221: Be Very Afraid

“We have to wake Mrs. Big Dope up.” C.W. came running in a little while ago with this bizarre proposal.

“Say what?”

“She’s got to start sewing.” He had a portfolio of drawings under his arm and looked exactly like an excited Norman Rockwell, complete with pipe. “We’re going to have abundant possessions.”

“You mean we’re going to be rich?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Oh no,” I said. “Not again.”

He clenched his pipe between his teeth. “Can’t miss this time. Want in?”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll bite. What’s going to make us abundantly blessed this time?”

“Halloween costumes,” he said, pointing to his drawings. “I have all the designs right here.”

“Halloween costumes?” I took a deep breath.

“Just in time for the elections.”

“What have the elections got to do with Halloween?” I said. This was taking an ominous turn.

“Synergy,” he said, “that’s the interaction or cooperation of two or more organizations, substances, or other agents to produce a combined effect greater than the sum of their separate effects …”

“I know what synergy is,” I said, “but how does it link Halloween and the elections?”

He looked at me as if I had just asked why the sky gets dark at night. “Fear,” he said. “Haven’t you heard? Fear is the dominant campaign theme of our party.”

“Your party,” I said.

“Whatever,” he said. “We’ve got white people shaking in their boots with fear and my idea will cinch it.”

“C.W.,” I said. “Sometimes you disappoint me.”

“Lookit,” he said, pulling a sheet from his packet. It was a drawing of a costume made to look like President Barack Obama in a mullah outfit holding a sword and bloody head in one hand and a candy bag in the other that said “Give me your riches, or else.”

“Christ,” I said, “Put that thing away.”

He let it fall to the floor and retrieved another. It was a drawing of a costume that would fit over a young child and resulted in a seven-foot likeness of Michael Brown with a sign that said, “Give me your daughter, or die.”

“Clever, eh?” he said.

“Disgusting,” I said.

This time he looked a little disappointed, but he discarded it and pulled out another. It was a girl’s outfit this time—a red dress, high-heeled red shoes, and a Nancy Pelosi mask. She was holding a big beaker labelled “Ebola juice. Will trade for candy.”

“Out,” I said. “Out. And don’t return until you’ve come to your senses.”

“But wait,” he said, “you haven’t seen ‘Hillary Viper’ or ‘Pit Bull Biden’ or ‘Creepy Crawley Carter’ or “Rob A Manwewill’ or ..”

“Out,” I said.

"From ghoulies and ghosties and long leggety

beasties and things that go bump in the night,

 Good Lord, deliver us!" - Scottish Prayer

Said to be one of the oldest examples of your

written English language. - C.W.

I guess I yelled it this time for a voice came from the next room, “You two better quieten down in there,” it said, “I’m working on a project.”

“She’ll be on my side,” C.W. said. Then he yelled out in his sweetest voice. “Whatcha working on, Mizz BD?”

“An idea for a Halloween costume,” she said.

“See,” he said, smirking at me, “she’ll be my partner in this.” The he yelled back. “I’ll bet it’s a good one,” he said. “What do you call it?”

“Bawling Boehner Bones,” she yelled back.

 

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220. Simplicity

He burst into the room as if the house was on fire. “I’ve got it,” he said. “I need your help.”

My goodness but he was excited. He had assumed his Reggie the Young Conservative shape and was wearing a silk shirt, bowtie, and chinos, set off by white buck lace-ups and argyle socks.

“Calm down,” I said. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” he said. “Political campaigns, that’s what's up. We can’t lose.”

Oh no. We had been through this before. He is constantly thinking up new ways for politicians to be elected. It fascinates him that we elect leaders the way we do. He calls it “institutionalized trickery.”

“So,” I said. “What is it this time?”

“Controlled Response and Simple Solutions,” he said. “How’s that as the name of my new consulting firm?”

Sounds crass,” I said. “How does it work?”

“I got the idea from one of your people who is a holder of or a candidate for an elected office.”

“They aren’t my ‘politicians,’ by any stretch of the imagination,” I said. “but go ahead.”

“Your species loves simple solutions to complex problems,” he said. “It is a symptom of undeveloped cognitive systems.”

“You mean we’re stupid?”

“No,” he said, “you just act stupid. But don’t let’s change the subject.”

“Let us not,” I said. He was beginning to annoy me.

“A person on parole from one of your penal institutions commits a crime,” he said.

“Yes, and?”

“One of your politicians offers a solution. Just eliminate parole.”

“Seems I heard that. I don’t think he has thought that through completely.”

“Of course not,” he said.”That’s the combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight, of my method.”

“The ‘beauty’ of your method is cynical,” I said.

“Exactly. Now name a major problem facing your species.”

“Poverty”

“Now, here’s what we will do. Put all the poor people in your country to work making pizzas.”

“And?”

“That’s it. No more poor people and everyone has all the pizza they want.”

“How about the resulting obesity problem?”

“Free motorized wheelchairs.”

“What about other health problems?”

“More churches. The state will build them.”

“More churches?”

“Sure, lack of faith is the cause of illness. We don’t need health care. Just more churches.”

It was useless. Still, I was intrigued so I played along. “What about the growing army of terrorists lined up against us?”

“Haven’t you heard?” he said. “We kill them all.”

“Uh,” I said. “We’ve been trying that for 14 years.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t seem to be working.”

“We’ll arm our drones with ‘mini-nukes’ and watch them scatter like cockroaches while we show them our love.” He smiled. “Similes and metaphors come free with my consulting.”

If your species really believed the world was complex,
you would only elect smart people to office. - C.W.

I rose to leave. “I’ve got things to do,” I said. “They are predicting a vicious winter on account of global climate change.”

“Cute kittens,” he said. “Your species is crazy about cute kittens.”

“I don’t get it.”

“How can you worry about approaching climatic catastrophes while you are videoing cute kittens?”

I thought I heard it thunder somewhere far away.

 

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- C.W.

 

 

219. Transgressions

“You use a mug instead of a cup and saucer for your coffee.”

“Say what?”

“A cup and saucer is more appropriate. Someone who is supposed to be the head of the household should maintain decorum and you don’t.”

“C.W.,” I said, “don’t f … mess with me in the morning before I have had said coffee. And why do you look like that O'Reilly guy on TV, what’s his name?”

“Why do you call people by their last name only? Doesn’t that show disrespect? You certainly don’t act like a leader to me.”

It was hopeless. I drank my coffee in silence. He had started in early this morning for some reason. Anything I did, even the slightest gesture was grounds for disapprobation. It was annoying, even by C.W.’s standards.

“The fact that you didn’t answer me means you agree,” he said.

“Don’t you have a report to work on or something?”

“I suppose you are going to wear that awful cap today.” He was relentless.

“What cap?”

“The one that has ‘Vietnam Veteran” on the front.”

“I may. Why?”

“It’s old and dirty and it brands you.”

“Brands me as what?”

“A loser. Your kind lost that war. A leader wouldn’t advertise that he was part of it.”

“You are beginning to annoy me.”

“Ronald Reagan never got annoyed at anything.”

“Except the Constitution.”

“There you go again. Disrespecting those past middle age or characteristic of later life.”

“You may never reach the status of ‘elderly’ if you keep it up.”

He didn’t miss a beat, just said, “I suppose you want to take the day off.”

“If it pleases you.”

“With so much to be done, you want to take the day off? That is unmanly.”

“Have you been analyzing the liquor cabinet again?”

“So what do you intend to do?”

I took a deep breath, counted to ten, and said, “If it is any of your business, I thought I might read.”

“George W. Bush didn’t waste his time reading.”

Oh, the temptation was there, but I took another breath. “Mind telling me what you are planning now?”

He seemed pleased with the question. “A job.”

“With whom? What kind of job?”

“In comedy, on this TV network, named after a small wild animal that is related to dogs and that has a long pointed nose and a bushy tail.”

“Fox ‘News,’ I said.

“That’s what I said.”

I ignored him. And what exactly will be your title?”

“Transgressionater.”

“Transgressionater?”

“Yes. They have several openings. My job is to monitor every move, even the slightest, that the President makes.”

The light began to shine. “And turn each slightest move into a …”

“Transgression,” he said. “The people have a right to know. Isn’t that great?” He actually saluted.

“I think I’ll have another cup of coffee.”

He beamed. “Too much coffee causes a leader to make snap decisions from a part of the alimentary canal, you know?”

“And speaking of the ‘gut,’ your Galactic Universal Translator …”

Wear a brown suit? Why a man might as well
invade the wrong country to start a war. - C.W.

“I know,” he said, “you think it needs adjusting. But I trust my GUT and besides.”

“Besides what?”

“It reflects poorly on a leader to demean a simple investigative reporter.”

Coffee. That was my only hope, more coffee.

Click on an ad. It helps us and it costs them money.
And check out www.wattensawpress.com  - C.W.

218. Reactions

“Know what I would do if I wanted to destroy your country?” It was a strange question, even from C.W. who had assumed the form of Edward R.Murrow as we walked the park together. I laughed watching him try to smoke a cigarette. I don’t think they do that on the planet of Falloonia. He finished one and flipped the butt at a passing bicyclist.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “And how would you destroy us?”

“Just think,” he said. “What is your greatest natural tendency?”

“Loving our neighbors?”

He laughed. “Try telling that to them.” He gestured toward two men ahead of us, holding hands and enjoying a walk in the park.”

“So,” I said, “what do you think is our greatest natural tendency?”

“Wanerwopsoomasoon,” he said, lapsing into Falloonian.”

“Translation, please.”

He placed a hand on his stomach and waited for his Galactic Universal Translator to respond.”

“Your tendency to react with unnecessary or inappropriate force, emotional display, or violence.”

“What?”

“Overreaction.”

I said, “You must be kidding me. We don’t overreact.”

“Yes you do,” he said. “Our whole galaxy has observed the phenomenon.”

“You are crazy,” I said. “Crazy.”

“Didn’t you observe, back in what you call the 1960s, how those in the Civil Rights Movement succeeded in provoking repressive law enforcement members into violence that then appeared on national TV?”

“That was different,” I said.

“How?” He lit another cigarette.

I fumed. “Just different.”

“What about the reaction resulting in your invasion of the wrong country when a group of Saudi Arabians attacked yours?”

“That was stupidity,” I yelled. “Not overreaction.”

“A fine point to those in Baghdad that were dodging the bombs that awful morning.” He took a long drag, coughed, and exhaled. “To them it was overreaction, whether you like it or not.” He raised the cigarette again.

“Bullshit,” I screamed and I knocked the cigarette from his mouth. It skidded on the sidewalk as the couple ahead of us turned to observe the commotion. He just smiled as realization must have settled upon me.

“Exactly,” was all he said.

I changed the subject. “So what would you do to destroy us?”

“First,” he said, “I would invent an imaginary insult that some small country has leveled against you.”

“A small country?”

“Yes. It would be much more profitable to attack a small country, but it would be a small country that had many powerful friends.”

“But it would be a lie.”

He looked at me as if I had just said I didn’t believe in the Theory of Gravity. “We would create our own truth.”

“And how exactly,” I said, “would you do that?”

“Oh I would get a couple of wealthy foreigners who hated your country for some real or imagined sin.”

“What?” I said. “Who?”

“Oh, maybe an Australian or a Saudi Arabian. There are plenty.”

“And then what?”

“Go into the information manipulation business.”

“The what?”

“TV, radio, newspapers, magazines.

“Wait a moment,” I said.

He ignored me. “It wouldn’t take long to work your people into overreaction. They are a passionate race, mostly undereducated, and largely uniformed.”

“Would you wait a moment?” I said.

The bombing of a city shows
 so well on TV. - C.W.

“And then I imagine we would hire voices that had never been to war that would start clamoring for one.”

“Please stop,” I said.

“I know,” he said, reaching for a cigarette. “It is a frightful fantasy.” He began to cough.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. I looked and saw the couple ahead was coming to see about us.

 

 

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 - C.W.

First lines

Friends, I hacked into Big Dope’s computer again and found where he is trying to start a new novel. I suspect it is somewhat autobiographical. He has made notes of some of his favorite opening lines, to wit:

“Call me Ishmael”

“Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own

way.”

“I am an invisible man.”

“You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter.”

“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendía

was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to
discover ice.”

“Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning, without

having done anything truly wrong, he was arrested.”

“Mother died today.”

“If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to

know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how
my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David
Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to
know the truth.”

“Elmer Gantry was drunk.”

You better not never tell nobody but God.

“‘To be born again,’ sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens,

‘first you have to die.’"

“In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some

advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since.”

“It was a pleasure to burn.”

“He was an old man who fished alone in a skiff in the Gulf Stream and he

had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish.”

“Ships at a distance have every man's wish on board.”

“For a long time, I went to bed early.”

“All this happened, more or less.”

“I am a sick man . . . I am a spiteful man.”

“Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them

hitting.”

“Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that

station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.”

“Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow

coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along
the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo.”

“It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.”

 Pretty nice, eh? Well get a load of some that Big Dope is considering:

 “There are some things, like a long, nasty Southern Comfort puke on a hot summer night, that can change a person’s life forever.”

“The first time she ever said ‘I love you,’ was one minute to the second after he went down on her and many years later he realized she might have been unduly influenced.”

“‘Heilige Scheiße,’ the Commandant yelled as he grasped the arms of his chair, adding in English, “maybe you are the master race.”

Personally, I think J.J. (I call him "J.J." and he calls me "The
thing we fear") would find it appalling, simply appalling. - C.W.

I don’t know, friends. What do you think?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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