Fred Calls Home

Hi, this is Farmsworth Mudd, Fred Fortune's "conspiracy theory" co-conspirator. Hmmm, that doesn't sound right. Oh well. Hey, Fred didn't want to post this video after he made it but I talked him into it. He said he looked and sounded goofy on camera and I told him that he always looks and sounds goofy — especially on camera — and that he should just sit back and enjoy it.

When he didn't slug me for that little wisecrack, I knew that he got the picture and that posting this for him wouldn't be an act of betrayal on my part. That's a relief because being a commodities broker on Wall Street made me feel like a Big Bad Apple of some kind, even though I lived in Queens.

You know, Fred Fortune might be the strangest person I've ever encountered in my life and he probably is a homeless con man and an interplanetary thief and an intergalactic felon — as well as the Earthling you never want to become — but he's still more interesting than anybody I ever knew from The Big Apple. So he is.

 Author's Note 11-07-13: This video was uploaded by Michael Casher to Blogger. You can't watch this video at YouTube because it does not exist there. That is another Google redirect which is nothing more than a lie to get you to watch other videos at YouTube instead of the uploaded video on this blog post. This new uploaded format at Blogger was introduced in November 2013 by Google without notice to anyone.

Planet Without Pity

My decision to never return to Earth will no doubt get screwed up by fate. Nothing delivers a death blow to your dreams like the fickle hand of fate. But fate couldn't dish out all the dog shit it dishes out to Earthlings on a regular basis if it weren't for the helping hand of other Earthlings who couldn't care less about anything that isn't all about them.

You know what I mean. You know what I'm talking about. Earth's human population is chock full of pricks and Hard Hearted Hannahs who have nothing better to do than to be the fly in your ointment. Being the cause of your failure or your disappointment trips their triggers almost as much as it does the triggers of the terrestrial and celestial powers-that-be who run planet Earth like their own personal amusement park.

No, I'm not talking about the Illuminati now. Everybody wants to blame the Illuminati. Leave the Illuminati out of this. Just like the false gods who pretend to be our creators and rightful controllers, the goddam Illuminati only know how to pull our strings. Whether or not we dance to their tune is entirely up to us. What often passes for free will among us seems to be the mere freedom to say "no" to the traps and pitfalls in life and nothing more. But I digress.

I'm talking about regular, everyday people, here. Citizens. Moms and dads and doctors and neighbors and truck drivers and movie stars and the guy who sells you cracked corn down at the feed store. I'm talking about the average Joe and Jane of contemporary Earth culture. The limelight-loving bastards and bitches who'd sell their own mothers to get ahead. Shit smears who masquerade as human beings. The guy next door. The woman across the isle from you in the supermarket. Mortal man and mortal woman who sell their souls to corporate America every damn day and who dance the jig whenever Madison Avenue strikes up a tune on the tube. The everyday powers-that-be whose earthbound power to hire, fire, intimidate, cajole, wheedle, court, marry and kill you keeps you in that matrix of living the loser life.

You know who I'm talking about. The shithead at work you confide your worst fears to and who summarily dismisses you with an impatient, "So?". The clerk who takes your heard-earned money and who hands you back your change without even looking at you because, as far as he or she is concerned, you don't even exist. Only your money is real. That's right, I'm talking about the townsfolk you run into you at the store and who come up to you and ask you how someone else you both know is doing. Who cares about you? These are the flesh-and-blood grim reapers who begin executing you as soon as you're able to open a door for yourself and exit your world of right and wrong to enter their upside down world where being a selfish and aggressive bad-ass is the key to success in life.

Hell, I have no idea where I'm going once I manage to escape from this Martian Sing-Sing the Grays and Reptilians have set up for Earthling abductees they don't know what to do with. If I manage to escape on their asses at all. But one thing I do know for sure. I wouldn't go back to Earth to take a shit.

Things I Don't Miss About Earth

There are a few things I miss about Earth before I got downsized into the streets. Like my cushy service-industry job, for instance, where hanging up on an abusive customer was not only allowed but eagerly anticipated as part of a CSR's Napoleon-wannabe day. And eating pizza and drinking beer, which was always a single activity for me and not two separate ones.

Then there was my non-La-Z-Boy recliner that did the same work as a goddamn Barcalounger at a fraction of the cost. OK, so I couldn't afford the delivery charges and gave an unemployed guy a case of beer to haul it from the mall for me in his pickup truck. Big-ass deal. I still got to watch TV in a semi-supine position and isn't that what the American Dream is? To live it up? Especially if you're drinking beer, eating pizza and watching TV in your recliner at the same time. What do you think Valley Forge was all about?

Shit. Now I'm getting off the goddamn track, here.

Oh, yeah. As I was saying, there are a few things I miss about Earth but there are a lot more things I don't miss about Earth. Here's a dozen of them:

1. Bagpipes
2. The song "Amazing Grace"
3. "Amazing Grace" being played on bagpipes
4. Watching fat families overeat at McDonald's
5. Buying water
6. Selling blood
7. Tipping
8. Politics
9. Religion
10.War
11 Religious wars
12. Those annoying little "pop-up" people at the bottom of your TV screen

Still, when you come to think of it, these are twelve things that are a lot more fun than playing hide-and-seek with other homeless bums on Mars for the last fourth of somebody's Sky Bar. Or ducking whenever a rogue Reptilian takes pot shots at us with a pocket Ray Gun, just to relieve the tedium of his or her monotonous day. But, I'd rather be a homeless bum roaming the Cydonia ruins than raiding dumpsters in America for food that was thrown out by spoiled creeps just because an approaching expiration date told them to.

A dead planet run by nobody is better than a living world run by the wrong people.

Editor's Note 4-6-13: No, none of the Fred Fortune posts are autobiographical tales about Michael Casher. Michael Casher was never a homeless bum from L.A. He was never a CSR who "hung up" on customers. He never stole a thing in his life and he was never employed by any kind of store. Fred Fortune is a fictitious character with a fictitious name and his life and times are fictional. For more information, read the sidebar texts. Thank you.