Okay, let's get one thing straight.
I'm talking to you now, and this is it. This is the last time,
you got it? I don't want to be asked again. Everybody else may
go along with it, but I think it's a pretty stupid fuckin' idea.
You want to know about me? You hang around with me all the time, you should know by now. But it's still early. Okay. So this one time, I'll tell you about the dream I had. That should be enough.
In the dream, I'm riding
around in the back of a limo -- or not a limo, it's not one of
those big ugly stupid black and white stretch jobs, it's just
a big car like really rich people have. Like a Rolls Royce Silver
Ghost or something. Very classy. I'm dressed up, this expensive
Brooks Brothers suit like my brother wears all the time, but you
can tell this one was cut just for me. I look at myself in a little
mirror and I can see that I look good: hair slicked down nice
and smooth, scars are all gone -- nice, you know?
Anyway, I'm sitting in
the back watching the TV or something, and I'm drinking champagne,
when the driver stops for a red light. And this other limo, this
one is a black stretch, a showy Caddy, pulls alongside
and the passenger motions for me to roll down my window. Yeah,
right, just like in the commercial. So I watch a lot of television;
who doesn't? Anyway, of course, the guy, who's really suave and
rich-looking, asks me in a perfect East Coast snotty accent if
I have any Grey Poupon.
Look, do you want me to
tell this fuckin' story or not?
So I say, same snooty twang,
"But of course." And I reach out to hand him this little
tub of the stuff that was in the minibar, but instead of handing
it to him, I just throw the fucker as hard as I can right at his
face. When it hits him in the nose, his eyes well up and he can't
see for a minute, and so I step out of the car and grab him by
the lapel, and hit him really hard right across the jaw.
I start laughing like a
maniac, and I get back in my car and motion to the driver (who
I can now see is none other than Percy) to take off. We run right
through the red light, both laughing now. But what I see now isn't
me -- in the dream I don't follow me away in the car. I stay with
this dumb fuck I just belted, and I watch him with his eyes stinging
with tears and pain, and the big welt on his chin, and blood trickling
out of his jaw, and he's confused as hell -- he doesn't know what's
going on.
And when I woke up, this
dream kind of disturbed me, right? I mean, it should, having that
kind of dream. But I'll tell you this: I'm glad I stayed with
the guy until the end of the dream. Seeing him like that, that
was the best thing about it.
That's it. That's all you need.
Quote of the Day: "There is no death. There is only me. Me, who is going to die!" (Andre Malraux)