Cy Preclops

—I haven’t had a drink since Saturday.

—It’s Wednesday.

—I know

—You sound like an alcoholic.

—I know. It still feels good not to drink. I’m going to keep going with it.

—Good! That’s good.

—Every time I make a proclamation like this I immediately undermine myself, but I sort of want to become totally straight-edge: no booze, no drugs, no meat, no stimulants, no sex——

—you should allow yourself coffee. And sex.

—Maybe sex but no coffee. I am going to be 100 percent clean and talk like a stoner. I’m going increase acid and pot jokes by 112 percent.


—I think they’re funny.

—What’s an acid joke? Or a pot joke? Pretending to be high?

—More like pretending to be the kind of guy who thinks the current situation would be “so crazy” if we were high. Which, actually—

—isn’t an imagined scenario at all. That’s actually what you’re thinking.

—Kind of. But I exaggerate it for the joke. [Paws. Pause. Prawns. Pornography under a tree in a State Park. Soft chili. Your knees. Ad nauseum. Ad mauseum. Bistro BlackBerry. My bad.] It will be hard to go to rock shows without hoisting beers.

—No way, dude. That’s the best place. There are always buttoned-up punk-rock weirdos who don’t consume anything except unrefined spelt kujaxx they dumpstered out of satan’s halo or whatever

—Right! Awesome. Then I’m all set.

[The camera zooms slowly, inexorably (“steadily”) (“nervously”) in on dude’s breast pocket. Using “special effects,” the camera penetrates the fibres of dude’s flannel breast pocket, revealing a small composition notebook and a pen. Scrawled on the front of the notebook in black ink: DIARY. We don’t notice that the scene has switched to animation, or that the background has fallen away, so now a cartoon composition notebook floats on a perfect black background. Awesome music. The word DIARY starts to jiggle and shiver in the way that animated but static text does (cf text in title sequences of The Simpsons, Dr. Katz). The I in DIARY tumesces like a cock or a flower, it’s ambiguous. It grows up and then bends over like a stamen, dude, slowly planting itself down on the other side of the A. For a hot moment, the A is covered in an arc. An arch. Maybe it flash-embellishes itself into an arc d’triomphe. Then the original base of the I lifts off the ground, wiggles, falters, and starts detumescing back over to the right side of the I, until it’s returned to its original size, and the word reads: DAIRY. The phrase should begin in black ink on a reddish background, but by the end of the metamorphosis the word is milky white, on the same reddish background. Awesome music. The notebook’s cover opens of its own accord. The page is blank, but as the rich basso profundo voiceover begins, his words appear in blue ballpoint upon the lined pages. His pace is measured, if not ponderous. What the fuck!!!]

PROFUNDO NARRATOR: I read the news. Every week. It enriches me. I love to be informed.  But I read it [to be continued…]

One thought on “Cy Preclops

  1. 8 years after starting to drink, I still only get a beer at a concert if I’m pretty sure the music is gonna suck. Or (of course) if a nice guy brings me one.

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