“Forget it, Bill,” Susan said, “I’ve consulted with attorney after attorney and they’ve all said the same thing. Just play ball, take the treatment, and you’ll be released. The Reformed Department of Corrections will provide you with a job and assistance once when you’re released. And when you’re deemed fully rehabilitated, your criminal record will be expunged. It’s not like it once was.”
This was the first visit Susan paid to Bill in some months. The guards stood back while the two shared a table in the prison cafeteria. “That’s not the point,” Bill replied, “I’m being treated as a common criminal, which I’m not. What are they saying about me on the outside?”
Susan said nothing.
“That bad, huh?” Bill chuckled, “What happened to the world, Susan? Are we not allowed to be human anymore? This is everything we fought against!”
“We lost, Bill,” Susan said, “Sure it has taken time getting used to that. But I survived the rehabilitation process and things aren’t so bad on the outside. Some people know who I am and the things I’ve done, but everyone trusts the process. It’s like it doesn’t matter. I’m fully reintegrated.”
“You sold out, in other words.”
“Don’t be stupid, Bill.”
After a moment of awkward silence, Bill reached across the table and placed his hand on top of hers. “Did we ever fuck?” he asked.
Susan gave out a throaty laugh. “We got drunk and fooled around once or twice,” she said.
“Why didn’t we ever get together?”
“It would have never worked.”
“I know,” Bill lamented, “you were always too smart for me.”
“You were always preoccupied.”
“Now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life here. My loss.”
Susan stared into his eyes for a few moments while she clasped his hand. Finally, she stood up and straightened herself out. “I handed the package you requested off to the guards,” she said, “Goodbye, Bill.”
Bill exhaled. “So long, Susan.”
He watched her walk out through the gates and out of his life. Then the guards escorted him back to the cell.
Minutes later, Junior, the senior day shift guard, walked up to Bill’s door. “Good news Bill,” Junior said as he handed him Susan’s package, “I don’t know what you want with all this leather, but it cleared security. Because you’re not on suicide watch, it was approved by Dr. Effington. Of course, it can’t leave this cell. You will be checked each time.”
“I don’t know what you want from me, mister,” Layla Huffington said from behind the one-way mirror, “so you DON’T want me to take my clothes off?”
“No,” I replied, “I want to preserve your dignity.”
I finally gathered the courage to look at Layla. She was everything that I had hoped for. God was speaking to me at that very moment. He was telling me that it wasn’t a sin to gaze upon her; she was already mine.
“Look, if you just want to talk,” Layla said, “I can just meet you at the bar. It’ll cost you, of course, but at least I’ll be able to see your face.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” I said.
“Why not?”
I didn’t know how to reply. So there was a long silence then the curtains fell in front of the mirror. I dropped another quarter in the slot and they opened again.
“You must have a lot of quarters,” Layla said, “you’ve been here for two hours and told me almost nothing. Sure, not having to take my clothes off makes things easy. But it’s been really boring. So please, say something.”
I figured it was time to come clean. After all, it was costing her mother thousands of dollars a day for me to find her. So I took a deep breath and considered my words.
“Layla, I can’t get you out of my mind,” I explained, “I’m a lonely man. But that’s the cost of being a blunt instrument of the Lord. Yet I’ve been sent on a mission to find you and return you to your family. But I can’t shake the feeling that God has finally smiled upon me and said ‘it is not good for man to be alone.’ So he delivered you to me.”
Just as I had feared, a look of puzzlement fell over Layla’s face. “Excuse me?” she laughed, “Is this a joke?”
“This is certainly not a joke,” I replied.
“Look, I don’t know who the fuck you are! And my family? Those abusive fucks? They can go to hell! I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from them and there’s no way I’m going back!”
“Layla, listen to me…,” I said. I was beginning to panic. “Maybe you’re right,” I continued, “maybe we should meet face to face at the bar…”
“Like hell we are!” she interrupted, “you stay away from me!”
Layla pressed a panic button. The lights went out and the curtains closed. I began pounding on the glass. “Layla!” I yelled.
Two large bouncers stepped into the tiny room. “Sir, you need to leave,” one of them ordered as he laid his hand on my shoulder. Without my .38 special, I had to rely on my physical prowess to overpower the men. So I utilized my signature move: a kick to the scrotum so hard that it induced vomiting.
As the bouncers barfed all over the floor, I took one of their taser guns. Then I roundhouse kicked the one-way mirror and the glass came crashing down.
I’ve said before that I get some wild ass dreams. Maybe it’s the side effect of Cialis or maybe I should stop eating popcorn before I go to bed. But at any rate, these dreams can really fuck up my day.
The latest one involved the guys from Cum Town and an LSD trip that I won’t go into. But it got me thinking about the most fully fleshed out dream I’ve ever had.
About ten years ago, I dreamt about a dictator that summons his advisers to a dinner and everyone had to wear war paint. When the meal was served, the food is revealed to be the pieces of carcasses from the dictator’s vanquished enemies. One guys is served a dude’s face. This alarms the advisers who request foreign assistance to topple the dictatorship.
Obviously, the US responds by deploying an elite task force, led by a commander that was a drama major in college. Unfortunately, other nations have an interest in this country, so they too deploy special forces to take over the government. Without warning, the US task force is killed off by a competing nation and the commander is held captive. To make matters worse, even more competing nations pile into the country, escalating into an orgy of death and destruction.
Good news is: the dictator is killed. The bad news: the entire country is in ruins.
Of course, I’ve added more detail and commentary as time progressed. I really wanted to turn this into a novel, screenplay, etc. US military intervention was, at that particular moment, still a point of contention. Now that discussion has shifted (what a difference ten years makes) so I don’t know if I will ever flesh out this dream into a full blown story. But the nihilist in me still loves it: while outwardly it appears political, the story ultimately turns anti-political by devolving into pure action schlock. Everyone is a bad guy, so you root for everyone to die as you enjoy the spectacle of some poor nation getting blown the fuck up.
So please, somebody write this story into a book, movie, or whatever. Cuz I’m too lazy to do it.
“I fucking hate you,” Eric’s mom informed him. “You disappear for two weeks without letting me know where you were! How disrespectful of you, you piece of shit!”
“Mom, put down the booze and listen!” Eric replied. “Like I said, I got drunk at a bar, walked home, got HIT by a drunk driver, she nursed me back to health, and now we’re in love. Are you fucking stupid?”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!”
“There’s nothing crazy about it at all. It happens everyday!”
Eric’s mom shook her head. “Your father would be disappointed in you if he were still alive.”
“He is still alive. He just lives in Indiana!”
“Get out!” she screamed. “You’re not welcome back in this house. You’ve been nothing but a burden to me. You sleep all day, you do nothing but clog the toilet and play Xbox. And I’ve even caught you wearing my underwear! You’re a disgusting pervert!”
“Ma, I’m a man goddamnit! A MAN!“ Eric shouted. “And as the man of this household, I will not be addressed in that tone! I’m a proud libertarian and I believe in working for everything I’ve got! You’re not kicking me out! I’m unplugging my Xbox and LEAVING!”
Eric yanked the plug out of the wall, kicked the door open, and stomped his way over to Don Lemon’s house a block away. He pounded on the door until Don’s pregnant wife, Stacy, answered.
“Don’s not here, sweetheart,” she said to him.
“Oh that’s okay, I’m just gonna play Xbox and crash in your basement for awhile. Don will be cool with it.”
“Uhh, I don’t think so,” she replied as she tried to block him from entering. “Don and I have to discuss this first.”
“Darling,” Eric said, “with all due respect, Don is the man of the house and I’ve known him longer than you. So please, step aside and let a grown ass man play some goddamn Minecraft!”
Right then, Don Lemon pulled up in his 4-cylinder Honda CR-V. “Don, can you believe this shit?” Eric said to him, “your wife won’t let me through the door. Who does she think she is?”
A puzzled Don looked over to Stacy. “What’s going on here?” he asked her.
“Eric wants to….”
“Let me explain, Don,” Eric interrupted, “Ma was being a bitch, so I told her to fuck off. I came over here to crash for awhile until I can talk my girlfriend into letting me move in with her. It’s not a big deal!”
“Your girlfriend? Move in? I don’t understand…”
“Yeah, my girlfriend dude, I told you! She’s like 60 years old, but still pretty hot, you know what I’m saying? Plus she’s rich. Anyways, I’m trying not to make things weird because we’ve only known each other for two weeks, so it’s probably too early to move in together. So I’m just gonna stay in your basement until enough time passes and I can move in with her. It’s quite simple.”
“I don’t think so, Eric,” Don replied, “Stacy’s due at any moment and we’ve got enough going on in this household…”
“I see, I see…,” Eric nodded, “so I guess our friendship means nothing to you. I should have known. Stacy’s totally domesticated you. You’ll never be Enkidu to my Gilgamesh, Robin to my Batman, or Spock to my Kirk. Oh well! A real man must forge his own path anyway.”
Eric straightened himself up, ran fingers through his hair, and with the Xbox in hand, he started marching proudly down the street. Then he stopped in his tracks. “Can you drive me to my girlfriends?” he asked Don.
I don’t know if I’m just bored sitting in class for the last two weeks, but something’s crawled up my ass and I just feel like arguing with people. On Instagram no less!
This time I’m arguing with stuck up Christians trying to present their arguments as some sort of academic debate because they think atheists are too dumb to understand their beliefs. Now don’t get your panties in a wad, these are just the people who are pissing me off RIGHT NOW. There’s no telling who I’ll argue with next week.
I’m a sophist at heart.
But if there’s one type of person I can’t stand, it’s the stuck up “I’m smarter than you cuz I read academic shit” guy. Fuck those people.
In fact, I say it’s your DUTY to pointlessly argue with these folks. They expect everything to be a structured debate and demand strangers online follow the rules.
But I will not. If I want to “straw man” you, use “non-sequiturs”, create false dichotomies, etc. I am well within my right to do so and there’s nothing you can do about it.
So Who the fuck are you? The “logical fallacies” police?
Definitions vary. But in short, it’s any person that rides a fine line between being insane…or criminally stupid…and a total menace to society.
Which leads to a bigger question that I get asked everyday of my life: how does one get inducted into the Internet Ruined Everything’s Hall of Fame of Real Ass Dudes (IREHOFRAD)?
Because this is such an elite club, one must meet the following criteria:
1. Demonstrated clear excellence in insanity or stupidity. But their eccentricities can’t lead them to be perpetually in jail. Remember, being a menace to society is a clear disqualification for being a real ass dude. Serial killers, mass murderers, and Harvey Weinstein will never qualify.
2. That being said, there are bonus points for criminal activity. DUIs, robbery, minor drug trafficking, embezzling, manslaughter, fraud, etc, are perfectly acceptable. Sex and hate crimes, however, are an automatic disqualification. OJ Simpson totally rides the line here.
3. Have outstanding achievements in the fields of entertainment, business, sports, politics, technology, etc, that will stand the test of time REGARDLESS of their insanity, stupidity, and criminal activities. A prime example here is Bobby Knight. The man had no business coaching a college basketball program who nevertheless won three national titles. This is why Knight was the first inductee into the HOF.
Basically to get into the Hall, inductees must exemplify, or outright facilitate, the decline of society’s collective super ego.
Have someone you want to nominate? Let me know in the comments.
On the ballot next year is OJ Simpson, Brett Favre, Lyndon Baines Johnson, and Donald Trump. Only one can get in.
A pervert can no longer be just a pervert. Back in my day…the 1970s (when I was about 52)…a man could walk into a peep show, take out their penis, and flip a quarter to the janitor for all their troubles.
We accepted that no woman would allow us within 40 feet of their vagina. At least not without paying for it first. And that was okay.
There are few scenes in the history of film that hit me harder than the Super 8 sequence in Paris, Texas.
Rarely do films like this get made. Especially now. Not without a dose of heavy handed social commentary and violence.
That’s not the case with Paris, Texas. It’s subject is simple: one man’s inability to face his problems. All of this juxtaposed against the vast American landscape that’s both empty and crowded…dead and alive. Wim Wenders’ vision of America is embodied by the character Travis, played by the enigmatic Harry Dean Stanton.
The first time I watched this, it was almost like a religious experience. I was 10 or 11 years old and stayed up late while watching cable to see some tities. Fortunately, nothing was on Cinemax so I switched over to HBO. Paris, Texas was playing.
I don’t know why I kept watching it (probably because you see some Aurore Clement side boob), but next thing I know, I was fully engrossed in the story. It was the first movie where, when it ended, I didn’t know what hit me.
It was probably at that moment when it occurred to me: THIS is why people love movies.
Some people hate Paris, Texas. Some say it’s too slow. Some don’t like Travis because he abandoned his family.
I personally like movies that take their time. And if you don’t like Travis’ decisions, it’s not like the movie presents him as mensch.
In fact, Travis…along with his wife Jane…are presented as two VERY troubled people. From the perspective of Travis, he had to leave at the end because he was utterly broken. I would go as far as to say that Travis’ entire existence consists of (unintentionally) ruining people’s lives.
This film is not only about Travis trying to reunite his wife and child (Hunter), but it’s also about ruining the lives of his brother Walt and his wife Anne who took custody of Hunter during his disappearance.
Another heartbreaking scene is when Anne fails to convince Travis and Hunter to return home, and she goes to lie down in Hunter’s bed. Even though Hunter wasn’t her actual son, she was still attached to him. And that’s the last scene Anne is in, never to be mentioned again.
But Wenders’ direction mixes realism with a childlike perspective (which resembles Travis’ emotional state) quite well. So, I think, that permits me to have a pessimistic interpretation of the ending: there was no way that Jane would maintain custody of Hunter, and Hunter would return to Walt and Anne with a better sense of his “real” family, which would likely cause further damage to everyone involved. Meanwhile, Travis, once again, ran away from it all.
Is my interpretation correct? I dunno. But that’s how art works.
So do yourself a favor: stay up late one night and watch Paris, Texas.
“We are going home,” I announced to the crew onboard the Sagan. “To repair the ship, we’ll need Yah’s help. He’s being brought to the surface as we speak. His chamber will be stored in the cargo area, where Dr. Jackass will release him. We cannot get too close to Yah. He’s highly radioactive, but the Doctor will be equipped with a radiation absorber that I stole from the Ishnarians. You are ordered to remain out of the cargo bay. The Doctor will ask Yah to remain a safe distance from the crew.”
“If he’s God,” Patel asked, “can’t he make more radiation absorbers?”
“Good question Patel,” I replied, “but let’s not overthink this. Yah is not a supernatural being. He is made of real matter and is bound by gravity. That’s why he needs a spaceship to get off this planet. Additionally, it should be noted that Yah can read minds. But it appears that he can only do so at a certain distance. Perhaps up to 60 feet. If possible, stay 60 feet away from the cargo area. I can’t go into any more details, but when I order everyone to be at their stations, you will have 30 seconds to get there. Am I understood?”
“Yes sir!”
“Good. Begin preparations for launch.”
I exited the Sagan to meet with Hazov. Off in the distance, Yah’s chamber was being wheeled towards the ship.
“It’s a shame that you are unable to stay,” Hazov said, “hopefully this is the beginning of a fruitful relationship between our two worlds.”
“Possibly,” I said.
“If you don’t mind me prying, Captain, I thought your ship was having trouble launching.”
I smiled. “Someone forgot to carry the 1.”
“I see,” he said. “Farewell Captain.”
“Farewell Hazov.”
We shook hands and I immediately went to engineering to speak with Commander Mwangi. “Commander, once when you see that the hydrogen drive is back online, fire it up immediately,” I told her.
“But Captain, with lift thrusters firing we’ll be moving at a tremendous speed. We risk burning the hydrogen drive out again.”
“Just do it.”
I went to the bridge and strapped into the navigation station next to Valdez. “What’s the fastest you’ve ever flown a ship?” I asked her.
“About 1/8th the speed of light sir.”
“Prepare to shatter that record.”
The Doctor then came over the intercom. “The chamber is loaded sir,” he said.
“Close cargo bay doors and release Yah from the chamber,” I ordered.
Yah spoke up. “Thank you for releasing me from my chains, Captain,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.”
I monitored controls from the command post. Moments later, Valdez spoke up. “Lift thrusters are online sir!”
“Launch thrusters!”
The Sagan began lifting off the surface and into the atmosphere. I channeled down to engineering. “How’s that hydrogen drive coming along, Nia?!”
“Hydrogen drive is fully operational!”
Then a deeply distraught Hazov came over the radio. “Captain Kananga! Our planet is facing a torrent of earthquakes and tornadoes! We are dying! What have you done?!”
I radioed down to the cargo bay. “Yah! Unleashing the apocalypse on Ishnar wasn’t part of the deal!”
“Sorry Captain,” Yah replied. “The people of Ishnar have broken the covenant. They shall face my wrath.”
Now Yah was about to face my wrath, I thought. “I see,” I responded to Yah. “Dr. Jackass, please report to the bridge.”
I looked over to Valdez. “Have we cleared the atmosphere?” I asked.
“Yes sir, we are about to leave the outer orbit of Ishnar’s moons.”
“Good. Hopefully we can put enough distance between Yah and Ishnar.”
Moments later, Dr. Jackass entered the bridge. “Doctor,” I said, “on my count, open the cargo bay doors.
“Sir?”
I went over the intercom. “Attention crew: please be at your stations,” I ordered, then activated life support systems on all decks.
After 30 seconds expired, I looked back over to Valdez. “Alright Commander, step on it!”
“Excuse me?”
“Damn it Valdez! FLOOR IT!”
As we accelerated to an extraordinary speed, I ordered Dr. Jackass to open cargo doors. Centrifugal systems instantly cut out and we were floating at zero-g.
“Sir!” the Doctor yelled, “all contents in the cargo bay have been suctioned out! Including Yah! Closing doors now!”
As the gravity was being restored, I looked up at the radar. An energy source outside the ship was keeping pace. “Damn it! Yah is on our tail! More speed!”
“But we’re traveling near the speed of light!” Valdez replied.
“Can God go faster than light?!” Dr. Jackass asked.
“I guess we’ll find out!”
The ship began to rattle back and forth. We were under attack. Using his god-like power, Yah came over the intercom. “Is this how you want this to end Captain?” he asked. “Empty space makes a cold grave.”
“Faster Valdez!” I ordered.
“She’ll fly apart Captain!”
“Fly her apart then!”
Alarms and buzzers were going off across the bridge. The vibration intensified. If we were going to die, we were going to die going the speed of light.
Then I looked up at the radar. Another energy source was was gaining on Yah.
“It is the King’s wish that your three female crew members join his harem. In exchange, we will grant you land rights on Ishnar, allowing you to remain here permanently,” Hazov declared to me in front of the Royal Council.
“What if they deny the King’s wish?” I retorted.
“Then you and your crew will be asked to leave.”
“Hazov, I can’t make them do anything. Those three crew members are distinguished women in their own right. I do not own them.”
“Those are the conditions on which you may stay on Ishnar.”
“Unacceptable,” I said, “I am responsible for the safety and well-being of my crew. Under no conditions would they submit to this demand.”
Hazov then whispered to one of the advisers. They convened privately for a few moments. “Alright,” Hazov finally spoke up, “then the King will accept one of your female officers for his harem: Commander Mwangi.”
I tried to hide the anger boiling beneath. “Under Space Fleet guidelines,” I responded, “we are ordered to respect the customs of extraterrestrial cultures. But I cannot submit my crew these demands, not without discussing it with them first. Please allow me to return to the Sagan where I will meet with my crew.”
“Of course, Captain.”
I was bluffing. I knew the crew wouldn’t agree to these terms but I needed time to find other options.
When I returned to the Sagan, Dr. Jackass pulled me aside. “Valdez is indeed pregnant,” he said, “we ran a DNA test and the father is Smashhouse. Yah was correct.”
“Fuck me running!” I replied.
***
I went underground to meet with Yah again. The guards refused to let me through. “Look,” I told one of them, “Hazov has granted me unrestricted access to Yah.”
“We need an explanation for your visit,” the guard said.
“I just need to go over with Yah the court proceedings on Earth should he stand trial,” I replied. “That’s all.”
“I need to confirm this with Hazov.”
“Don’t waste your time, Hazov’s time, and my time. You’re being ridiculous.”
We had a stare down for a few moments before he let me through. Another guard escorted me to Yah’s chamber.
“Can we have some privacy please?” I asked the guard. When he was out of earshot, Yah spoke up.
“I knew you’d be back,” he said.
“Of course you did.”
“We got off on the wrong foot Captain. But I can help you with your problem.”
“What is my problem?”
“Your ship doesn’t work and you can’t stay on Ishnar.”
“So? Maybe I can find another corner of this planet for my crew to live on.”
“The King of Ishnar rules this entire planet. If he ever found you and your crew, he would kill all of you. Face it: the customs of Ishnar is incompatible with Earth’s. You know this to be true.”
“How can you help me then? Can you fix thrusters, hydrogen drives, and hibernation chambers?”
“Through me, all things are possible.”
“Do you agree to do this?”
“You have my word, Captain.”
“What about Earth? It’s gone. Can you help us rebuild the planet?”
“I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for humanity.”
“Okay then. If you go back on your word, I will not hesitate to eject you into outer space where you’ll spend eternity in your chamber.”
“My powers are limited in this chamber. The only way I can repair your ship is if you release me from it.”
Son of a bitch, he was right. I knew he was right. And he knew that I knew he was right. We were playing each other. I had to make a choice.
I called the guard over. “Bring Yah’s chamber to the surface,” I ordered. “We’re bringing him back to Earth.”
The Internet Ruined Everything 