I first met Tyler Durden in Remaining Men Together. He looked depressed so
I went over and hugged him. I hugged him, but he didn't- hmm…maybe I should
start from the beginning…
A long time ago, another lifetime it seems, I went in to the doctor for a routine physical examination. I know you're not here to here about the details, but the doctor did that one check, yea, I know you know what I'm talking about, and he actually found something. Surprised me more than anyone I told. The people I told- my family, my friends, all the people that were close to me- were not surprised, per se, more like…horribly, utterly, and completely disgusted. My Mom just shook her head in disgust, and left the room, and my life. My Dad followed her out of my life. Well- if it were you, what would you choose- Cancer or Sex? I thought so. My brother felt pity for me…very shortly. He and his wife were, shall we say, very happy. I guess I'm happy to know that someone benefited from this experience. My friends would condole me, acting as if they cared. It wasn't until I joined Fight Club that I learned that that is exactly what I should have expected from other people. I am not special. I am the crap of the world.
I could have gotten used to this. I really could have. It's not like a fatty like me is too popular with the ladies, anyway. I wouldn't have a real problem with not being able to mess around. Until I went in for another examination and they said the cancer is getting much worse. They said that my testis had to come off. They, apparently, are bastards.
You would think that nothing worse could have happened, but for some reason I grew breasts. The doctors said something about hormones not having the normal place to go, so they went elsewhere. I don't know…I don't have a Ph.D. in urology. I guess that I bring the term 'a generation of men raised by women' to a whole new level.
Things got much worse as time went on. Whoever said pain eases with time should be dragged out into the street and beaten to death with a Cat-O-Nine- Tails. Too bad I don't have Fight Club anymore...I could recommend that as a homework assignment. Anyway, people have always called me 'Bob', ever since kids learned how to make fun of names. Well, my coworkers started calling me some really messed up names behind my back- I'm talking' back alleyway-whisper over your shoulder-crude-rude-and downright cruel remarks. I can't even mention some of them. I finally got fed up and quit my job. Yea, yea, I need an income. I got by on meals-on-wheels programs and part- time jobs. Luckily, I found a little support group for testicular cancer called Remaining Men Together.
It was great there. I could actually talk about my problems and people would listen and not stare. They would know what it was like. My life was still hell, but it was good to be able to share my problems. And to know that I was not the worst off. One guy had permanent puberty- you know, squeaky voice and a pizza face. Another had a really deep voice, and not the 'Barry White-deep-sexy-voice', he had a 'been-in-the-gutter-for-a-few- years-deep-voice'. Another had to take pills every day in the worst possible place to keep his body from screwing itself over.
Now that you know my life story, I'll get to Tyler. One typical night at Remaining Men Together, we got this new guy. I took one look at him and knew his life had gone to hell in a hand basket. He had deep ovals under his eyes and a very depressed look on his face. He looked as if he hadn't slept in months. The pain must have been really deep, I figured, because he never spoke. So when it came time to hug someone, I immediately lumbered over to him. He had the 'New Guy' expression on his face. You know, the "Me hug a guy??" expression. Well, I held him tight and told him some of my story and cried for a while. Then, realizing he still didn't display any emotion whatsoever, I gently pushed him away from me.
"Okay, now it's your turn to cry," I told him and hugged him close again. After a few second's pause, he started bawling like a baby. He even left a little face imprint on my shirt. I thought to myself, Jesus, this guy needs help. Christ, if I had only known…
A long time ago, another lifetime it seems, I went in to the doctor for a routine physical examination. I know you're not here to here about the details, but the doctor did that one check, yea, I know you know what I'm talking about, and he actually found something. Surprised me more than anyone I told. The people I told- my family, my friends, all the people that were close to me- were not surprised, per se, more like…horribly, utterly, and completely disgusted. My Mom just shook her head in disgust, and left the room, and my life. My Dad followed her out of my life. Well- if it were you, what would you choose- Cancer or Sex? I thought so. My brother felt pity for me…very shortly. He and his wife were, shall we say, very happy. I guess I'm happy to know that someone benefited from this experience. My friends would condole me, acting as if they cared. It wasn't until I joined Fight Club that I learned that that is exactly what I should have expected from other people. I am not special. I am the crap of the world.
I could have gotten used to this. I really could have. It's not like a fatty like me is too popular with the ladies, anyway. I wouldn't have a real problem with not being able to mess around. Until I went in for another examination and they said the cancer is getting much worse. They said that my testis had to come off. They, apparently, are bastards.
You would think that nothing worse could have happened, but for some reason I grew breasts. The doctors said something about hormones not having the normal place to go, so they went elsewhere. I don't know…I don't have a Ph.D. in urology. I guess that I bring the term 'a generation of men raised by women' to a whole new level.
Things got much worse as time went on. Whoever said pain eases with time should be dragged out into the street and beaten to death with a Cat-O-Nine- Tails. Too bad I don't have Fight Club anymore...I could recommend that as a homework assignment. Anyway, people have always called me 'Bob', ever since kids learned how to make fun of names. Well, my coworkers started calling me some really messed up names behind my back- I'm talking' back alleyway-whisper over your shoulder-crude-rude-and downright cruel remarks. I can't even mention some of them. I finally got fed up and quit my job. Yea, yea, I need an income. I got by on meals-on-wheels programs and part- time jobs. Luckily, I found a little support group for testicular cancer called Remaining Men Together.
It was great there. I could actually talk about my problems and people would listen and not stare. They would know what it was like. My life was still hell, but it was good to be able to share my problems. And to know that I was not the worst off. One guy had permanent puberty- you know, squeaky voice and a pizza face. Another had a really deep voice, and not the 'Barry White-deep-sexy-voice', he had a 'been-in-the-gutter-for-a-few- years-deep-voice'. Another had to take pills every day in the worst possible place to keep his body from screwing itself over.
Now that you know my life story, I'll get to Tyler. One typical night at Remaining Men Together, we got this new guy. I took one look at him and knew his life had gone to hell in a hand basket. He had deep ovals under his eyes and a very depressed look on his face. He looked as if he hadn't slept in months. The pain must have been really deep, I figured, because he never spoke. So when it came time to hug someone, I immediately lumbered over to him. He had the 'New Guy' expression on his face. You know, the "Me hug a guy??" expression. Well, I held him tight and told him some of my story and cried for a while. Then, realizing he still didn't display any emotion whatsoever, I gently pushed him away from me.
"Okay, now it's your turn to cry," I told him and hugged him close again. After a few second's pause, he started bawling like a baby. He even left a little face imprint on my shirt. I thought to myself, Jesus, this guy needs help. Christ, if I had only known…