Chapter Three: Fist in the Air in the Land of Hypocrisy



Authors note: Okay, so this chapter took a little longer than I thought. I may decide to update it later on. This is a longer chapter than the rest because it maybe a while till the next and I wanted to give to something to chew over. Due to the irregularity of my work, if you wanna know when the next chapter is going up, send me your email address and I'll let you know.

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Remember where the thought is

I brought all this

So you can survive when law is lawless

Feelings, sensations that you thought

were dead

No squealing, remember

(that it's all in your head) -"Clint Eastwood" Gorillaz



It's funny when you meet someone after five years. I mean, you're amazed at how much they've changed and how they've gotten older, but this didn't account for Tyler. Tyler's face was as fresh and young as it was when I first met him on that aeroplane on the way back to my flaming apartment. The only thing that was new was that he was wearing a hat. I know, a hat doesn't constitute much of a description, but not once had I ever seen Tyler wearing a hat. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered him one.

"No thanks. I don't smoke" Tyler said turning off the porn.

"What d'ya mean you don't smoke?" I laughed,

"Exactly what I say." Tyler turned his whole body round until his knees touched mine. "Look, when we smoke we begin to get cravings. We get cravings for nicotine. When we get those cravings we buy cigarettes, but why do we do this? Is the urge to get black tar in our lungs that big? No! We, myself included, are falling for the trap of buying things we do not need. It's because of this I quit."

"Tyler Durden,. Communist until the end." I smiled

"I am not a communist. I am an anti-capitalist."

He smiled, took a rope of licorice from his pocket and sucked on it thoughtfully.

"You're probably wondering why I'm here?" he said "Especially after you destroyed my beautiful plan and shot me in the head."

"Well, now that you mention it, I am a little curious."

"Well, I happened to come across something that Marla gave you which I find a little bit intriguing."

And with that he threw a 200 page manuscript onto my lap. I had been quite calm up until now, but I shivered slightly when I saw what it was.

Rewind about three weeks before I came to LA and picture me sat watching Saturday morning cartoons. Marla comes bursting in from her meeting at the "Support Group Addicts Support Group". Yes, it is as dumb as it sounds. Apparently, Marla and I were not the only Support Group addicts out there. Remember Bob? Bitch Tits Bob? Turns out he was one. Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "But he'd lost both his testicles". However, when his body was dug up from my Zen garden both the autopsy and his wife (who had never left him BTW) confirmed that his balls had been in working order right up until he received a lead aspirin. As for his tits, what can I say, he was just a fat bastard. Nothing more I can say will convince you, but then again, you never met him so you can't debate about this. Anyway, Marla was the leader of this group and she held it every Saturday. Every Saturday she would come home exhausted, but this week she came home euphoric. She ran up to me and kiss me hard on the lips. She tasted of Marlboro and Wrigley's, for those of you that want to know.

"What was that for?" I asked

"I've got a trip for you to LA." She said making her way to her room.

"And why would I be going to LA?" I said sitting up on the couch.

"Because of this." she said as she came back out of the room.

She threw a 200 page manuscript on my lap in the same way Tyler would do three weeks later. I picked it up and read the title.



Fight Club

By John Noonan



I flicked through the manuscript and read some of the pages. It was a movie script with very familiar dialect.



Int. Bathroom. Night



Jack is brushing his teeth. Tyler is clipping his nails.



Tyler

If you could fight anyone in history, who would it be?



Jack

Gandhi



Tyler

Good answer.



I closed the manuscript and stood up.



"Okay three questions. Who the fuck is John Noonan? What the fuck is he doing writing about Fight Club? And where the fuck did he get this stuff?"



I probably would have looked more threatening to Marla if I wasn't wearing my Eric Cartman T-Shirt and my dick hadn't been hanging out of my boxers. Marla simply laughed.



"Calm down." she said sitting me down and sitting next to me. "John Noonan is just a wannabe script writer. He's written a script for a film which has been in production for about eight months now. He got this stuff from a couple of your space monkeys that are in jail, me, your boss and.... you."

"This doesn't make sense. How did he get information off me?"

"Every time you were doped up, they sent Noonan in to talk to you. You told him everything. Tyler, Project Mayhem, The Paper Street Soap company. Everything. Now the film is nearly finished and they want you to go down there and view the rough cut."

"Why?"

Marla sighed as a mother would when her child was in a sulk. She lit a cigarette and continued.

"I can give you one million reasons. All with the presidents face on them. You're gonna get paid for this. The director they got is the guy who directed "Seven". He's really anal about how his movies should look. So he gave me a bell and asked me to ship you down so that you could see the final scenes being filmed and make sure everything was how you remembered it."



Marla had become my agent, without me ever realising it. This was sad. Here I was trying to blend into society and here was this Noonan fuck writing about me and immortalising me as this complete wacko. However, what could I do.



"How long do I have to go away for? I'm about to move into my apartment in two days."

Marla smiled. "You'll leave in threes weeks and you'll stay for two months. Don't worry nothing is gonna happen to your apartment while your gone."

"Y'know, my neighbour said that to me before I came back to see my coffee table fly through the ceiling to floor windows."



There was a brief silence and then we both laughed. Marla had a very infectious laugh and once you were caught up in it, it could take up to an hour before you calmed down. Another reason why I like her. Not love! Like!



"Who gives a fuck if you love her not?"

Uh-oh, looks like the flashbacks over.

"Sorry, Tyler. My mind ran away from me."

"Now listen to me" Tyler said stern fully, "I'm going to see you tomorrow and we are going to work something out here. This film can not go ahead."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's obvious! Isn't it?" said Tyler taking out another licorice rope. "This movie can not go ahead."



I am Jack's intense feeling of dread. Tyler had a plan. If Tyler had a plan, he needed me. Tyler could obviously see the ambiguous look of fear and confusion on my face. He stood up and walked to the mini-bar. He pulled out two bottles of Jack D and threw one to me. The bottle flew past me and out the open window behind me. Tyler smirked.



"You know that you were meant to catch that."

"Tyler," I finally said, "Why can't this movie go ahead?"



Tyler smiled again. I was falling into his web again. Just like the last time.



Tyler used to work in a cinema. You know those single frames of vaginas and cocks that appeared in Disney films? That was Tyler. Maybe I've already told you this. Now this wasn't just a simple act of urban terrorism. Tyler did it so that kids would never want to see the film ever again. In turn, their parents would never buy them merchandise that would remind them of the film. I mean, if your kid burst out screaming or crying for no apparent reason in "The Emperor's New Groove", would you buy them a stuffed llama. By quenching the child's thirst for toys, Tyler was well on his way to starting a war against commercialisation.



"Now out comes this film of my life and you know there is gonna be a shit load of merchandise to follow." whined Tyler "Look at that movie "Lost in Space". You know there were toy companies everywhere creaming their pants at the chance of turning that chameleon/monkey piece of crap into a doll. Now if they did it with that film, they'll do it with this one. They'll be "Fight Club" action figures, "Fight club" lunch boxes, T-shirts, CD soundtracks by fucking hip-hop bands that no one has ever heard of. Christ, they'll probably even be comic books. Now I don't wanna sound like a whinger..."



Which he did!



"Having my words immortalised on film is a dream come true. However, to have my words used to sell shit that no one really needs.... It's a contradiction"

"I know what you mean." I said comforting,

"Like fuck you do, Mr Bud Lite boy."



Tyler breathed heavily. He was pissed. The very idea his words were being used to sell things... Well, that was too horrible to even contemplate.



"Well, I'm not gonna help you." I said, "I'm just gonna go watch the movie, get my $1 million and go home."

"I don't need your help, Ikea boy." Tyler said turning his back on me,

"I'm afraid you do." It was my time to smirk, "After all, you need me to exist."

Tyler spun round. "Fuck you! Fuck.....you! I exist. I'm real!"

"Tyler, stop kidding yourself. You said it yourself, why would you create a loser alter-ego to make yourself feel better."

"Well, I was pissed off with you at the time, Tyler."



Ladies and Gentlemen, do not adjust your font. He did just call me Tyler.



"Tyler, you're Tyler."

"No way!" He said sitting back down on the bed, "You're Tyler Durden."



This is gonna get confusing. All those with low IQs please leave the building.



"Stop with the mental voice overs." Tyler yelled,

"Stop reading my fucking mind!" I yelled back, "Tyler, what the fuck is going on?"

"Look I didn't wanna tell you this, seeing as you're unwilling to help me, I might as well tell you the truth."

"WHAT TRUTH?!"

"My name is Chuck. I use to be a young offender. Nothin' serious. Just the occasional vandalism charge or mugging. When I got out of a five year sentence my Dad got me a job with a car company. I worked really hard to forget my old ways and managed to become a recall operator. I had a good life. A good apartment. A wardrobe that was that was close to being respectable."



My words coming out of Tyler's mouth.



"However, I slipped into my old ways. I began walking the streets at night looking for fights. I found one in the form of a big Jewish guy named Ben. I walked up to him in a bar and glassed him. He wasn't even fazed. He got up and beat several types of shit out of me and I ended up in hospital. It was then that you started visiting me. You'd sit by my bedside and start telling me that everything was gonna be okay. You said you'd take care of everything. You'd put it all back together again. And you did. You carried don my job for me. You got me a promotion, a pay rise, my apartment, my life."

"Tyler..." I tried to speak, but the words weren't coming out.

"I sat back and watched you take over my life bit by bit. I tried to break back in, but it was too late. I had to wait for a point when you would be vulnerable."

"So what you're saying is..?"

"You're my alter-ego. It ain't the other way round."

"This doesn't make sense. How come I don't remember any of this?"

"You've chosen to forget about it. I forgive you. Now. Please, now that I've been honest with you. I beg that you help me."



Tyler got up and took my hand. He helped me up. Then in a way that suddenly reminded me of Bob, he hugged me.



"Help me, Tyler" he sobbed.



The room began to spin. I reached out to grab Tyler, but it was too late. I slipped through his arms and fell to the floor. Fade to black. When I woke up it was the next morning. The TV was on and my video camera had been unpacked. I stumbled off my bed and went to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My face was bruised below the right eye. I must have hit my head on the table when I went down. Wait, did I fall or did Tyler? Am I Tyler? This was all so much to take in.



I walked back into the bedroom and picked up my video cam. There was a tape already inside. I hooked the machine up to the TV and pressed play. At first I was greeted by the sight of my own bedroom. Then suddenly the screen was filled with a familiar body. It was me! Yet, it wasn't me. I was sat differently. More confidently. There was a smirk that didn't belong to my face, but that was somehow familiar. It was Tyler's. This was Tyler. This was how I looked when I was Tyler.



"Hey, Ikea Boy!" I/Tyler said, "Sorry about last night. I didn't think you were gonna believe me. Let alone faint. However, it worked out to my advantage. It was the only way I could get you to go along with the first stage of the plan. Look I gotta go. Things to see, people to do. Lots of love, the real Tyler Durden."



With that I/Tyler put on a hoodie and dark glasses and turned off the video. I sat there for a couple of minutes watching the snow cross the screen. I am Jack's big rubbery one. Tyler had a plan. "Fuck" was all I could say before I ran to bathroom and vomited.



I admit this chapter isn't as good as the other two, but every story needs a filler chapter. Sorry about all the swearing in it, but I have just watched Reservoir Dogs and I think there's a bit of Tarantino in me. Or maybe I am Tarantino. OMIGOD! Ah well, I hoped you enjoyed this. You know the process for reviews.