186. Myths

I found C.W. in my favorite chair surrounded by piles of paper. He was in his “college professor” form, complete with corduroy pants, sweater, and bow tie. He was frantically scribbling notes.

“What’s up, Galactic Wonder?” I said.

“Shut up. I’m busy.”

“My,” I said. “Aren’t we being a good example of interstellar love today?”

“Sorry,” he said. “I have a matter or situation regarded as unwelcome or harmful and needing to be dealt with and overcome.”

“Hmmm.” I said. “Sounds like you have a problem.”

“Why do you repeat what I say so often?” He wrote furiously and then looked up.

I said, “So what’s your problem?”

“I’m in trouble with the Elders.”

“The Falloonian Elders?”

“Who else?”

“So,” I said. “Did they find out about your experiments with the ‘wacky weed’ and your secret stash of Twinkies?” (Sweets make him as silly as martinis make me).

“No,” he said. “They have accused me of confusing facts with allegories.”

“They found out that I really can’t walk on water?”

He sighed. “It all started with this,” he said. He rummaged in the stack of papers and retrieved a newspaper clipping. He held it before me and I read that 60 percent of Americans believe the Biblical account of Noah’s Ark and the universal flood is literally true.

“And?”

“They say I must learn that, with your species, statistics like this are meant as allegories.”

“Allegories?”

“Yes, their purpose is to present universal lessons, in this case the tendency of your species to prove points with mythical statistics.”

“And the point here is?”

“They think it has something to do with your love of the printed word and its almost magical effect on your sense of homeostasis.”

“So the statistics are not meant to illustrate actual occurrences?”

“Give me an interrupt,” he said.

“Uh, you mean ‘give me a ‘break,’” I said.

“There you go again.”

“So you don’t really think anyone believes that two of every species of life on the planet, with the necessary food and water for more than a month’s captivity, fit on a wooden vessel 400 feet long?”

“Don’t you have something to do?” he said.

“Oh,” I said, “my job today is to have fun and I’m doing it.”

He groaned. “Well, at least help me.” He thrust a pile of papers into my hands. “Find me something that I can use in my report to show them that they may be correct in assuming you, that is your species, uses statistical references in a purely allegorical sense.”

It seems to me that you view statistics as a
 bunch of monkeys in a tree. Get them down and
treat them right, they'll do anything you want. - C.W.

“Doesn’t that go against your position?”

“One never wants to urinate the Falloonian Elders off.”

“Quite right,” I said as I began rummage. It only took a second. “Here’s something. You know of course that there are more than 350,000 separate species of beetles on earth.”

He grabbed if from my hand and read. His entire face brightened. “Thanks,” he said. And then he began to copy the following.

There is a story, possibly apocryphal, of the distinguished British biologist, J.B.S. Haldane, who found himself in the company of a group of theologians. On being asked what one could conclude as to the nature of the Creator from a study of his creation, Haldane is said to have answered, “An inordinate fondness for beetles.”

Incarceration

Dear Friends and Followers:

Today I find myself confused over your criminal justice system again. On Falloonia, in those rare instances in which we must incarcerate non-conforming units, it is usually for some awful lapse that threatens stability of the species such goobukasezet. (Editor’s  note: a Falloonian phrase not quite translatable but being a combination of a failure to use the logic module and a waste of public expenditures).

Anyway, I am sorely confused about your incarceration of people for what I call G and G, that is to say: giggling and gorging.

Yes, I am talking about the affinity of some of your species to smoke a plant called cannabis sativa, pot, grass, cần sa, etc.

Its greatest effect seems to be that it causes continuous giggling and a wild propensity to eat any food in sight.

Now I ask you, isn't this the kind of person
who might benefit from a few puffs? - C.W.

The Falloonian Elders have directed me to ask: wouldn’t it be a more rational approach simply to provide the plant free to dour, underweight units?

Your Pal,

C.W.

185. Choices

This time it was I who was in a quandary. I think C.W. sensed this for he showed up in the form and dress of a workman, someone who knew about home repairs. That was the sort of help I desired.

It was like this. I needed to have some repairs done on our downtown condominium. They involved a good bit of money so I didn’t want to make a mistake in the hiring of a tradesman. So, I consulted C.W. He seemed willing to help as always, and that is not always a good sign.

“Thing is, “I said, “I have narrowed it to two choices. Actually, there are only two contractors that do this sort of work in the building.”

“And?” He assumed a rather pedantic tone.

“Well, there is Donnie. He comes highly recommended. He is very knowledgeable about construction techniques. He has experience, and is extremely thoughtful and courteous. He truly seems to have the best interest of the client in mind.”

“And?”

“There is Ralph. His work is spotty and inconsistent. Management has a problem with his neglecting to clean up after his work.”

“And?”

“He is rude to his clients at times, particularly to female clients. There are also some rumors that he has broken things and not taken responsibility.”

“And?”

“There is a general feeling that he doesn’t seem to care much about his work.”

“And?”

“That’s all. Those are my choices.”

“Choices?” he said. “It seems pretty obvious to me. Donnie is your man.”

“There is one problem,” I said.

“And?”

“I know for a fact that Donnie believes in capital punishment.”

“And?”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t?”

“No. I think it is a barbaric custom and we should outlaw it as most civilized countries have.”

“And?”

“I can’t see my way clear to hiring a man who believes in capital punishment.”

He took a moment to think. Then he looked at me with that stare he uses when our species has truly confused him. He said, “May I ask you a question?”

“Certainly,” I said.

“Just what the hell does his belief in criminal justice have to do with working on your condo?”

“I just can’t select someone who doesn’t believe the way I do.”

“Even when they are otherwise qualified far above the other choice?”

“You just don’t understand how much this single issue means to me,” I said. “I guess it sounds bizarre to you.”

“No,” he said. “In fact it seems to be the way a great number of your species selects a political candidate.”

That set me back on my heels and I couldn’t answer.

“Did it ever occur to you,” he said, “that in working together you might understand better why he feels the way he does?”

Choosing wisely seems to be a job that
confuses a great many of your species. - C.W.

I still had no answer.

He continued. “Or,” he said, “have you considered the possibility that exposure to your fine example might cause him to modify his position? And in the meantime, you would be benefiting from quality work.”

“But,” I said, “he believes in capital punishment.”

Problems

Dear Friends and Followers:
One of the things that troubles me about your species is your approach to problem solving. For an example, let’s look at a recent problem that a part of your country is having with its drinking water. It seems that an unregulated (at least since 1991) chemical plant has leaked toxic chemicals into the river that supplies drinking water to a large area in your state of West Virginia. Here is the problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Now, it is my understanding that the voters of that state usually narrow their focus to a single issue when choosing politicians to care for their people. To illustrate this, here is the proposed solution to the problem.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately, as I understand it, the river has not yet complied with the demands of the Purification Committee.

The Alien C.W.