Saturday, June 24, 2017

A Perfect World

New Worlds to Conquer??
Imagine that now, in 2017 CE, we are living in a world where space travel to other galaxies is common.  New worlds inhabited by many kinds of life forms, including humanoids, are being found every year.  New technologies are being invented every month.  People can be transported from one place to another in ten seconds.  You get the idea.

Because it is embedded in their genetic code, the human beings who live on Earth are eager to explore, take over and rule any habitable planet whose indigenous population is capable of being overrun.  To this end, the United States and its allies, financed by a couple of global corporate conglomerates, have built and manned a large fleet of intergalactic space ships.

The Intergalactic Ship Empire has landed on a populated planet whose inhabitants call it Kikass, from an ancient word meaning “Dirt.”  It is an Earth-like planet with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, an unspoiled place of great natural beauty, loaded with natural resources that the people of Earth can really use right now.  The people of Kikass are peaceful by nature, but they are known to become ferocious fighters when they have something to fight about, such as being invaded by aliens from Outer Space who are after their planet.

The Captain of The Empire’s name is Shirley Custer.  (His mother was a Shirley MacLaine fan who wanted a girl.)  Captain Custer has kidnapped the President of the largest country on Kikass.  Her name means “The Wise One,” so the officers and crew call her “President Wise.”  President Wise is a slim, elegant, middle-aged Kikassian with turquoise skin, cat-like ears and white hair.  Her people think she’s ugly, but they vote for her, anyway.

The Captain attempted to interrogate President Wise, but she wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t talk.  When the Captain blustered that he was going to set her whole planet on fire if she didn’t answer him, she smiled and said softly, “You’re probably going to do that anyway, you butt-faced fucker.”  The Universal Translator was set to gloss over obscenities, so the Captain missed the butt-faced fucker part, which would have upset him and everyone in his church back home.

It was now 2:00 Eastern Standard Time on Earth, and the Captain had an appointment for a videoconference with U.S. President No. 45, who was waiting in the Oval Office with a few hand-picked toadies, including Mike Pence, Jeff Sessions, Rick Perry and a middle-aged pole dancer named Busty Chanel, who was picked off the street after being seen worshipping a photograph of the President.

The connection went live right at the point where Captain Custer threatened President Wise and she responded with the butt-faced fucker remark.  Busty Chanel gave a loud whoop, startling everyone else in the room.

“Sorry,” said Busty.  “I’ve been studying Kikassian and I can read lips.  Ooh, what she called him!”

Because she was middle-aged and looked it, the men in the room found Busty uninteresting, so they ignored her.

Captain Custer turned his face to the video screen and beamed a huge smile.

“Greetings, Mr. President,” he said.  “I cannot tell you what a pleasure and honor it is to be speaking with you today.  I have traveled to many worlds, and have yet to meet a leader like you.”

“Hello, Captain Shirley,” said No. 45.

“Uh, Custer.  My name is Custer, Mr. President.  Captain Custer.  I’m Captain of The Intergalactic Ship Empire.”

“Okay.  So what do you want?”

“Well, uh … you called this conference, Mr. President.  I want whatever you want.”

Mike Pence leans over and whispers something in No. 45’s ear.

“Is that what this is about?” asked No. 45.

“Yes,” said Mike Pence.  “We sent an intergalactic spaceship to Planet Kikass last month.  They are supposed to bring useless stuff to trade to the inhabitants, frighten them, overpower them.  You know.  The usual.”

“Did we get anything out of that?”

“That’s what the Captain will tell us, Mr. President,” said Mike Pence.  His face was covered with the biggest fake smile he could muster.  He was kissing some industrial-sized ass.

“So Captain Whatever-Your-Name-Is, what have you been doing the last four weeks?” asked No. 45.

“Mr. President, the operation has been a huge success.  We landed on Kikass a month ago.  We tried to gain their confidence by trading the stuff we brought, but the natives just laughed at us.  Apparently, nobody wants gold-tone chains, Earth rocks and canned air in exchange for land.  They offered to pay us the equivalent of $2 for the whole lot.  We tried frightening them with loud noises and displays of fire power, but they have a well-equipped army, navy and air force here, as well as a space program as advanced as ours.  I was almost convinced that we had invaded the wrong planet, but then we lucked out.  We managed to kidnap President Wise here.  She’s the President of the largest, most powerful country on the planet.  I think we have a good bargaining chip here now.  Her people love her.  If we say we’ll kill her or something, they’ll give us anything.”

“Are you saying we can’t just go in and bomb the place to smithereens and take it over?”  No. 45 was shouting now.  “How am I supposed to make America great again if we can’t even take over one planet way out there in space somewhere?”

There was an audible murmur in the conference room, topped by Mike Pence saying, “That is absolutely right, Mr. President.”

“This man is a god,” piped up Busty, “Just like the Roman emperors in old times.”

Jeff Sessions was about to shout “Hail, Trump,” but he was stopped short by President Wise, who finally spoke up.

“Okay, you bunch of idiots,” she said as she stood up and faced the video screen.  “Listen to me, and listen well!  You can kill me and it won’t make a difference.  My Vice President is well informed and very capable of taking over my office, and he will.  We have a Parliament that works together, and they will be happy to mobilize all our forces to drive you out of here, which should take us about 20 minutes, because our army, navy, air force and space program people all work together and we’re better than you are.  Nobody will want you to take over our planet because life is good here.  There haven’t been any wars in 200 years, unless you count a few stupid invasions like yours.  We kicked them all out fast, by the way.  Our economy is in great shape.  We have very little crime, and almost no violent crime.  Our jails became so empty that we closed them all and put all our criminals on house arrest.  So why would we let you come in here?  The answer is, WE WON’T.  You’ll be very sorry if you try.  Now, if you want to send tourists here, that’s different.  That you can do, if they all behave themselves while they’re here, spend their money, then go back home.  If you still want to invade us, be warned.  We’re ready for you.”

President Wise sat down again.  There was silence in the conference room on the other end.

“Whose idiot idea was it to invade that place?” shouted No. 45.

Nobody answered.  The other men looked at No. 45 warily under bowed heads.

“We were all misinformed, Mr. President,” said Rick Perry.  “Nobody gave us the right data about Kikass.  So when you told us to invade it, we thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“Well, get us out of there!” shouted No. 45.  He turned to Rick Perry and said, “You are trying to say it was my idea?  You’re fired!”

No. 45 stomped out of the conference room.



Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Harmony’s Cat Café and Spa

The Entrepreneur
Someone leaked the news to my cat Harmony that a new Cat Café is opening in Boston.[1]  This put an idea into her little cat brain.  Instead of opening a café where humans can come to have coffee or tea and play with adoptable kitties, she would open a café and spa for cats.  It would be the ultimate feline luxury experience.

I told her not to even think of doing that.  I forgot that she never listens to me.

She didn’t waste any time.  I went out the other day to run some errands and came home to find that my living room had been turned into a cattery.  Every stray and outdoor cat in the neighborhood was there.  Somehow, my cupboard had been raided and all my bowls and small plates were now on the living room floor, filled with milk, water, dry cat food or catnip.  Two tabbies sitting by themselves in a corner were drinking cream from my Rosenthal porcelain teacups.

The kitties nearest the catnip-filled bowls were either running in circles or sprawled on the floor, stoned out of their pint-sized heads.

Harmony saw me standing at the door with my mouth open and came over to me.  She bumped her nose on my leg and rubbed herself against me.  She always does this when she’s trying to butter me up.

“What in this entire universe and beyond have you done?”  I asked, when I could finally speak.

“Isn’t it great?” said Harmony.  “They each paid me one treat to get in, and I have a two-drink minimum at two treats per drink.  Spa treatments cost extra.”

“How did you get my things down from the cupboard?”  I asked.

“I paid the Great Dane across the street to take them down.  He’s clumsy and his breath smells like five-day-old farts, but he’s tall and strong.”

“Get those little hairballs out of here!”

“I can’t do that.  I took payment from them and promised them a complete experience.  If they don’t get what they paid for they’re going to shred every piece of furniture in the apartment.”

I rolled my eyes.  “How long do they plan to stay?”  I asked.

“Uh, well,” said Harmony, “These are the ones who wanted spa treatment.  That’s where you come in.  You have to be the one to give the treatments.  We couldn’t get any other human to do it.”

“Oh no!”  I said.  “Count me out.  I’m not going to take a chance on getting my arms and face shredded!”

“They won’t scratch you,” said Harmony.  “They want the treatments.  They said so themselves, and I made them hold up their right paws and swear they wouldn’t attack my workers.”

I agreed to become a kitty manicurist/bath attendant/masseuse for the afternoon, until we could get all the clients to leave.  I was sorry I made this agreement.  Harmony had lied.  Even though they had all asked for their treatments, they reacted to being massaged, bathed and manicured the same way almost every cat reacts.  By the time the last cat left the apartment, my arms looked like they had been put into a bread slicer and there was blood all over the bathroom.

I put alcohol and bandages on my arms, then proceeded to clean up the mess in the living room.  Harmony gave me some nose nudges and leg rubs, but I ignored her.  I was pissed.

After I cleaned up the living room and washed the dishes, I found Harmony in the living room.  Cats can’t smile, but, if they could, she would have given me the biggest fake smile she could manage.

“If you ever do anything like that again,” I said.  “I’m having cat for breakfast!”

“Ah, you know you love me,” she said.  “I’m little and cute and funny.”

She walked away, slipped into the closet and lay down for a nap.

Friday, June 2, 2017

Women Are Like ... What Again?

This is the third installment in what is apparently becoming a series.

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Women and the Movies

Most of us enjoy a good movie.  The question is, what movie and why.

Science Fiction Action Movies

They have excitement, explosions, chases, fights, shooting, explosions, objects that can destroy the universe, people getting into cosmic messes in places far away from earth, and explosions.  Some of them also have ugly monsters who have a lot of fun making life impossible for humans.  Muscular, hunky robots are also common.  Sometimes they are the good guys, but to us Real Women who are heterosexually oriented that isn’t as important as the hunk factor.

A guy might suggest going to see the latest sci-fi action flick because he loves special effects, fights, explosions and monsters.  He imagines himself in the role of the hero, vanquishing evil all over the cosmos and protecting everyone from some painful annihilation dreamed up by an imaginative screenwriter.

The guy’s girlfriend will be happy to go with him, but her priorities will be checking out all the hot male stars and admiring the female lead for being able to fight and shoot like a man.  She will wish she looked as good as said female lead in those tight, body-hugging costumes.  Special effects and fights are entertaining, but she can take them or leave them.  The plot of the movie and the sexiness of the onscreen males are most important, especially if the plot includes romance or cute characters like Rocket Raccoon and Baby Groot in http://www.imdb.com/title/tt3896198/ Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2.

James Bond Movies

These films are in a class of their own.  James Bond is the ultimate Sexy Hot Heavy-Breathing Inducing Movie Guy, whether he is played by Sean Connery or Daniel Craig.  The fact that he only hangs around with stunning women who look 500 times better than any of us doesn’t bother us heterosexual Real Women, because we all daydream about being Bond girls – at least the ones who don’t get killed.  Getting killed puts a real damper on the fun.

I mean, even Miss Moneypenney can’t get near him, and she’s not exactly ugly.  She just doesn’t look as good as Ursula Andress or Jane Seymour.  I think Mr. Bond should reassess his priorities.

James Bond is cool.  He never has to buy a car, courtesy of the British government, and he can drive like a maniac and never get a traffic ticket.  His cars have all kinds of gadgetry, and he’s so smart all it takes is one little demonstration session with Q and he is automatically quick acting and competent at all of them.  For those of us who must pour over instructions word by word to learn to operate a simple kitchen appliance, this is an incredible feat of genius.  I wonder if Q slips an instruction brochure under the driver’s seat, in case 007 forgets how to operate the cigarette lighter bomb or the exhaust pipe torpedo.
... or how to shoot a gun

James Bond can’t be bothered going undercover.  He announces his name out loud to everyone who can hear him: “Bond.  James Bond.”  That takes real moxie.  It’s stupid, but it takes moxie.

He likes his Martinis shaken, not stirred.  I don’t know the difference myself, but, when he isn’t killing someone or chasing A-list women, he has real class, at least when it comes to mixed drinks.

When offered a choice between Goldfinger or The Terminator on cable TV, a Real Woman is going to choose Goldfinger, unless a guy who is ready to defend it to the death has control of the remote.

Member of the Bond Girl
Gene Pool
Casablanca

Guys want to be like Humphrey Bogart.  Women want to be courted by him.  Guys wonder why the Ingrid Bergman character doesn’t leave Victor Laszlo and stay with Rick so the two of them can take up the great sex they had been having in Paris behind Victor’s back.  Women understand that the movie must end the way it does, but it’s just so ROMANTIC that way, especially for those of us who cry at sad movies.  After all, the problems of three little people aren’t worth … well, you know.[1]

This brings us to the subject of romantic movies in general.

Romantic Movies

Most Real Women are suckers for sappy onscreen romance, especially the kind that is not likely to ever happen in real life at any time, ever.  How many street hookers wind up with billionaire boyfriends?  Come to think of it, how many street hookers look like Julia Roberts and how many billionaires look like Richard Gere?[2]

Back in the 1920s, women were fainting with desire over Rudolph Valentino and sighing when he hooked up with an onscreen love.

Things haven’t changed much.




[1] In case you have been living on another planet for the last several decades, that’s a quote from Casablanca.
[2] Pretty Woman, okay?  There.  I gave the proper credit.

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