A madman’s dream, Part 1 of 2

The room I entered had an ambient background of what sounded like Irish drinking songs from Floggin’ Molly. The place appeared to be a lecture hall, the subject was mathematical in nature and the room was full of women. Easily 200 of them and no dudes. The lecturer had a khaki suit and brown lens sunglasses with reddish hair on a receding hairline. He looked so much like the villan in The Matrix, I’d have to that’s exactly who he was.

“Mr. Uzal…”, came the heavy corporate drawl, “Please… have a seat.”

You know me?

“My apologies, sir.”, I took the only available desk at the front center.

“Good.”, he said. “Moving on…Discovering sequences involves…”

Well, I know, I miss more than hit …
With a face that was launched to sink.
And seldom I feel …
The bright relief …
It was the worst
day
since yesterday.

That’s messed up.

“Mr. Uzal, “, began the matrix-looking dude, “4, 8, 16, 32 … please list off the next eight numbers in this sequence.”

“No sweat.”, I said. “64, 128, 256, 512, 1024, 2048, 4096, 8092.”

Just then, the door to the room opened. It was an old friend.

“Hey slick!”, he shouted. “Get up. We’re getting the hell out of here.”

“What for? What’s the matter?”, I asked.

“No time.”, he responded curtly. “You fucked up again. C’mon, we can talk in the hall.”

As I got up from my desk, a hand from behind me lightly grabbed my arm. “Chris …”

It was an absolutely drop dead gorgeous blue eyed Rapunzel that I knew from years ago. As I stood, her hand moved down my arm until she held my hand. “Where are you going?”, she asked. “Are you going help me out with philosophy tonight?”

Just then, it dawned on me … I’m standing, as in not in my wheelchair. I have a lean athletic build like a point guard or a surfer but for some strange reason, I feel like a karate black belt. Not that I would actually get into a fight with somebody, I just feel like a black belt.

“Look around, Chris.”, my friend began, “What’s wrong with this picture?”

“Room full of women being lectured by the dude from the matrix for starters.”, I observed. “And I look like I do calisthenics six hours a day.”

“Right.”, he said. “Each one of these stupid chicks has used you until they had no further need for you. They still keep your number because they will use you again.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”, I responded. “Some of them are just fucked up in the head. I can forgive and forget. Half of them are going to lose their lives in alcohol, drugs or codependency … melanoma in some cases.”

“Chris …”, Rapunzel interjected, “Who’s your friend?”

Before I could make the introduction, he spoke for himself, “Die, bitch.”

“He’s not very nice.”, she complained.

“Dude, have you lost your mind?”

Just then, another friend stepped into the room. “Oye, Christobal.”, he said. “Bros before hoes, jefe … never forget that.” And he left as quickly as he came.

Bros before hoes??? Has everyone gone insane and decided to embarrass me in front of virtually every woman I’ve ever known? What in the hell is wrong with these guys? I turned to my friend with urgency, “You said we had to leave. Let’s get out of here.”

We entered the hallway and started walking. The area seemed like a labyrinth with passages leading off into every direction. The place felt familiar and I did not concern myself with it. Instead, I asked the question, “You said I fucked up. How so?”

“Most of the time,”, he began, “You have a decent game. You give up only what you think that you are going to get back. It keeps everything fair and keeps you from getting exploited.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your mind.”, sticking his index finger to my temple, “You gave away the whole fucking store.”

I now I understood what he was talking about. “Yeah, I don’t really know what happened there.”

“What happened… is what always happens.”, he answered. “You kindly assume that these women you run into have something resembling intelligence and worldly comprehension. In reality, they think they are entitled to whatever they want, they think that their mere presence will cover the cost of anybody else’s effort and they have no understanding of the concept of quid quo pro. ”

“Quid quo pro is not exactly an ethical platform for life.”

“Neither is ignorance.”, he said. “How much time do you spend on your mind? Those chicks are so ate up, they think that they are doing you a favor by just being around you when you are sparing them from a life of futility. Having absolutely no respect for your knowledge or your time is worse than an explicit quid quo pro proposition. It is intellectual rape.”

“Intellectual rape?”, I wondered aloud. “That’s a little over the top, bro. It’s part Society, part me. I’m supposed to be pitied and I make people look pitiful. Some people—hell, most people—can’t handle that kind of humility. People can’t lie to themselves around me.”

“Is a woman’s body more valuable than your mind?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then why in hell do you repeatedly let them get away with thinking that they don’t need to do a damn thing in return? This is not about bullshit concepts like giving is better than receiving. They don’t need to spend a lifetime learning how to fuck. That’s hard-wired. At the end of the day, it is the lowest common denominator among humans next to taking a shit.”

“What do you want me to say? What words will make that point without scaring them away and branding ‘ASSHOLE’ on my forehead?”

“If they can’t pay you in money and they won’t pay you in flesh, you need to drop kick them into the next galaxy.”

“You know…I also accidentally shaved off my eyebrows.”, I chuckled. “I can’t really blame her for thinking that I look like a goddamn freak. She did drive over a hundred miles so who the hell knows? I really have to take this loss and move on. ”

“Yeah,”, he laughed, “That was a pretty fucking stupid accident. What were you thinking?”

“It was a rouge hair.”, I explained. “Roughly 2 whole inches longer than the rest of my eyebrow hairs which made it the longest hair on my body. I attempted to do a routine trim with the clippers, my arm slipped, and the result is fubar. Leaving it as a crop circle was not an option but evening everything out made me look like Uncle Fester on crack.”

“Dumbass.”

“No kidding.”

“Chris, I want you to do two things for me.”

“Sure,”, I said. “What do you need?”

“First, try to refrain from swallowing half a bottle of wine when the goal of ‘pussy’ deteriorates into a manifestation of ‘pizza’.”, he said. “It makes you look like a moron and puts you in bad shape.”

As he said those words, my head started pounding and my throat went dry. “Ugh, what the fuck just happend? I feel terrible…thirsty.”

“It’s going to get a little worse before it gets better, Slick.”

“Ok…”, I groaned. “What’s the second thing?”

“Wake up.”

“What?”

“Now.”

I woke up.