all.”

“It’s good that you don’t like it,” I said.

“Are you making fun of me? I don’t like it when people make fun of me.” He pointed a small finger at me. “You’re a bad man, a very bad man, and your species is very bad.”

Seeking to divert his attention, I said, “Well, we don’t sacrifice virgins these days. We’re much too sophisticated for that. We don’t make men fight to the death, either. Why don’t you quit reading poetry for a while? Go talk to my wife about something.”

“She won’t talk to me,” he said. “She’s watching something on her television set about very young girls in something called a ‘beauty pageant,’ and she’s upset and angry. She said something about sending me to a place called 'the cornfield' if I bothered her.”

 

People who enjoy killing other
people are bad, very bad. - C.W.

See also www.wattensawpress.com
www.allhatnocattle.net
and click some ads, C.W. needs books.

“Oh,” I said. “Then maybe you can watch the one in here.”

“Good,” he said, “Let’s watch that show about wrestling.”

“I don’t like shows about wrestling.”

He turned on me and pointed. “I don’t like it when you won’t watch wrestling with me.”

“It’s good that we watch wrestling,” I said.

Morning Thoughts: Explanations

C.W. and I were talking …

“Did you hear the latest from Sean Spicer,” his left head said.

“Oh yes,” I said. “About Adolph Hitler never using gas on his enemies?”

“That one," he said. "Do you have an explanation?”

“No,” I said, “I don’t. It is quite unbelievable that one human being, so incompetent, could have a job at all, much less one with national prominence.”

The right head started giggling.

“What’s with it?” I asked the other two.

The right one looked puzzled, and said. “Don’t you know?”

“Know what?”

“All the Nichtacraniems are like that.”

“The what?”

“After all,” left head said, “they are from the Farstonian Galaxy. It’s not like they are in what you would call the mainstream of cosmic society.”

“You mean …?” I tried to assemble my thoughts.

“You thought he was one of you?” Middle head looked at me in disbelief. Right head giggled again. "He certainly doesn't hold his species in high regard," he said to the other two. They both guffawed.

“But, but, how?” I said. “How did he get in with this new president?”

Right head shook back and forth. “Do you mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“The Nichtacraniems and the Penceldikeons always hang out together. Nobody else in the Universe will have anything to do with them.”

Don't worry. I hear he is going home. - C.W.

368. Ratings

 Sometimes C.W. likes to torment folks, on purpose. Take this morning. He shows up in the form of one of my least favorite people on the planet, Bill O'Reilly. I wasn't bothering a soul, just reading an article about my country’s entry into World War One. I looked up and there he sat.

“Mornin’ Sport,” he said. “Thought I’d stop by. Been a good week, eh?”

Silence.

“I’ve felt real good this week,” he said. “You should have too. Your state, Arkansas, has made the world news. I’m even recommending it for a Fox News Civic Responsibility Award.”

“What for?”

“We’ll call the coverage, ‘Eight Empty Cells,’ and we expect a big sweep in the ratings. We’re working arm in arm with your governor.”

"Oh no. Are you referring to …?’

“You got it, your state is planning to whack eight condemned prisoners in ten days. ‘Eight In Ten,’ as your governor terms it. We plan to have that printed on souvenir fan hands, along with ‘Arkansas Is Number One In Somethng.’ Can't you just see all those big fingers poking toward the sky?”

“I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Just the thought of all those excited folks makes you feeling like grabbing for joy, doesn’t it?

“You can ask Joy about that, but eight executions in ten days doesn’t seem like a cause for celebration to me.”

“Are you kidding? There hasn’t been the chance for ‘pub’ like this since Hillary Clinton got caught in bed with that dead girl scout.”

“Hillary Clinton didn’t get caught in bed with a dead girl scout.”

“Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. Our team covered it for over a month.”

“So, you see some chance for high ratings in this … this … this, ‘execution euphoria,’ as some are calling it? How will the people at your network contain their excitement?”

“Depends.”

“Uh, … on what?”

“Your people.”

“My people?”

“Yes. We’ve heard that your governor is having trouble attracting enough fans for the show.”

“Fans?”

“Oh, the liberals call them witnesses. On Fox, we call them fans. Anyway, last we heard, not enough people have signed up to watch, even with our inducement package.”

“Inducement package?”

“Oh yes. We’re offering chances to draw for souvenir cotton swabs. The ones they use to swab the condemned's skin with alcohol before they insert the needles.” He paused. “What’s the matter? You look pale.”

I said nothing.

“We’re also considering a ‘Seconds to Flat-Line’ pool. Big prize to the winner. We think this association between our network and your state will set a new, and a much higher standard, for public-private partnerships, in addition to helping me personally.”

“You? How?”

“Diverting attention away from some things and toward others.”

“How so?”

He seemed to be groping for an answer. “They tell me I’ve written a new book and it’s about to be published. Anyway, your state is on a roll publicity-wise.”

“The eight in ten isn’t enough?”

 

Franklin Graham is insisting that we
include some women in the next eight. - C.W.

“Oh, no, there’s the fellow who shot one of his balls off fiddling with his pistol while trying to walk down a hotel corridor. Oh, and don’t forget about Bill Clinton getting arrested for cashing hot checks.”

“Bill Clinton didn’t get arrested for anything."

"Did too.”

“Did not.”

“Did too. How many times do I have to tell you that you watch the wrong news channel? You missed our entire series about Barack Obama being a secret cross-dresser. And you didn’t even know about President Trump healing all those crippled children. What’s the matter?”

“Eight in ten.”

“Ain’t it great? Your state was it dire need of some favorable publicity since the Central High furor died down.”

Just then, a female voice roared from the kitchen and I turned toward it, “Tell that son-of-a-bitch I’m coming in there,” it said, “and, if he has any ideas, I have a ruler in my hand that I haven’t used since I taught grade school.”

When I turned around, he was gone.

Also check out www.allhatnocattle.com

And buy Big Dope's book at Amazon

or  www.wattensawpress.com .

Morning Thoughts: Distractions …

C.W. and I were talking …

“Amazing,” I said. “Simply amazing.”

He raised one of his heads from the newspaper it was reading and looked at me. It was the leftmost head, the one designed primarily for data retrieval. “What’s so amazing?”

“You’re reading the paper,” I said. “What do you see?”

“That your species has an uncommon fondness for handguns,” he said. The middle head, the one designed for logical analysis, nodded. “And PTSD.”

“What?”

“Personal telecommunication screen devices,” he said. “What you do without them?”

“You could ask Albert Einstein that,” I said, “if he were still alive.”

“Oh,” said the head on the right. “I think they are so precious.” He, of course, follows the emotional path. He held up his own cell phone to show us a picture of a cat striding back and forth on a piano with the opening lines of “The Moonlight Sonata” patched in as a soundtrack. “Have you ever seen anything so cute in your life?”

“My point exactly,” I said. “What are you reading about this morning?” I asked Left Head.

“Murder, war, hatred, distrust, partisanship, anarchy, genocide, and the obstruction of all altruistic tendencies. Normal stuff for your species.”

“Analysis?” I said to Middle Head.

“Your species is on the eve of destruction.”

I turned to Right Head. “Other than cute cats, what does your PTSD tell you?”

“Most everybody is exercised over some basketball game, whatever that is. That has even pushed the waltzing kittens and the belching puppies off.”

“See,” I asked Left Head. “How amazing it is that, with all that’s going on, a basketball game is our chief topic of conversation?”

He shrugged. “I only report. You’re the decider.”

"I think we have our collective heads in the sand."

“I don’t agree with your conclusion,” Middle Head said. “With all the negativity, your species needs a distraction. Why not let them have a basketball game? Better than a human sacrifice. It sooths them and takes their minds away from fear and loathing, except for the other team and those men in striped shirts, whoever they are.”

“Not so fast,” said Right Head. “I think your species is on the verge of being distracted to death. Want to hear about an experiment I carried out the other day?”

“Sure.”

“You know that college where you teach?”

“Of course.”

“I walked all the way across it in the shape of that wrestling man they call The Relatively Hard, Naturally Occurring Mineral.”

I thought. “Do you mean ‘The Rock?’”

“Isn’t that what I said?”

“Sure. Go ahead.”

“Well,” he said with utmost gravity. “The Rock walked all the way across campus buck naked and how many students noticed, do you think?”

“I’d hate to guess.”

“One,” he said. “And he just looked up, sniffed, said ‘far out, man,’ and kept walking.”

“Maybe you should have tried Beyoncé,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “I bounced, wiggled, strutted, and skipped. Tried everything. Not a soul would look up. The PTSD was just too strong.”

“None of you are making me feel better.”

"We thought you would enjoy our 'Change the Shape' game," Middle Head said.

“I have a question,” Right Head said.”

“Okay.”

“What’s the vapors?”

“The what?”

“The vapors. That’s what Mrs. Big Dope said she had when I walked in as Matthew McConaughey.”

That created a smile.

“That’s better,” Right Head said. “How’d you like to meet Charlize Theron?”

Hey! Maybe the day wouldn’t turn out so bad after all. After all, beauty trumps fear and loathing.

If he won't get your attention,
what will? - C.W.

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 .