Freedom

We’re having fun. The Mrs. has gone for the weekend and we are without “any adult supervision” as Big Dope puts it. First thing I did was slip into the shape of what he called “an old running buddy.” I’m not sure what that means exactly. My GUT calls it means an old pal, but I don’t think either of them could do much running these days.

First thing we did was drink milk straight out of the jug. He seemed to enjoy it more than I did. He’s been walking around in his underwear and playing You Tube videos of banjo players real loud. He’s not happy that Mrs. Big Dope cancelled the Playboy Channel before she left. He didn’t even know it was there, he said. Claimed it must have come with some package deal.

I would question him about that, but he’s trying to slide across the living room floor like some actor did in a movie once. He’s not doing well with it. I think he’s too tall, maybe too old as well. At least the police haven’t shown like they did when he tried to play the “Star Spangled Banner” on his electric guitar. Now that was embarrassing. I don’t care who you are. I’m just glad they didn’t see his latest efforts with Photoshop. His wife would hang him from a tree like a bottle if she saw that.

Earlier, he was telling me about a cute dog they had one time named “Matthew.” It was so cute the girls would stop him on the street and want to pet it—the puppy that is. I think we’ll take the present “rescue” puppy out later. He’s trying to find two shirts that match so we can, as he puts it, “cause a minor scandal in the neighborhood.” Problem is that this puppy is not cute and she is as crazy as a Wudahfricizatt. That’s a creature the Falloonians imported from Verdaficistatt in a moment of lunacy some two billion years ago, to our lasting regret, in a moment of spite and it’s been trying to destroy the planet ever since.

You Americans understand that sort of thing.

Anyway, here he comes with our outfits. Have a nice Saturday and “Remember Pearl Harbor.” He says the attack on Pearl Harbor preserves the hope that your species might survive your own Wudahfricizatts.

History

I, (we if you prefer), sat minding my (our)  own business this morning. I was reading history. Left Head was piecing a jigsaw puzzle on a laptop, and Right Head was designing a new Idiom Distilling Intergalactic Operational Translator. As much as I caution him, he insists on having us call it our “Internal IDIOT.”

Anyway, Big Dope walks in and asks what we are doing.

“Reading history,” I said

“Exercising one-third of our brainpower,” Left Head said.

“None of your ‘coitusing’ business,” Right Head said.

He ignored that. “What history?”

“The life of Robert E. Lee.”

Big Dope smirked. “As a cautionary tale?”

I ignored him. “I like him,” Left Head said.

“Why? Don’t you know he once had 15,000 men make a suicidal assault on an entrenched position in an attempt to preserve slavery? And now some in our state celebrate his birthday?”

“I like his sense of humor,” Left Head said.

“Sense of humor? Robert E. Lee?”

“Yeah,” Right Head said. “He referred to his little slave children as his "ebony mites." How could we not celebrate the birthday of a man with such a sense of humor?”

That got us rid of Big Dope for a while.

Miss-Speaking

As usual, Big Dope has caused me a problem. I'm not sure I'll ever understand Earthlings. How, you might ask, did this one occur? It happened this way.

We were in our weekly what he calls "personality improvement project." This one centered on establishing conversations with strangers, you know, being a conversant person. He was stressing how someone should "genuinely interested in the other person."

I'm not, usually, but I played along.

"Don't," he said, "do your usual thing and start explaining space travel dynamics to strangers."

"Why not? They need to know about it."

"Simply show an interest in them. Say for example, a stranger in a waiting room comments on the bad weather we're having."

"Okay," I said. "That's an excellent opportunity for me to explain how the natural thermodynamic meteorological boundaries are collapsing due to climate change and allowing the polar vortex to sweep down upon previously protected areas."

"Uh. No."

"Why not?"

"That will clash with what they believe from their favorite TV show."

"So what then?"

"Ask a followup question. Maybe, 'Oh did you have plans for today that depended on good weather''?

"Why should I care about their plans?"

"You don't. You're just trying to be friendly."

We then had a long discussion on the topic of followup questions. That's what caused the problem. I explained it to him after the police left. Here's what happened.

With all the new training in my head, and shaped like a young businessman with a mustache and short beard, I entered the elevator in their condo building. A very nice lady was there. I nodded and we descended. What I didn't know was that we were descending into Conversation-Hell.

As we neared the ground floor, she nodded my way and said, "Have a nice day."

All I said back was, "Would you really like to see me have a nice day?"

Behaving

This morning I was shaped like the young Sean Connery, waiting to surprise Mrs. Big Dope when she came into the kitchen. I think she likes surprises like that.

Anyway, she caught Big Dope involved in some major transgression in the living room and was doing what she calls "reading him the Riot Act." Not sure what that means but it seems to work most times.

Not this morning. He was ready with what he calls his "Biblical Defense." I heard hims say, "My ways ain't your ways."

Well guess what? They are now. Excuse me for a moment …

"Bond, James Bond."

Behavior

Sometimes I don’t understand how Mr. and Mrs. Big Dope have stayed married for so long. Take television for example. He mostly, as I've written, likes old movies, documentaries about descent through natural selection, and stories proving what a bad man Adolph Hitler was. You know, doing things like lying to his people, surrounding himself with the worst Germany had to offer, destroying the free press, and turning people’s wrath against those he didn’t like. Somehow, he got away with it.

She, on the other hand, likes movies where men get what’s coming to them. Where men don't get away with it. She especially likes films where scoundrels who have devastated the Universe for years encounter a band of brave heroes who bring peace to whatever galaxy or time-warp they are operating in. The exception is, when Big Dope pulls one of his stupid stunts, she watches films about wives who chop up their husbands with axes. That usually exacts a redemptive influence on him. She also maintains a small shrine to someone I’ve not heard of before … a certain Lorena Bobbitt. Perhaps some reader can help me determine who she was. Big Dope knows, but he won't say.

This morning he and I are watching something he likes called Film Noir. The name, my Galactic Universal Translator tells me, means “film black” or “black film.” I don’t understand because the actors are all white. Anyway, I’ve shifted into Sidney Greenstreet, the heavily overweight actor who appears in this week’s film, The Mask of Dimitrios. Big Dope provided chips and soda for the occasion.

Just as the plot unfolded, Mrs. Big Dope walked through and warned me not to break the couch down or get crumbs on it or there will be, as she put it, beaucoup de destruction. Big Dope ignored her, but my GUT tells me that I’d better start reducing.