Morning Thoughts: Crime

C.W. and I were talking …

He reminded me that the governor of my state had decided to execute eight prisoners within a few days of one another. He had scant reason to remind me, but I expect he knew that already.

This was true, the plans for executions, but what was his point?

He was on a fact-finding mission for the Fallonian Elders and wanted a typical Earthling's take on this practice of executing criminals.

There really is no such thing as a typical Earthling's response, at least not an American Earthling's. but, he pressured me into offering mine. So, here goes.

I’m like an author I read once, Paul Theroux I think it was, who considered capital punishment at length and came to mixed conclusions. It's hard to make a "bright-line" statement.

I feel there are monsters who have no right to live in civilized society. But having watched multiple episodes of “Investigation Discovery” on TV, I know that equal punishment under the law is a major failing of our judicial system.

For example, I’ve seen two almost identical episodes. In the first, a man stalked his ex-wife, shot her, chased her into a neighbor’s home, found her, and executed her. In the second, a man stalked his ex-wife, broke into her home and executed her with her baby in bed beside her. The first man was executed by the state for his crime. The second was placed into some rehabilitation program and later, owing no doubt to some undisclosed political connection, was pardoned by Mississippi governor Haley Barbour, allowing the man to walk the streets today.

It’s not always easy to spot the monsters.

There are, in my opinion, heinous crimes that not only go unpunished but enjoy the praise and approval of many Americans. Consider the awesome abomination of infecting a young child’s mind with the primal fear of eternal damnation and unbearable torture in a fiery pit.

How about a politician, who, for no defensible reason, orders bombs to rain down on a peaceful city one morning? How about the scene from the Michael Moore documentary of a father running through those bombs carrying his son who had obviously soiled his pants from shear terror?

How about the politician who hides behind his or her Bible but orders the destruction of a planet that his or her god has provided for the comfort and solace of all creatures? People who stage fights between innocent animals, or a person who shoots them for pleasure and cuts off their tails for souvenirs? People who cheat the elderly out of their life savings? People who turn their head aside and approve dangerous products or conditions to enhance profits? People who preach morality for the poor from the comfort of a warm room and a full belly? And so it goes on and on, day after day.

I’ll support capital punishment on the day I feel I can fully identify the monsters.

What is the appropriate punishment
for damaging this young mind? - C.W.

Morning Thoughts

C.W. and I were talking …

“Know what happened 44 years ago, today?” I asked.

“You probably made Mrs. Big Dope mad about something.”

“Well, probably,” I said, “I do have a talent, but no. On this day in 1973, the United States left Vietnam after having front-line troops there for over eight years, of which over 50,000 were killed.”

“So folks were happy it was over?”

“Some people were. Many corporations, which are now considered people, weren’t.”

“Did you go to the victory parade?”

“Uh,” I said, “there were no victory parades.”

“Wasn’t there a famous photograph of a sailor kissing a woman? I always thought that might have been you.”

“No, that was World War Two.”

“Didn’t they make a big sign out of painted rocks at the Golden Gate in San Francisco, saying ‘Welcome Home Boys’ or something like that?”

“No, that was World War Two.”

“Didn’t Bing Crosby record a famous song for you?”

“No, that was World War Two.”

“Well they had to do something for you. What was it?

“They pretended we didn’t exist.”

“I guess that was something. Your species tends to pull some strange stunts from time to time. At least your government learned something from the experience.”

I said nothing.

“Well, didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, “it learned that it is easier to wage wars and send young people to die in them if you don’t have to draft them first.”

Bet the company that made helicopters
hated to see this come to an end. - C.W.

366. Shapes

Oh boy oh boy! It was “New Shape Saturday.” I had a fresh rum and tonic and a new cigar ready. C.W. and I were alone in the back yard of the farm and he was in high spirits. One head wore a construction hat, another a police officer’s hat, and the third a Sioux chieftain’s headdress. He, they, looked strangely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them.

Anyway.

He had chairs sat up under a tree and would disappear behind a storage building, wait a few minutes, and emerge as his new shape. I would try to guess who he represented. This is always fun, or it is sometimes. It makes my wife nauseated, so she was off visiting a friend. Hot dog! I lit my cigar and yelled, “Ready.”

A middle-aged man, well dressed in a business suit emerged and took a seat. “One hint,” he said, “TV pundit.”

“Expert?” I said.

“Very much so.”

“Education and background?”

“Bachelor’s degree in business administration and 30 years of military service.”

“Rank?”

“Went in as a second lieutenant. Came out as a major.”

“Hmm.”

“Come on,” he said, “you’ve watched the news. Make a guess. I can’t provide any more information than that.”

“I give up.”

“Expert on military affairs,” he said. "On that so-called news channel named after a wild animal."

“But you retired as only a … ,” I began, but he had already departed. “A 30-year major hardly qualifies …,” I said, mostly to myself. Then he yelled over his shoulder.

“It’s television, dummy. That’s today’s theme. Truth in television.”

A few seconds later, and a great new shape appeared. A disheveled character with a shaved head and long beard came in and sat in front of me. He had divided the beard into two prongs, each held by a rubber band. “Expert,” he said.

“Education?”

“Community college in Charleston, West Virginia. Associate’s degree in restaurant management.”

“Current job?”

“Consultant, on the cable network that you call the History Channel.”

“Previous jobs?”

“Fast food trainee programs … several.”

“You are a janitorial consultant?”

“Get serious. I’m a featured star.”

“I can’t imagine. I give up.”

He took in a breath, expelled it and said, “Scientific consultant. They identify me as a UFO expert.”

That stunned me. “So, you use your real expertise as a visiting alien to educate the viewers?”

He frowned. “Get serious. I can’t divulge that information. Educate our viewers? Jeez. I just say whatever I feel like saying. The show’s motto is ‘We make it up and you lap it up.’ Can you imagine getting paid for blowing stuff out of your …?”

I interrupted. “Now cut it out.”

“Accumulated superfluous storage,” he finished. Then he disappeared again.

A few moments later, a buxom blond with hair teased to a height of a foot above her head, and billowing across her shoulders, sashayed in and perched in front of me. She teased the front of her blouse to allow more of her ample cleavage to show, and then tried to cover her nether regions with a skirt made from no more than a yard of material. No luck. Glimpses abounded.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I doubt it.”

“That’s right, you’re wondering what I do for a living.”

“No,” I said, “I’m wondering if my wife knows about this.”

“Exactly,” she said. “You are man of the world. You’re from the big city and you married your childhood sweetheart.”

“Born and reared in the country, and I didn’t meet her until we were both grown.”

“Precisely,” she said. “And something tells me she was from the city too.”

 

I just know that all my fans would
like for this woman to advise them
on investing in the stock market. - C.W.

“A farmer’s daughter,” I said.

“That’s right,” she said. “And don’t you forget: something tells me she still dreams about getting that education she always wanted.”

“She has two college degrees.”

“Like I told you. Now,” she said, leaning back in her chair as I tried not to look. “You’re thinking that you wish I would tell you what I do. Don’t ask me how I know that. I just see things. That's all.”

“No,” I said, “I’m just hoping my wife doesn’t come home before you change shapes.”

“I knew it,” she said, “I just know things, see? That’s what they pay me for. Speaking of shapes, you are going to love this next one. It’s going to be the best shape you ever saw. It’s going to be wonderful. I have this plan, and it is a great plan, the best plan ever, to astound and amaze you with this next shape because it is going to be wonderful. And you will love it.”

I was never as happy in my life to hear my wife’s car coming down the drive.

365. Games

It was as close to walking into the living room and seeing the famous comedian Jack Benny as could be. How C.W. found out about that icon of comedy remains a mystery, but there he was.

He turned with that famous deadpan look, “Just what is this?” He turned toward the television screen.

“It’s called basketball.”

“And, the purpose? Oh wait … .” On the screen a player stopped dribbling and held the basketball squeezed above his middle, moving it back and forth. “It must be an exercise to strengthen stomach muscles.”

“No, when the player quits bouncing the ball, or dribbling as they call it, he must throw it to someone else.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Doesn’t your species worship private property possession above all?”

“It isn’t exactly his property.”

“Whose then?”

“Oh, maybe the school’s. This is a college game.”

“Oh, so it is an academic exercise to teach decision making skills?”

“Maybe. Sort of.”

“What do you call these students?”

“Players.”

“They come to college to study game theory?”

“They actually come to college to win these games for the school.”

“Why?”

“Uh, prestige, honor, fame, the sort of things that encourage rich men to make donations to the school.”

He turned and did the deadpan again. “You’re telling me that rich men turn loose of their money for things like this? That’s going to come as a surprise to all those hopeful models in New York City.”

“You heard me.”

“And how many years of college study does it take for these young players, as you call them, to learn the necessary gaming skills to enhance their life choices?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“How good they are.”

“So, the better they get, the longer they stay?”

“Not exactly. The best ones stay less than two full semesters.”

“They learn pretty fast?”

“Something like that.”

“How long do the others stay?”

“Some as long as a little less than eight full semesters.”

The deadpan again. “And I thought it took Hope and Crosby a long time to learn the business.”

After watching for another three hours, he turned asked, “How long is this going to last?”

“There’s only five minutes left.”

“Good, I haven’t been so bored since the first time I heard a Milton Berle routine," he said before turning back to the screen.

An hour later, he began to fidget. “Is this nearly over?”

“Only three minutes left.”

A player threw the ball in and, immediately, another player slapped him. They exchanged words, and a referee stepped between them. This elicited a response. “I see now,” he said. “They’re learning the skills involved in conflict resolution.”

 

Picking a family at random, even
this typical family is bored,. - C.W.

“Something like that.”

An hour later, his patience was exhausted. “Will this go on forever?”

“Just one more minute left.”

As another player, after having been slapped, walked to attempt a free-throw, he turned once again with the most solemn look you can imagine.

“This is worse than watching Fred Allen trying to solve a math problem,” he said. “Good thing nobody else was forced to live through it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“At least the female of your species has better things to do.”

Also check out www.allhatnocattle.com

And buy Big Dope's book at Amazon

or  www.wattensawpress.com .

364. Greatness

I walked into the living room of the farm and stopped in shock. There, believe it or not, was Frank Lloyd Wright sitting on the couch. He was sitting cross-legged with a pad on his lap sketching with a furious intensity and muttering to himself. I caught the words, “nincompoops,” and “assholes,” but not much more.

Could it be? Of course not. “C. W.,” I said. He ignored me. “Want to tell me what’s up?” He continued sketching. I sat in a chair in front of him and stared until he finished with a flourish and looked up. I said nothing.

“What?” he said.

“You tell me.”

“I’m preparing plans for some improvements to this place,” he said. “I’m going to make it a great place to live in again.”

“Oh,” I said. “so you think it is worth saving?”

“With my talent and your money, yes. It has many nice features.”

“Such as?”

“The simple roof design is very functional,” he said. “Simple and functional. And,” here he winked, “you know that, with both women and buildings, form follows … ,”

“Function,” I said. “What else?”

“The great front porch,” he said. “Perfect for sitting and entertaining guests. Imparts a cordial personality to the place.” He made a note. “Make north entry great again,” he said as he wrote. Then he looked at me.

“Anything else?” I asked.

“The security windows. It is most wonderful to feel safe in a home.”

“That’s nice. Anything else?”

“One must mention the spacious feeling afforded by the high ceilings. Evokes the comfort and ease of an era of light and air.”

“So. What’s next?”

“Next,’ he said, “we make the home great again with some wonderful improvements I have planned. You’ll love them.” He dug into the pile of papers and produced a writing pad. After flipping a few pages, he asked if I’d like to know the changes.

“Of course,” I said.

“First,” he said, “I plan to flatten the roof. As it stands now, it is too high-peaked to allow the chimney required for the massive fireplace I’ve planned for the west façade.”

“But,” I said, “I thought you said … ,”

“Quiet,” he said. “Never interrupt a genius while he is talking.” He consulted his notes. “Next, the front porch has to go. It’s a complete waste of space.”

I started to speak but he silenced me with glare that would have penetrated a steel wall.

“Next we’ll remove those security windows. They mar the historic character of the building. They didn’t have security window back in the 1800s when they built this place.”

I was too shocked by now to speak.

“And,” he said with no small amount of pride, “I plan to lower all these ceilings in order to save on heating costs.”

Maybe we should just tear it down,
and build something different. - C.W.

I struggled to find my voice.

“I’m going to make this home great again,” he said, lowering his pad.

The returned my voice to me. “By destroying the very things that made it great in the beginning?”

“You’re going to love it,” he said.

“Have you talked to my wife about it?”

“He pulled a pipe from his coat pocket and thrust it into his mouth. “You seem to forget that I’m the genius here. I’m brilliant.” He produced a match and lit the pipe. Taking a puff and exhaling, he said firmly, “And you mustn’t forget that you are the supreme leader of this house. If Mrs. Big Dope says one word in disagreement, you should just … ,”

A female voice erupted from the back of the house. “All right. Who took out this window?”

I had turned toward the voice. When I turned back, the architect of my troubles was gone, leaving only a pile of papers and a faint wisp of smoke.

Also check out www.allhatnocattle.com

And buy Big Dope's book at Amazon

or  www.wattensawpress.com .