I sat toying with the phone for a bit and decided I didn't want to call that guy after all. He was a whiny bitch. Fuck him. I'm just going to hang out in this hotel and chill. Alone at last, free at last, tired as shit and wishing I had eaten more of that food that I destroyed. I consider taking a shower but then realize that won't do anything about my clothes. Yanking them off down to the underwear I crawl into the bed and turn on the television. The newest episode of my favorite show is on. It's about a douchebag medical doctor who's right about everything. It's pretty realistic which I why I like it. Thinking back now I don't even remember what it was all about. Just some drama and the character learns more about themselves. I mean, it's pretty obvious this character already knows everything so I'm pretty sure that's bad writing.
Oh well.
It finishes up and I start flipping the channels. Infomercials, the Food Network, some old detective show, and then suddenly I see something that in retrospect shouldn't have taken me off guard; me. There's a brief clip of me falling over the fucking punch table, and then they cut to a still shot of the same. JESUS CHRIST, I look like a HOBO. I mean, if anyone can carry the hobo look it's pretty obviously me. I do look pretty snazzy all things considered. But this is still pretty fucked up. I don't even remember seeing cameras. I mean, fuck man! I didn't see the camera that took the newspaper photo either. That's what got me into all this mess in the first place, and made me have to come up with a whole slew of bullshit in front of a huge ass crowd. The media is bullshit. They're like ninja's except they don't do interesting things like kill people.
This is bad. I lay down again and go to sleep for a bit. In my dreams I see big white space like in The Matrix when all the guns show up. Except, nothing is showing up. There's no voice, no Trinity, not even lame ass Neo looking characteristically stupid. It's just, nothing. Fucking stupid dream is fucking stupid. GOD, it's like even when I'm trying to rest I can't escape the bullshit. Fucking bullshit. It goes on like that for what seems like forever, but I guess it's not exactly easy to tell time in a dream. Just when I feel like I'd rather die than put up with this anymore, I wake up.
The phone is ringing. I never thought I would be glad that people decided to bother me. I guess that just goes to show that other people can't even annoy me as well as I can. I mean, that's kind of like one of those paradoxes and then I remember that, oh yeah, the phone is ringing. I pick it up and let them have it. "What do you want?" I say.
The voice comes back over the phone "Is this room 613?"
This is dumb. "Yeah it's room 613, weren't you paying attention when you dialed the fucking number?" I hear a growl on the other side of the phone. Am I talking to a bear? I hope so. That's the type of interruption I deserve. People are boring. Animals at least are entertaining. They aren't pretentious.
The bear opens its mouth and speaks again "This is officer Donahue. Why didn't you call us when the press started following you?"
It sounds like an accusation. I don't like where this is going. "I didn't know they were following me. I mean, they were like fucking ninja's or s-" the asshole, who is decidedly not a bear at this point, interrupts me.
"The agreement was that you would call us if the press started to harass you." There's a silence for a bit. I don't know what to say to this asshole. It doesn't matter anyways, he starts up again. "We're checking you out of the hotel." Ok, now I'm officially pissed off.
"Hey fuck you man, I didn't do anything!"
He seems prepared for this. "The arrangements just went through. Sorry. Taxpayer money is a scarce resource for this department. We can't afford to go throwing it away on little kids who won't play ball." He hangs up. I don't know how to deal with this. I'm trying to find the thoughts to go with the feelings I'm having, and then finally they come.
The media just fucking ruined my life! Here I was, popular and living the good life, away from Johnny and people in general in my own hotel room I didn't even have to pay for, and they go and ruin everything! Somebody needs to do something about these fucking news people. They ought to pass a law; they ought to pass ten laws! Fucking hell. And then they should shoot anybody that disobeys the law, right through the fucking head, and put them on tv! Yeah, that would do it. Although I guess technically that would mean employing more newspeople in the long run. But on the other hand tv would be better at least. Well I'm glad I got that out of my system. Now I need to figure out what I want to do. At least I don't have to pack. That's good at least. I start to wonder if maybe the room is cleaned up and then I realize that's retarded. Of course it isn't, that would imply competence. Johnny would probably let me stay with him wherever he is, but fuck that. I'd rather actually be homeless. Then I could build up some awesome street cred and start a career as a freestyle rapper. On the other hand I don't really like rap. I mean, I appreciate the values it stands for and everything, but the music itself just seems to lack energy. It's so mopey and full of itself. I'm not sure I want to be a part of that scene.
I sit down and put my hands in my pockets, and I feel something. It's that pamphlet from the Anarchist club. Maybe it can get me out of this mess. It's brought me nothing but good fortune so far. I open it up and see the author. Mike Hawk. Beneath that in underlined italic is an email address: labourtheorist I sit staring at it for a while. Something is eluding me about this text, this particular arrangement of symbols and phonemes. It's as if it has some deeper significance. I'm puzzling over it when suddenly I burst out laughing. I figured it out. This is the gayest author info ever. I mean, think about it. Mike Hawk. My. Cock. And then the email address. Hot Male.
I sit there laughing about it for a good ten minutes or so, or however long. I don't know, I'm not very good at keeping track of time. Then I decide on a plan. First I tear all the bedsheets off the fucking beds and throw them onto the air conditioner, which is set to heat right now. I know these types of bedsheets don't burn but they do this weird melting thing. I found out one time after throwing them onto a heater out of curiosity. Then I turn the television cabinet completely around, just for the fuck of it, pick up a coffee table and put it on the bed, and then I'm out. I'm heading down to the lobby. It didn't look like they had a computer there but there's one behind the desk. I'll just use that one.
I go up to the lady at the counter. It's the same fat bitch as before. I ring the bell just to make sure I have her attention, even though she's already looking at me.
"Excuse me, but can I please use your computer? I have an email I have to send and it's very urgent". She stares at me with the look of ham in her eyes and opens her great big pig face.
"I'm sorry sir, but this computer isn't for use by customers". This isn't what I want to hear.
"What do you mean? It has an internet connection, doesn't it?" Her infernal gaze continues.
"Yes sir, but-" I fucking cut her off like a vespa on the freeway.
"Oh my god, I can't believe this! My girlfriend gets shot by the cops and now I'm getting kicked out of my hotel, on to top it all off I can't even send one lousy email!" The pigbeast's eyes begin to widen, almost seeming to demonstrate a sign of intelligence. A revelation is dawning on her, perhaps. Maybe she's just managed to match my face to one of the apparently many pictures that have been taken of me. My suspicions are confirmed.
"I'm sorry sir, please let me get out of your way. I'm so sorry." She gets up and lumbers away from her nest and I hop the counter and sign into gmail.
I fire off the first thing that pops into my head. "MIKE I AM GET KICKED OUT OF MY PLACE BY THE COPS CAM I STAY WIT U". I hit send. After waiting a good five minutes or whatever it was, I'm just about ready to give up when suddenly an email pops up in my inbox. "Sure man, no problem. What are comrades for after all? Those fascist pigs will pay. Soon capitalism will no longer be sustainable and then the people will implement a new order. There won't be any place in it for them, needless to say. I'm just finishing up attending a Q&A by my favorite author at Barnes and Noble. Where do you want to meet? I can pick you up."
I think for a bit about what is nearby, fairly warm, and interesting enough for me to stay occupied while I'm waiting. I hit reply. "WAL MART". A second later the response comes. "Ok, sounds good. I should be there in about half an hour". I hop back over the counter. The pig beast is looking at me as if it is expecting my approval, but this would be to dignify it and therefore give it a status equal to man. Worse actually, equal to me. So I ignore her and make my way briskly out the hotel into the cold streets outside. Wal Mart is maybe five blocks from here. If I can just walk fast enough maybe I won't run into any well-wishers. Maybe I can stay safe from the news ninja's, even.
Sure enough, I arrive without incident. It's going to be a while before Mike gets here, so I guess I better get started gawking at things. First things first. I walk to the sports section to look at all the equipment I'm never going to use and don't care about. I figure the least interesting things should be the first part of the tour. An employee comes over to ask me if I'm interested in anything. I think about just telling him to fuck off, but then I realize that doesn't kill time efficiently enough. I string him along for a good long while, making him think that I'm interested. Then I tell him to fuck off.
After that I wander over to the tupperware section. Tupperware is technically more interesting than sports equipment, but only because it's more efficient for storing alcohol. I knew a guy who tried to brew moonshine in a skiboot once. He ended up getting a lung fungus. I mean, I guess that makes the question whether he should have tried drinking it instead of inhaling it but that's just semantics and besides, I don't really want to risk it. Tupperware is also cool because if you have enough of it then you don't have to cook more than maybe once a month.
Getting bored of that I head over to the automotive section and stare at all the little dashboard toys and replacement lights. Some of the steering wheel and seat covers look pretty cool. Almost cool enough for me to want to get a job so I can afford a car to put them in. Then of course there's all the custom shifters. A motherfucking skull man. Also, a dragon. Boss. Totally boss. I'd kill for this shit. Contemplating it is starting to get the better of me though. I better get out of here before I lose it.
I head back to the video games section. Video games are the only people that understand me. They know how awesome violence is and they don't bother with all this stupid talking and philosophy and shit. The only talking people do in games is in preparation for violence, and that's not really talking at all. That's using words as an extension of violence. Words ought to be used that way. Anything else is a lie, in my opinion. There's this new game out that's about this underwater city of faggots that tried to worship capitalism and then got their shit rocked for being so retarded. I bet that's the sort of think Mike would like. I should ask him about it. It's technically a sequel.
What seems like more time than I ever spend consciously planning things has passed at this point. I guess it's time to start finishing up this tour. I head over to the women's lingerie section and check that shit out. Some of it's pretty tasty. I like things with lace, and call me a fag but I like the way some of this is pink. I know that's pretty fancy terminology for a hetero guy to be using to talk about clothes, but like I said I'm good at everything. I just learn from osmosis. I don't have to give a shit about clothes or nothing, I still end up learning as much as anybody about them. Some women are gawking at me. I bet they think I'm being romantic. I wonder if I can pick up any chicks while I'm here? Suddenly something gives me the idea that I should move on, so I do.
Last stop, junk food isle. I'm being extra-careful looking this stuff over. I know I'm going to get something but I don't know what. Twinkees? Nah, too generic. Maybe a hostess fruit pie? Those are pretty cool, but I'm pretty sure they belong to the hipsters now ever since that guy on the internet wrote about them. People on the internet are stupid. They build entire subcultures devoted to things that normal people would enjoy if they weren't afraid of getting called out by the fanatics. I mean, there's fucking subcultures devoted to porn even. When you take something like sex and make it so people are afraid to do it because they'll get called out for not being sufficiently elitist, that's just fucked up. I mean, people will try pretty much anything if it involves sex. People are retarded.
Then I see it. BBQ Pork Rinds. I've actually never had these before. Or Pork Rinds at all for that matter. All I know is that people say they're completely terrible for you, and if people say that then it must be good because that's just how it works. I started drinking for the same reason and I don't regret it. Best 12 years of my life. I yank the jumbo bag off the rack because it's actually cheaper than the small ones. I mean, not just cheaper per ounce or whatever but actually cheaper on the whole. I don't understand why they do that. It's pretty dumb. I guess people are just willing to pay more for smaller sizes because they're more fashionable or something, so companies just jack up the prices on the stuff people buy. That would make sense. Kind of like why iPod's are so much more expensive than every other MP3 player. They do that with soda too.
Speaking of Soda, I want to get some. It's a special occasion though so I don't want any of the normal brands. None of those stupid store brands either. Those are terrible. I mean, I guess a couple are okay, but their version of Sprite tastes like Mountain Dew and their version of Root Beer tastes like... I don't know. I guess it tastes like brown. That's the only way to describe it. Then I see something awesome. It's a 2 liter of Grape Soda. Is Grape Soda any good? I've never had it before.
They say black people like it, and if that's true then it's probably pretty good. I like pretty much everything they say black people like, except for rap music. I'm ahead of the curve that way. Really it just comes with an education, the reason people are racist is because they're retarded. I'm sure if they just tried Grape Soda they would like black people. People should be more respectful of other cultures and not try to force their values on other people.
I grab that sucker off the shelf and head for the register. When I get there the line is pretty long. There's only like two registers open which is stupid. Exploiting the workers as usual I guess. Geeze, fucking Wal-Mart. Corporations are stupid. They can't do anything right. There's a magazine about Somalia or something. I mean, couldn't they have put a magazine about something people care about there? Like tv or celebrities? Morons as usual. I can't believe how stupid this country is now. I mean, I bet things weren't this stupid back in the day when Ben Franklin was president. That was a man who knew how to handle things.
The girl at the register tries to talk to me but I don't respond. She realizes I don't give a shit and just rings up my stuff. "That'll be $1.98, sir". She emphasizes the sir. Fucking bitch. I swipe my card and pick up the stuff. "Sir wait, it didn't go through. You'll have to try it again." I hate this so much. The bitch probably fucked it up just to spite me. I swipe the card again. After waiting for a while, she turns to me again. "It didn't go through". God damn corporations can't do anything right. I take out my wallet and pay in cash. I hate paying in cash. I need that cash to buy things from vending machines and to get lottery tickets and shit. I don't get why they don't let people buy lottery tickets with credit card. I mean, what's the worst that can happen? Also, if it happens would it at least be amusing? Because then I could get behind it even if it was pretty fucked up. Or actually, since it was really fucked up, I guess, would be the way to; ah whatever.
I take my shit and then out of curiosity I head over to the atm to look at my balance. I swipe the card through and print out the receipt. Checking, $-348.76, Savings, $17,983.47. I don't get why they don't just take the money out of savings and put it in checking. My bank is retarded. I've been thinking about changing but it would probably be too much work. Besides, I bet every other bank would do the same thing. I don't even remember what all I've been spending money on. Maybe I went on a shopping spree while I was drunk, but in that case it should still be pretty obvious what I bought. Or maybe I just bought more liquor and drank it that night. Actually, some of what I had in the dorm might have been stuff I bought.
It doesn't matter anyways. I throw the receipt away and go outside to wait. Sitting down on a bench I pop open the Grape Soda. It's actually pretty ok. It tastes like Kool-Aid would if Kool-Aid were retarded. It's certainly better than any of the store-brand soda. I take a big swig of it and let it wash around my mouth a bit, then swallow. Then I tear open the bag of Pork Rinds and pull some out. These things look disgusting, they're all covered in; is that hair? Gross. For a second I think about just throwing the whole thing away except then I remember why I bought it. More importantly I remember that it cost money so I don't want it to go to waste. At least, not without finding out whether the ratio of whining to awesome is something that always holds true. I close my eyes and shove a handful in my mouth.
They're... not exactly good, but I wouldn't call them bad either. It's like somebody smothered bacon in barbeque sauce and wrapped the whole thing in Styrofoam. I mean, Styrofoam isn't really that bad. I'm used to eating things off of it, at least. Sometimes I chew up Styrofoam cups just to show them who's boss. It's just weird to actually be ingesting something that reminds me of it. I grab another handful, being careful not to look at it this time, and then go for the grape soda again. The result is what I can only call strange. Mixing bland, meat flavored Styrofoam with really sharp artificial grape isn't exactly what I would call a taste sensation. Best not to think about that though. I might get queezy and that's not what I'm after.
I look up and see Mike out in the parking lot. He's heading towards me but I don't feel like going out to meet him. Then I see he's heading towards the other entrance so I get up and head over to cut him off. Why does he have to inconvenience me like this? Does he think he's better than me or something. Whatever. I hit him on back of the shoulder right as he's about to go inside and he turns around. Seeing it's me he smiles, which shows that at least he knows how to properly react to my presence, unlike some people. "Hey man, how you holding up?" he says. Well, I guess he's not any better at conversation. I fucking hate that question.
"I'm cool dude. So which one's your car?" I say.
"I'm the blue Ford Expedition over there" he points, using his entire hand like some sort of eurofag.
"ok cool, let's get the fuck out of here" I tell him, and he smiles again and we head over to his SUV. At least he's got a decent taste in cars. I wonder what kind of place he lives at.
I get into the passenger seat and it already feels like a throne. SUV's are cool. They put you above everyone physically which means they put you above everybody in real life too. I think everybody knows this which is why environmentalists don't like them. All those people have inferiority complexes, like they think animals are more important to them. Maybe they should all go get eaten by a bear then if they like them so much. It's fucking stupid. Mike climbs in to the drivers seat and starts it up.
"Nicfe cah" I say through a mouthful of Pork Rinds.
"Thanks" he says "I just got it a month ago. It's pretty handy for carrying club members around when we go pamphleteering". Like I give a shit about pamphleteering.
"Thasf cooa" I say, as he turns out of the parking lot onto the street.
Things are quiet for a while so I try to think of something to say. I don't really know anything about Mike. I met him pretty much randomly and we've only known each other for a few days. I'm surprised he was ok with me staying with him. Hey, maybe this will turn out like that movie Fight Club and we'll end up being the same person. That would be boss. Then I could shoot myself in the face and be awesome forever. Except that the club in Fight Club was cooler because it was about fighting. I bet they never did any pamphleteering. What kind of pamphleteering does an anarchy club do anyway? Shit sucks. Schizophrenia would have been cool.
What the fuck can I talk about? I don't want to seem uncool, but I don't know what to say. Hey, maybe I can ask about that book signing he was attending. I go ahead and wash down what I have in my mouth and turn to him. "So, what was that book thing you were talking about?" He turns the wheel and we get onto the highway.
"Oh, that?" he says "It was one of my favorite philosophers. I have all of his books, or at least all of them except Archon Agression." That's a pretty cool title. It has the word aggression in it. I hope it's an instruction manual.
"So what's he all about?" I say.
Mike thinks for a second. "Well basically" he says "he's all about showing the hypocrisy of western culture. Like how western metaphysics is ostensibly all about consistency, when in reality there are all these contradictions in it. But these contradictions come to be accepted and even glorified as adding meaning or value to western thought and philosophy. Then that philosophy is used to subjugate and oppress minorities and other cultures."
I'm nodding. I don't really know what the fuck he just said but I guess that's ok. I'll just wing it. "Yeah dude, people are pretty big hypocrites" I take another gulp of Grape Soda. "I mean, it's like that libertarian guy. Saying that we need government to enforce property rights in order to have peace.
That's like fucking for virginity, or, uh, whatever it..." Mike goes ahead and treats it like a complete thought, which he ought to. Mike seems like a pretty cool guy. He isn't full of bullshit like other people.
"Exactly" he says "it's just that old saw about the ends justifying the means. That's all those uncle tom anarchist's ideas really come down to anyways. At least if you press them hard enough."
Mike gets off the highway now. "Yeah, and like, it's so fucked up. Because, isn't it supposed to be that things can only cause things that are like the things they are, or something?" Mike smiles, signals, and changes lanes.
"According to western metaphysics" he says.
We're turning into an alley now, running behind a long row of houses. It's an old inner city sort of neighborhood, the kind of place where poor white people live or maybe gays. The houses are stupid and there are trees and bushes and shit everywhere. He hits a button and a garage opens and in we go. He closes it even though I don't see a door. Then I look over to the right and see it. Man, this place is closer to a shed than a garage. I'm almost finished with my pork rinds now so I try and cram the last bit into my mouth. I chew for a bit and then take a giant swig of the grape soda. Except there's a problem.
I've got so much in my mouth right now that I can't actually swallow, and it's pretty fucked up because now that I'm having to taste this shit altogether at the same time for more than 5 seconds, it's really disgusting. I start to work it down, bit by bit, opening the door and jumping out of the car.
Then something terrible happens. I didn't realize it until after we stopped, but apparently I was carsick. Combined with the terrible taste sensation I inflicted upon myself this is all too much. I throw up all over the garage floor right as Mike walks around the front of his car. "Ah man!" he says "Are you alright?" This is fucking embarrassing. Usually when I throw up I don't give a shit about what other people think about me, but this is about having a place to live. And pamphleteering. Or... something.
"I'm fine dude, I'm alright. It's cool."
Mike looks unconvinced. "You've had it tough the past few days, haven't you" he says " Don't worry about that, I'll clean it up later. Come on and I'll show you where you're staying." I feel like I just spent all the cool points I earned during the car ride over. I'm actually pretty much upset, but I figure there's nothing to say so I go ahead and follow him.
We go in through the back door and I can already tell this place is old. There are like, three different floors layered over each other, each layer chipping away to show the one beneath it. And that's just in the weird lobby space thing near the back door. There's a spiderweb cracked tile floor after that, leading into the kitchen. It isn't polished. Then after the kitchen is an equally unpolished wood floor. I look out in that direction, thinking that's where Mike is going to take me, but instead he leads me to the right down a flight of the most half-assed stairs I've ever seen in my entire life. They sound like they're going to come to life and kill us as we walk down them into the basement. There in the basement is a single lightbulb, hanging over a pipe from an extension chord but at least with some weird switch thing attached right there. At the far side of the room is a single mattress, no bedsheets, laying flat on the floor.
"Well" Mike says "It's not much, but it's home. I'll go get you some bed sheets." With that he ventures back upstairs and I'm sitting here pondering my surroundings. There's an old boiler that seems like it's from the 1800's, and a huge network of pipes leading all through the fucking ceiling and shit.
Spiderwebs are in a lot of places, and the floor slopes downward towards the center where there's a big drain, right in the middle of the whole thing. This place is unlike anything I've ever seen before. Most people never would have even dreamed of putting someone up in a place like this. I'm trying to gather my thoughts to address the sheer spectacle of it when Mike shows up once more, throwing the sheets onto the bed rather abruptly.
"So" he says "what do you think?" I turn to him and let him know my exact thoughts.
"This place is fucking awesome!" I say. Mike smiles. It's funny, because it seems like that's basically his default reaction. Just the same though it doesn't piss me off like it would with most people who are predictable. It actually makes Mike seem even easier to deal with, like I know something about him. Suddenly I get a shiver and I go ahead and punch myself in the arm. Not because it will stop the shiver. I actually don't know why I did it. It hurts pretty bad now. Mike stopped smiling and is barely hiding concern. "Hey man, feel free to let yourself wander around the house as you please. If you need anything, just let me know. I'm here for you ok?" he says. I hesitantly make eye contact. He takes that as a sign and starts grinning nervously, then keeps talking "Just try not to make too much noise at night. I share this place with three other people. You're going to meet Danny when he comes home later. He sleeps over there" he gestures towards a closet I hadn't noticed before.
"ok" I say, and leave it at that. Mike gives me one last look and heads back upstairs. If I have to share this place that's kind of lame. I thought I would have had it to myself. This is dumb. I hate dealing with people and I'm probably going to hate Danny. Nah, it's pretty much a sure thing. Mike was one in a million, and I even hate him a little bit. I go ahead and start making the bed. It strikes me that I don't have a pillow but I guess that doesn't really matter. I'll just sleep on my back or maybe I'll use my arm as a headrest or something. I finish making the bed and just lie down for a bit. Mike is probably cleaning up my puke right now. I sort of wonder why he would do that.
Actually, I sort of wonder why Mike would do any of the things he's done for me so far. It doesn't really make sense to me. I mean, first he told me how to make a move on my girlfriend, then he let me into his stupid club even though I was trying to conquer it, and now he's letting me sleep in his house. I don't get it. Maybe he's just a cool guy, but more likely he's just lucky. It's a good thing he didn't help me get in with that Elizabeth chick whose face exploded. I probably wouldn't have forgiven him for that. Just the same it's kind of unsettling, but also a little bit nice. Maybe some people just aren't as fucking retarded as others. I hadn't thought of that before. Whatever, I guess it doesn't make sense to trouble over it too much.
I get up and decide to walk around a check out the house. I climb up the stairs pretty carefully, although it doesn't stop them from being a douchebag. I turn to go into the kitchen. There's like, a twenty year old refrigerator there with newspaper clippings about things and those refrigerator magnets with words on them. They aren't being used to make poetry or anything. I've actually never seen them used that way. They're always just there. Why even buy them then? Do people just like having random words all over their fucking refrigerators? I turn around and the sink and counter are covered with pots and pans and dishes. I sure hope there are enough left for cooking, because I'm starting to get hungry. I guess throwing up everything you've eaten can do that, although I don't think it works that way for bulimic chicks. Maybe they can do it because they're just put together differently, like martial artists or jews.
I go ahead and look through the refrigerator. There's milk, butter, and bread. Lame. The freezer doesn't even have anything in it, not even ice even though there's an ice tray. Closing it, I leave the kitchen and see Mike sitting at a computer. "Hey" I say. He turns his head and nods at me.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Right now I'm just reading through some of my favorite blogs" he says.
"So, what are they talking about?"
"Well, right now a lot of people are busily anticipating this genius work by an editorialist" he rolls his eyes as he's talking "who says that the rise of fascism in the 20th century can be traced to progressive ideology". I don't get why Mike always has to talk like this. It was cool when he was using it to control people, but now he just sounds like a fag. I try and think of a response.
"But, uh, aren't the progressives, like, government... people?"
He seems thoughtful for a second and then responds. "Well, I think their heart is in the right place, but ultimately I just think the historical trend of government becoming simply a tool for the rich is too strong to ignore. Just the same, guys like this one hardly help matters in either way." Seems like a good explanation to me. I sort of almost want to ask him more about this stuff, but I can't think of anything.
"Ok, that's pretty cool then" I say, and then go off to wander around some more. I see the bathroom, which I promptly use to clean my shirt off a little from all the dirt and punch and vomit that's caked up over it. Then suddenly I'm struck by an idea, so I go back over to talk to Mike.
"Hey Mike, is it ok if I ask you a favor?" I say.
He seems happy to hear me say this. "Sure, what do you need?"
"Well, do you have any clothes I can borrow? All of mine got left at the dorm when they turned it into a crime scene or whatever, and I've been wearing these for a while now." He laughs pretty loudly which kind of pisses me off. It isn't his normal chuckle, the fucker is actually laughing at me. I'm about to say something to him when he responds to the question.
"You should have said something earlier. Yeah come on, follow me." He gets up from the computer and leads me into a bedroom. I wait at the door and he pulls out a couple of t-shirts and a pair of pants. He brings them back to me and puts them in my arms. "Here" he says.
"Cool thanks" I say and go back into the bathroom to change.
These clothes are kind of loose on me but at least they're clean. I didn't really think about it before but I guess Mike is kind of athletic or something. Like, not pro-wrestler athletic or anything but just sort of maybe like what a sprinter would look like or something. I kind of feel bad that I couldn't keep up my workout schedule, but things have been pretty hectic lately and after that rest day it was hard to make time for it during all the club activities and drinking and stuff. Oh, and the funeral. That was pretty hectic too. I don't really know what to say at this point. Mike seems nice and all but I'm kind of nervous around him, like maybe if I say the wrong thing he'll suddenly stop liking me or tell me to leave. The cops told me to leave and I got along pretty well with them. Or at least one of them. Maybe I'm just being paranoid.
I head down to the basement and chill for a while longer. It's nice and cool down here, but not too cold. In a way I like it better than the hotel. I can't really put my finger on what it is. Maybe I just like basements better than 6th floor hotel rooms. I've never really thought about it before. I lay down and relax, the time seems to go by pretty quick even though I'm not doing anything or really thinking about anything. After a while of that Mike comes down and tells me they're getting ready to cook dinner. I don't know who he's talking about besides him. I guess he was telling me that he shared the place with some people. What was the other guy's name? Donny? Well whatever. I head upstairs and Mike gives me a job in the cooking.
"You see this bowl?" he says? I nod. "Ok, take this bowl and fill it with water." I go ahead and do so. He's busy chopping up vegetables and some other guy is pulling out spices. While he's still chopping Mike opens his mouth again. "Ok, see those noodles?" he points to a block of noodles without looking, still busy chopping.
"Yeah?" I say.
"Take those noodles, and put them in the water."
"Ok" I say "what do I do now?"
He grins, still busy chopping. "Now take the bowl, and put it in the microwave." I follow his instructions.
"ok, now what?" Mike stops for a second and appears to give the subject some consideration.
"About five minutes ought to do it". I hit the timer and start it. It's really weird but I feel satisfied even though at the same time it seems like the whole thing was completely pointless.
"That was dumb" I laugh, and Mike grins at me.
"Hey" he says "if you want dinner you have to either help cook or clean. That's one of the rules in this house." I think about that for a second.
"So... do you need me for anything else?" Mike is done cutting now. He's throwing some of the vegetables into a pot of boiling water.
"Nope" he says. I feel confused again. I go ahead and make my way over to the computer and start browsing the internet. Not blogs though. I actually don't even know any blogs. Just the websites like Newgrounds and Albinoblacksheep and all those other ones with the flash cartoons and the parody's and shit. I start to watch one of my favorite ones and then feel guilty about it, so I exit out.
What is it I really want to do? I think for a second, then start to scroll through his history. I decide on one page at random. The Poor Man Institute. I hit enter. The banner is pretty cool. It has a furry in it, but he's used pretty intellectually. The slogan is awesome too. "For Freedom and Democracy and a Pony." I mean, it's a little bit fruity, but the pony part has me sold. Pony's are badass. Someone needs to figure out how to attach a machine gun to a pony, that would be perfect. I look through the stuff this guy's talking about. I don't really understand most of it. He's using pretty big words. I guess if Mike says it's cool then it probably is. I mean, I can pick out the gist of it. Basically this guy is talking about how all these people are retarded. That's a pretty cool angle. I think I can get behind that.
Maybe I'll come back to it later. I start to just type random shit into google and hit enter, but I get bored of that pretty quickly. After a while I just don't feel up to it. I drift on over back to the kitchen to watch Mike and all them. The vegetables are still cooking, and now the other guy is cooking some rice. I feel so useless right now, it's fucking annoying, so I just start to wander around the house. There's a bookshelf over here. It's filled with a bunch of fucking books. Some of them are pretty big but others are more like that pamphlet Mike gave me. I notice one called "The Logic of Scientific Oppression". That sounds pretty cool. Maybe it's about how to use lazers and shit to take over the world. It makes sense that Mike would have a book like that. I bet it's banned from most places on account of being too awesome.
I take the thing off the shelf when suddenly I hear the front door open. I don't really know what to do so I just sort of stand there. This person walks through the doorway into the room and I say hi.
"Hi" they respond "I haven't seen you before. Are you one of Andrew's friends?"
I put the book down. "Nah, I'm Mike's friend. So who are you?"
"I'm Danny" she says. I just realized it was a girl. I mean, I should have realized more quickly because she doesn't really look like a dude except that she's dressed like one and, I don't know, I guess it was kind of hard to tell alright? Just shut up. She's probably a Dyke. That would make sense. Not that I have anything against that except that it means more competition in the dating game and that's kind of fucked up.
She looks into the kitchen and seems disappointed and for a second I can't think of why, but then I remember what Mike said. She's stuck on dish duty, ahaha. That's pretty funny. Especially considering all I had to do was put some noodles in a microwave. She sits down at the computer and starts looking through things. I think they're blogs and news websites and stuff like that but I don't really care. I would talk to her some more but if she's dressed like that then maybe I shouldn't bother. I don't get how Mike can put up with her. It would drive me crazy having to live with a chick I wasn't fucking. Like a constant taunt.
Just thinking about it gives me shivers. Suddenly Mike calls out from the kitchen. "Foods done" he says, as he comes walking out with a great big plate of it. Yeah asshole, sure thing, help yourself I guess. I go in and start to put the stuff together. Rice first then noodles then vegetables, then this weird sauce thing they have out. The rice is seasoned pretty heavily but it smells ok, the noodles smell good, the vegetables smell alright. I mean, there's more to it than that of course. They all have a distinctive aroma. That's fag talk though and I don't really feel like bothering with it, especially since the only girl nearby wouldn't even be impressed by it. Or maybe she would. It wouldn't be the right kind of impressed though.
Suddenly I realize that there isn't a fucking table anywhere in this house, and that everybody literally just scattered to the four goddamn winds. That's ok though I guess. Trying to talk while eating is stupid. I don't get why it's supposed to be culturally correct to talk at the dinner table but people always yell at you for talking with your mouth full. Either make up your minds or stop trying to multitask, you fuckwits. I mean seriously. It's not that big a deal, but then again everyone always has to make it into one. So I guess it's pretty cool that isn't how things work here. I noticed Danny hasn't come over to get any of the food yet. I'm kind of wondering so I go over to talk to her.
"Hey" I say.
"Hey" she responds.
"Aren't you going to get any food?"
"I'll get some later." This is driving me crazy. Someone is passing up food to read. People are put together weird, I swear.
"What are you doing?" She seems to not hear me at first, but then I realize she's just finishing a paragraph. I guess she would get lost otherwise. It must be hard to try and think when you don't have the brainpower of a man, so I can forgive her for it.
"I'm reading about corporate practices." That seems like a pretty stupid thing to give up food for.
"That sounds pretty boring" I tell her.
"Not really" she says "This site keeps track of all the human rights abuses and unethical activities of Fortune 500 companies." I'm a little bit more interested now so I inch a bit closer. I don't want to catch the gay but I have a pretty strong immune system so it's pretty unlikely.
"Like what?" I ask.
"Well" she says "like whether or not they have defense contracts, whether they operate sweatshops or take advantage of labor in countries with weak labor rights, and what their hiring and firing practices are."
That's a little bit more interesting than it initially sounded, but not much. "So who's like, the worst company?"
She seems to appreciate this question. "Well this one I'm looking at right now, Applied Supersystems, has contracts with the defense department, operates in Somalia and Indonesia, and has a terrible track record with minorities."
I can tell this conversation isn't going anywhere. "Well that's pretty cool" I say, then I catch myself "the website I mean".
She smiles. "Yeah, I think it's pretty useful. It helps me know how to spend my money without killing brown people in the process."
I can't help but laugh. I sort of wonder if it was the appropriate response but if it isn't it's not like I care, she's only a woman. It's not like I'll get kicked out of here if offend her. Or at least I don't think I will. Maybe I should ask Mike about the rules. Or at least try to trick him into revealing them without showing I'm interested. I'm starting to get hungry though and I realize that I allowed myself to get sidetracked by the same bullshit as this chick did even when food was involved, which is kind of hypocritical I guess. Not that it matters for me, but still. "Well I'm going to go eat" I say.
"Ok" she says. That's kind of dumb. Usually people say more than that. This chicks short-winded, which is kind of cool because it's the opposite of long-winded. It's really too bad that she's a lesbian.
I fuck off down to the basement and just sort of eat there. Now that I have the chance to taste the food altogether it's kind of terrible. Like, completely terrible. It's retarded. If each individual ingredient is good then how the fuck can you end up with something this terrible by combining them? I mean, wouldn't you have to be the worst chef ever? Or maybe it's just magic? Although I guess technically it wasn't one chef but a bunch of chefs. But then Mike planned it all. I guess that makes him the bad chef. Except, maybe it wasn't the recipe but we just didn't have the skill to pull it off? In which case it's our fault. But then the fact Mike had us do it in the first place shows he didn't know what he was doing yet again, so clearly it's all his fault.
Nah, it's definitely magic. I mean, first of all it's mean to blame Mike. Second of all he seems pretty smart. I mean, he talks about things and reads about things and stuff that I don't even know what it is, and he knows how to control people which is pretty cool. Like a real life Jedi, except without the lightsaber or half the interesting stuff. So it has to be magic. And especially since all the ingredients were good. I mean, how do you get something bad from stuff that's only good? It doesn't make any sense. It's mathematically impossible, probably, and if it's not then math is stupid and doesn't know what it's talking about.
I pick my way through the plate of food bit by bit until I get tired of it, and just put it down. It's pretty much the worst thing I've ever tasted. It's even worse than that time I tried grape soda with bbq pork rinds. I think about taking the plate up but I don't really feel like it. Besides, if I do that then it means that Danny has to wash another dish. If I don't then she doesn't, and I also get to keep the dish which I think is reward enough for me. I'll just throw away the food sometime tomorrow and hide it. When I leave I can take it with me. It's a pretty cool looking dish. Hopefully the taste of food doesn't stick with it.
I lay down and just sort of let the day hit me. It feels like it was different than most days. Maybe a little harder to deal with but I guess that's ok. I pull the sheets over me, and around me, and then underneath me, and kind of repeat the process a bit until I have it right. Stupid sheets. They're really bad at multitasking. It's like they don't know how to be sheets and bed liner and the same time. Ah well. After a while it doesn't matter, but in a good way; in a different way that it normally doesn't; and I just sort of drift off to sleep.