Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

If you have not read Reality, you should do that now, otherwise this one won’t make any sense.

We had established that the person’s name, for the purposes of figurative illustration, would be, Greg, but then I lost the essential thread of where the story was going, and I thought it best to end the narrative immediately, rather than let it diminish towards incoherent rambling. Now, having regained sufficient mental context, I may continue. Greg was sullen and prone to displays of unfiltered emotional outbursts. Fits of hissy, if you will.

Goddammit, Greg! We’re so done with all your drama and bullshit! That’s what we used to say to him whenever he would have his little tantrums, stamping his tiny feet and throwing his hat upon the ground. Shaking his fists towards the sky, he would shout, “Universe! I challenge thee to either improve my state of well-being, or face the punishment of my terrible wrath!” Greg would talk like that, like he was some sort of literary virtuoso. He would confront people with words like, “Prithee, Thee, might you inform me as to your intentions for willfully conducting your two wheeled pedal motivated conveyance in this area that is clearly marked for perambulation purposes only?” Yeah, neato.

So, “Universe! I challenge thee to either improve my state of well-being, or face the punishment of my terrible wrath!” was not outside of normal for Greg. We would all just look at each other in a combination of amusement and disbelief. What did he just say? Did he just challenge the universe to a fist fight or suffer the consequence of his terrible breath? Doesn’t seem very wise, does it? Or, make any sense. The universe is really, really big, and he’s just Greg. Also, it seems like a bit of an overreaction to discovering mustard on your sandwhich when you specifically said, ‘No mustard.’ No, Greg, please don’t ask for the manager.

So, yeah, the thing I had started to talk about, back in the beginning, about the lesson, it’s exactly like that; like Greg. Well, like that, but not exactly that. Sort of like that, because Greg never learned his lesson, and there was a lesson to be learned, but I think we learned it instead. That lesson was, Greg is a dickhead, and we should start going to lunch without him.


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