#bitcoin-assets +m

Yes, yes, it was my idea.i

The way it works has been already scooped : if you're in assbot's WoT one or two layers deep, you can give yourself permanent voice by sending the bot a private message. If you are not, you can be given voice by anyone who is, in half hour chunks. And, quite biblically, they who voiceth can make silenth too.

The reasons it works like this are multiple, and they converge. Let's follow the roots :

#bitcoin-assets is a professional channel. People who earn their daily bread a certain way, and some who don't yet but aspire to one day and are particularly advanced in the requisite crafts gather there. It's not a matter of what the topic of the channel is, as people there may and indeed do engage in a variety of discussions. It's a matter of who the people involved are.ii

Free speech is the cornerstone of sanity, and diligently observed. Free speech however does not mean the ability of random twelve year olds to interrupt the State of the Union address with their own considerations, even should those roughly follow the same topic, and reflect roughly the same ability and understanding as the products purported to emanate from the Stanford educated brain of the current president.

There exist a multitude of channels, websites, means and methods allowing those interested in acquiring basic familiarity with Bitcoin to do so. There similarly exist a multitude of idem serving those interested in sharing their own personal if entirely anonymous feelings and partially digested opinions regarding Bitcoin and its relation to the world. #bitcoin-assets is neither of these. Everything may well seem a rooster to your cluelessly cute chickenhawk, but that doesn't make Foghorn a dog.

The WoT objectively and quite factually divides the population of planet Earth into two classes : the haves and the have nots. Much like fire long ago, much like literacy in its time, much like computer literacy later on, this is nothing to joke with. You're either in or else you're out, and the people on the outside sooner or later end up picking the cotton in the buff. There's no point in beating around the bush or hiding behind a finger on this topic : whosoever does not have a WoT presence is a second rate citizen. Not just "in the world of Bitcoin", as there isn't such a thing. The whole world is the world of Bitcoin, each and every last wrinkle of it.

The barrier to entry is not particularly high : the 29 level 1 contacts in assbot's WoT have a combined reach many times more than the maximal population of #bitcoin-assets. Acquiring the ability of self-voicing oneself reduces to obtaining a rating from any of these 29 people.

This creates a de facto aristocracy, which may appear problematic to the casual observer, especially should he find himself well steeped in the socialist outlook fashionable in the West these days. However, aristocracies are historically a beneficial and desirable institution. They become harmful if two conditions are met, and especially so if they're met simultaneously : a) that the aristocracy be fixed, and b) that the aristocracy be incompetent.iii

The #bitcoin-assets aristocracy is not incompetent. Whether in anyone's estimation others not named are just as or even more competent is immaterial : arbitrariety is not the problem, incompetence is. The #bitcoin-assets aristocracy is not particularly fixed, at least in the sense of it being extensible (in fact the list was 25 names long earlier). Therefore, objections on this line will have to be a lot more refined than simply "it's undemocratic and therefore bad" or "it's unrepresentative and therefore evil". Reality doesn't work that way.

The system brings out the power dynamics between the two groups (call them what you will). This should in principle be very educational, for both. Having others depend on your arbitrary use of power denied to them is the first lesson of leadership, and the deep reason those born to rule are taken riding and hunting by their ruling parents. Having the limits of your ability and power presented neatly before your eyes is the first lesson of self improvement, and while conceivably many will shy away from it like a slug avoids salt, nevertheless the observation that in their case there was very little basis to improve upon in the first place will be difficult to dispel. Moreover, as the entire process is to occur publicly and collegially should limit harm to everyone involved. Not exactly a yeshiva in this respect, more like a college, from the old days when people still ate in the hall and a university degree actually meant something. Something great.

As far as I know, nothing quite like this has ever been tried. The various social media sites, the facebooks and twitters of the world are spinning around this same drain, but it seems to me that we've fallen in. The results over time should be interesting, and perhaps even instructive.iv

I would definitely love to hear a scathing critique of the entire thing, and the scathinger-er the better. I'm looking at you @anjiecast.

———Kako implemented it. As per the convention we have, if you wish to praise someone you need to talk to me, and doubly so if any cookies are involved ; but if you wish to vent and rage you should talk to him, because it's all his fault. [↩]The notion that all people are equally people and so the control of conversation should be based on the topics addressed is socialist nonsense, anathema both to Bitcoin and to reason.

A forum doesn't work and shouldn't be organised on the lines of "anyone can discuss shoes here", thus making it a shoe forum. Moreover, it should be organised on the lines of "any shoemaker can discuss whatever he pleases here", thus making it a shoemaker's forum.

Forums exist to serve specified groups, not specified topics, because speech, and the world, and everything that exists is for and about people, not for and about things. [↩]The best case study for aristocracy and its foibles would of course be the Soviet Union - that shining example of a fixed but incompetent aristocracy and the turmoil it created over a century stands in stark contrast to the relative stability and utility of the less fixed, more competent medieval aristocracy of Europe. The example of 1700s France illustrates the notion that once aristocracy becomes as fixed and as incompetent as was the case in the Soviet Union, complete societal collapse follows, as was the case in the Soviet Union. [↩]It's not in question that this idea is necessarily good. Nobody's married to it, I definitely am not. The point however stands that this is something worth being stupid about, because we don't actually know yet what's stupid and what isn't, let alone why. [↩]

« A virtual socioeconomic problem

Why everything you think you know about DNS is entirely wrong »

Category: Meta psihoza

Saturday, 12 April, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet (S.BBET) September 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 78 new propositions, of which accepted 15, rejected 63.

Total bets in worth 1809.67706903 BTCi in 480 bets.ii

Revenue : 5.45262023 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 2.77082899iii

fees from refunds : 0.03183420 BTC

advertising : 0.1 BTCiv

house bets won : 2.54995704 BTCv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.0 BTCvi

Expenditure : 2.34442698 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.74442698 BTC

house bets made : 1.60000000 BTC

interest : waived.

Profit : 3.10819325 BTC.

Hallelujah! This takes care of the remaining 1.9141942 BTC in arrears, leaving 1.19399905 BTC to be paid out as dividends this month, and 100% of realised profit to be paid out in the coming months. The relief is palpable.

Miscellaneous

I. In an effort to cut down on proposition spam and encourage contributors to put some thought into the propositions they contribute, we're introducing a one bitcent minimum for all new propositions. This shouldn't be a significant barrier to entry for legitimate bettors, while it should make it unlikely for anyone to waste valuable mod time on nonsense.

II. For his excellent aftermarket contributions Mike Cirello has received 10`000 S.BBET shares. (As a private gift from the managing partners, not through share issuance). Congrats and keep going!

III. We're adjusting the affiliate commission going forward from 100% of the rake (1% of the bets made) to 50% of the rake (0.5% of the bets made).

IV. As previously announced, I have released the 10% of shares held into the managing partners' accounts. The fixed price 30% is also going to be released back into the accounts of the managing partners later on. Thus the longest IPO in the history of Bitcoin is coming to an end, two years later, through administrative measures.

V. As the #bitcoin-assets deeds bot is functional, this as well as all other MPEx reports will also be published as signed statements on that system.

———Juicy. The main contributor is someone picking up on the excellent opportunity afforded by the Berkshire bet. That's one to watch. [↩] [↩]277.08272696 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]BitBet has moved back to the original model, after Ven's untimely demise. [↩]3.30000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month, making this 2.5 to .4 perhaps the best handicapper performance in the two years' worth of BitBet history. We're getting there :p [↩]Well done, now let's try and keep it this way, hm ? [↩]

« The Web 2.0, illustrated

MPEx (S.MPOE) September 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Wednesday, 01 October, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet (S.BBET) October 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 20 new propositions, of which accepted 8, rejected 12.i

Total bets in worth 1268.59217356 BTCii in 309 bets.iii

Revenue : 3.99092768 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 2.33169629iv

fees from refunds : 0.00551995 BTC

advertising : 0.1 BTC

house bets won : 1.54771144 BTCv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.006 BTC

Expenditure : 1.08662150 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.18662150 BTC

house bets made : 0.90000000 BTC

Profit : 2.90430618 BTC.

Miscellaneous

Business as usual.

———New 1 bitcent minimum showing its teeth. The new proposals drop (-68%) isn't in my eyes sufficient to overshadow the significant reduction of rejected propositions (-81%). [↩]Second month over 1k, splendor of splendors. [↩] [↩]233.16952276 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]2.50000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]

« How to live to be happy

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension »

Category: S.BBET

Monday, 03 November, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet (S.BBET) November 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 35 new propositions, of which accepted 17, rejected 17.i

Total bets in worth 127.57781681ii in 260 bets.iii

Revenue : 11.4666638 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 9.58947489iv

fees from refunds : 0.00010000 BTC

advertising : 0.1 BTC

house bets won : 1.77708891 BTCv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.0 BTC

Expenditure : 1.70325892 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.00325892 BTC

house bets made : 1.70000000 BTC

Taxvi, 0.009763405 BTC

Profit : 9.76340488 9.753641475 BTC.

Miscellaneous

As announced in the September statement, the owner shares have been released into the owners' accounts. Kinda curious if this does anything.

———Marked improvement over last month (75% more propositions), but the best part is : significant improvement in acceptability percentage, now up to half. Half! It's like a blessing, thanks heaven Kako suggested the 1 Bitcent minimum, best idea ever. [↩]Weak month, though not the weakest on record. [↩]Graph:

[↩]958.94734328 BTC total pool resolved this month, one of the largest in history. Most of it is accounted by that yearold BTC price bet. [↩]2.70000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved during the current month, which is pretty wow. [↩]Owed to Bitcoin's Sovereign. [↩]

« Qntra (S.QNTR) November 2014 Statement

MPEx (S.MPOE) November 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Monday, 01 December, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet (S.BBET) July 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 101i new propositions, of which accepted 30, rejected 68.

Total bets in worth 543.45861129 BTCii in 664 bets.iii

Revenue : 8.94025363 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 5.00661653iv

fees from refunds : 0.07788520 BTC

advertising : 0.7 BTC

house bets won : 3.15568610v

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.00006580 BTC

Expenditure : 3.915537708 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.24680606vi BTC

house bets made : 3.60000000 BTC

interest : 0.068731648 BTCvii

Profit : 5.024715922 BTC.

This positive month fills in a significant portion of the hole BitBet had been in recently. The current situation is, 1.222794578 BTC short over all accounts (down from 6.2475105 BTC previous exercise), and a further 1.22827111 BTC on MPEx shareholders only. This will result in lower interest payments next month and hopefully with a strong exercise the return to dividend payment.

Miscellaneous

We are considering significant changes to the advertising model on BitBet which would allow easier management and hopefully increased revenue.

———Back to secular volume. [↩]Double last month [↩] [↩]500.66143973 BTC total pool resolved this month, a 500% increase over last month. Paid out to 430 winners, slightly more than last month. As in the case of the total bets in, the average bet resolved jumped significantly this month. [↩]5.61000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]Last month this jumped significantly. This month it slightly increased on that significantly improved base, which is encouraging. [↩]0.9193908% on 7.47578161 BTC liquidity loan by F.MPIF, as detailed previous report. [↩]

« Daisies

Miller's Crossing »

Category: S.BBET

Friday, 01 August, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet (S.BBET) August 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 73i new propositions, of which accepted 27, rejected 46.

Total bets in worth 442.06645717 BTCii in 485 bets.iii

Revenue : 3.18838172 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 1.95915655iv

fees from refunds : 0.05060754 BTC

advertising : 0.13909500 BTCv

house bets won : 0.91049274 BTCvi

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.12902989 BTC

Expenditure : 2.65151023 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.12897536 BTC

house bets made : 2.50000000 BTC

interest : 0.02253487 BTCvii

Profit : 0.536871488 BTCviii.

Arears situation : 0.68592309 BTC short over all accounts (down from 1.222794578 BTC previous exercise), and a further 1.22827111 BTC on MPEx shareholders only. Hopefully a slightly stronger exercise next month will bring about the return to dividend payments.

Miscellaneous

Not much to say really, other than pointing out the incredible :

Incredible #1 : The largest bet in the history of Bitcoin, pitting a dead lion against a live if somewhat ethereal one, is terribly, terribly underwater. To wit, the Berkshire end of it finally breached 200k, to trade today at $205`880.00. Meanwhile, the other end of it breached 500 going the other way, and so the 314.59764223 Bitcoin in question are valued at only $151`287.98 as of today. In spite of this, the implied odds remain 85.39% in favour of Bitcoin!ix Which roughly says that a hefty chunk of all the Bitcoin monetary mass in circulation (about a hundredth of a percent, or in fiat terms the equivalent of ~three billion dollars) doesn't see "the future of America" quite as brightly as Mr. Buffett, for some reason or other.x

Incredible #2 : For every ten thousand propaganda pieces trying to push some angle or other as to the rosy future of the old order, there's roughly... zero news items showcasing this amazing opportunity to get rich while putting one's money where one's hopes lie. Trying to explain this presents the dilemma that either the press stopped actually trying to publish the newsworthy, and so they don't care that their readership is missing out on perhaps its only chance this lifetime ; or else the press stopped actually believing in that rosy future itself, and so won't gladly send the remainder five old people composing its whole readership off to the slaughter.

Incredible #3 : For all the effort to supress Bitcoin prices, our richer-than-they-are-wise friends over at the FED forgot a few spots, such as for instance the one above.xi You know boys, a face mostly shaved isn't a shaved face at all, and you don't get to smell clean by whorewashing in spots. You know, don't you ?

I guess in retrospect a few of these items are not all that incredible after all :)

———Back to secular volume. [↩]Last month it doubled, this month it stayed about the same. [↩] [↩]195.91547798 BTC total pool resolved this month, a 2.5x drop over last month. [↩]BitBet has moved over to the Van ads interface. Try it out. [↩]3.20000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. Ouch. [↩]0.9193908% on 2.451065688 BTC liquidity loan by F.MPIF, as detailed in June report. [↩]Down ninety percent from last month. At this rate, by Xmas maybe we earn a whole satoshi! [↩]1.07 Yes 4.37 No for you decimal fiends. Except in Bitcoin we got decimals and we ain't affraid to use them, so it's more like 1.07572077 Yes 4.37124563 No. [↩]Hint : the average volume trading Berkshire - ie, the quantity of money that fixes its price - is about fifty million a day. [↩]Isn't it funny how the backstops appear magically six months before they're needed, as if retrospectively ? Review Strategic superiority, a saga. It's been ongoing. [↩]

« MiniGame (S.MG), August 2014 Statement

MPEx (S.MPOE) August 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Monday, 01 September, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, May 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 88 new propositions, of which accepted 40, rejected 47i.

Total bets in worth 449.22993482 BTC in 363 bets.ii

Revenue : 1.97850025 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 0.84297930iii

fees from refunds : 0.0 BTC

advertising : 0.1 BTC

house bets won : 0.93552094iv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.10000001 BTCv

Expenditure : 4.61210691 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.02210691 BTC

house bets made : 4.59000000 BTC

Loss : 2.63360666 BTC.

Obviously this loss is not an actual loss but merely an accounting artefact, resulting from BitBet expending more than it has incoming. This then practically works as a credit I extend it at no cost, and so perversely this loss works to the advantage of the company. In either case, this month's loss is now a credit BitBet's shareholders as a whole will have to eat through, before the MPEx holders can eat through their own credit detailed below. Because yes, for my sins not only do I not get to be rid of the latter, but instead receive the blessing of the former on top of it. Le suck.

Because MPEx shareholders were paid 3.68215306 BTC instead of the 1.10464591 BTC they were actually due for February, 30% of profits going forward will be allocated to covering that credit, in lieu of MPEx dividends. This sum comes to 0.0 BTC this current period, leaving the credit to be covered in following months at 1.22827111 BTC.

Miscellaneous

I. We've still not found a single actual affiliate manager. Apparently it's an endangered species.

II. BitBet was organised as a zero-asset corporation principally because at the time that was the only type of corporation that existed [in the public mind], which in turn is principally because at the time the public mind had not yet had the benefit of a year's worth of concerted educational efforts driven by MPEx.

Meanwhile that has changed, and as the zero asset model is in places clearly inadequate for the needs of BitBet (such as for instance the credits problem above), it is perhaps a good idea to update BitBet to the newer AN0 standard. This is something I am considering, please feel free to leave your input below.

———This is a mystery! [↩] [↩]84.29789830 BTC total pool resolved this month, paid out to 72 winners - meaning the average BitBet win is over 1 BTC. Talk about rich people. [↩]1.50000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]Which odd number is the result of three payments, not the two you'd expect. [↩]

« S.MG, May 2014 Statement

We continue our foray into distant lands »

Category: S.BBET

Monday, 02 June, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, March 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 130 new propositions, of which accepted 31, rejected 119.

Total bets in worth 1`659.80496480 BTC.i

Revenue : 4.31105524 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 1.15441662ii

fees from refunds : 0.01916049 BTC

advertising : 0.3 BTC

house bets won : 2.82737715 iii

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.01010098 BTC

Expenditure : 3.11710000 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.01710000 BTC

house bets made : 3.10000000 BTC

Profit : 1.19395524 BTC.

Because last month the MPEx shareholders were paid 3.68215306 BTC instead of the 1.10464591 BTC they were actually due, 30% of profits going forward will be allocated to covering that credit, in lieu of MPEx dividends. This sum comes to 0.35818657 BTC this current period, leaving the credit to be covered in following months at 2.21932058 BTC.

Miscellaneous

Well at least we're doing better than either NeoBee or Coinbase...

———Last month this was ~20x less. Kinda volatile this thing.

Also, to clarify, BitBet is not giving anyone the finger. It's just fingershaped happenstance. [↩]115.44166213 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]3.00000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]

« MPOE, March 2014 Statement

S.NSA, March 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Tuesday, 01 April, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, June 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 260i new propositions, of which accepted 120, rejected 151.

Total bets in worth 251.29754796 BTC in 925 bets.ii

Revenue : 6.93752115 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 1.07390710iii

fees from refunds : 0.07130847 BTC

advertising : 0.1 BTC

house bets won : 5.36633521iv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.32597037 BTC

Expenditure : 10.55142499 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.25142499v BTC

house bets made : 10.30000000 BTC

Loss : 3.61390384 BTC.

While just as obviously not an actual loss but merely an accounting artefact, as last month, this is starting to get pretty thick. Currently BitBet is short 6.2475105 BTCvi over all accounts + 1.22827111 BTC on MPEx shareholders only, leaving it 7.47578161 BTC under water.

To complexify matters as much as possible, F.MPIF will be extending 7.47578161 BTC credit to BitBet, at an interest rate equal to F.MPIF's results for the monthvii ; except should F.MPIF realise a loss, in which case it'll be entitled to interest equal to its results the last month it didn't make a loss. The interest charge will figure on the books starting next reporting period.

Miscellaneous

This month's misc didn't want to wait for the new month so it's instead found in the linked article.

———Masive increase over last month (295%). Perhaps we're overpaying for propositions. However, rather than lowering the house seed I do prefer enforcing minimums for classes of historically underperforming bets. As detailed previously, sports bets are expected to receive a 2 BTC seed from the proponent, and will be rejected otherwise (other conditions apply). Misc bets will be generally expected to receive a 5 BTC seed from the proponent. Bitcoin bets may be accepted without zeroconf for now. [↩] [↩]107.39055713 BTC total pool resolved this month, paid out to 309 winners. [↩]6.19000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]Twelve-fold increase, and also a major chunk of all referrals BitBet ever paid went out this month. Which is pretty cool. [↩]3.61390384 this month + 2.63360666 last month. [↩]Historically this has worked for a % or so. [↩]

« MP's guide to boat travel from upon the very boat in question.

Colonia, Uruguay »

Category: S.BBET

Wednesday, 02 July, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, January 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 254 new propositions, of which accepted 41, rejected 213.i

Total bets in worth 1`802.87085504 BTC.ii

Revenue : 31.88934760 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 23.13985788iii

fees from refunds : 0.02220000 BTC

advertising : 0.3 BTCiv

house bets won : 8.24183786v

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.18474077 BTC

fees from refunds IIvi : 0.00071109

Expenditure : 4.22182850 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.02182850 BTCvii

house bets made : 4.20000000 BTC

Profit : 27.66751910 BTC, to be distributed as dividends.

Miscellaneous

Pretty good month. Tell your friends.

———Dear new propositions, plz to stop sucking kthx bye. [↩]Last month this was ~800 BTC and the comment said "slightly under last month, but then again that was a massive record". Guess what it says now.

Graphs :

[↩]2,290.84554159 BTC total pool resolved this month. Such wow. [↩]Finally! I hope it works out. [↩]11.03000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]Rolled over from last month [↩]2`000% increase over last month. Let's do this again! [↩]

« S.NSA, January 2014 Statement

This is what Trilema is for, I'm told. »

Category: S.BBET

Tuesday, 04 February, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, February 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 120 new propositions, of which accepted 23, rejected 97.

Total bets in worth 81.05235289 BTC.i

Revenue : 6.00194213 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 2.65227475ii

fees from refunds : 0.0 BTC

advertising : 0.3 BTCiii

house bets won : 2.92075969 iv

gracious donations to shareholders : 0.12890769 BTC

Expenditure : 2.31978802 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.00978802 BTC

house bets made : 2.31000000 BTC

Profit : 3.68215411 BTC, to be distributed as dividends.

Miscellaneous

I bet you next month is gonna be better. It has to!

———Last month this was ~20x more. Slow month.

[↩]265.22738059 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]From what I hear the advertisers are happy. [↩]3.51000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]

« The battlefield of the future

S.MG, February 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Sunday, 02 March, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, December 2013 Statement

Operational results

Received 235 new propositions, of which accepted 69, rejected 166.i

Total bets in worth 840.19515077 BTC.ii

Revenue : 13.52671009 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 9.45615473 BTCiii

fees from refunds : 0.00071109 BTC

advertising : 0 BTCiv

house bets won : 1.81924644v

gracious donations to shareholders : 2.25130892 BTC

Expenditure : 6.80113593 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.00113593 BTC

house bets made : 6.80000000 BTC

Profit : 6.72557416 BTC, to be distributed as dividends.

Miscellaneous

This is BitBet's 12th monthly report, and with this BitBet is one year old. A performance few public BTC companies have managed to date, and indeed a notable accolade under the name of all those involved.

Mazel tov.

———An overal slight increase of the quality of proposition on the background of a more significant increase in their volume. This can't be bad. [↩]Slightly under last month, but then again that was a massive record. Graphs :

[↩]945.61534896 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]Some nibbles, nothing serious, in spite of just how easy and cheap it is to try it out. I suspect nobody in Bitcoin that wants any exposure has any coin, and nobody that has any coin wants any exposure. O, the social shyness of the gold standard, recall ? [↩]3.51000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]

« No Woman's Land II

S.NSA, December 2013 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Friday, 03 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

BitBet, April 2014 Statement

Operational results

Received 85 new propositions, of which accepted 32, rejected 53.

Total bets in worth 217.74633674 BTC in 397 bets.i

Revenue : 6.51249823 BTC, of which :

bets resolved : 3.60714235ii

fees from refunds : 0.14100000 BTC

advertising : 0.2 BTC

house bets won : 1.41835588iii

gracious donations to shareholders : 1.14600000 BTC

Expenditure : 3.20900000 BTC, of which :

referrals paid : 0.00090000 BTC

house bets made : 3.20000000 BTC

Profit : 3.30349823 BTC.

Because MPEx shareholders were paid 3.68215306 BTC instead of the 1.10464591 BTC they were actually due for February, 30% of profits going forward will be allocated to covering that credit, in lieu of MPEx dividends. This sum comes to 0.99104946 BTC this current period, leaving the credit to be covered in following months at 1.22827111 BTC. Anyone wanna bet whether this charge will be resolved the following period or not ?

Miscellaneous

The fact that referral revenue remains very lowiv is managements' main point of concern.

I can't for the life of me comprehend why this is the case. I have tried to advertise for the position with the most hilarious of resultsv, and some perhaps hopeful resultsvi. It would be exceedingly sad if this business model, that thrived for an entire decade, has magically died in the thin stretch between that moment when the tube farms killed the paysite and that moment when Bitcoin could have saved it (which moment is today, and otherwise coincides with the birth of BitBet.).

Be that as it may : if you are an experienced affiliate manager, or if you know someone who is, drop me a line, we'll work something out.

——— [↩]360.71408994 BTC total pool resolved this month. [↩]2.60000000 BTC worth of house bets were resolved in the current month. [↩]Since the referral paid is 1% of the actual bets of the referred (ie, BitBet's entire take), 0.00090000 BTC in referral payments implies that this entire month affiliates have driven traffic that has made bets worth 9 bitcents. [↩]Apr 22 15:36:06 * rammy2k2 (050ca259@gateway/web/freenode/ip.5.12.162.89) has joined #bitcoin-assets

Apr 22 15:36:11 mircea_popescu !up rammy2k2

Apr 22 15:36:13 * assbot gives voice to rammy2k2

Apr 22 15:36:17 rammy2k2 hey

Apr 22 15:36:20 rammy2k2 salut mircea_popescu

Apr 22 15:36:23 rammy2k2 :)

Apr 22 15:36:26 mircea_popescu hi.

PRIVMSG rammy2k2 salut. despre ce affiliate help ai nevoie ?

Apr 22 15:39:25 mircea_popescu rammy2k2 you speak english ?

Apr 22 15:39:35 rammy2k2 for shizzle

Apr 22 15:39:44 rammy2k2 sure

Apr 22 15:39:44 mircea_popescu cool. so tell me about your aff manager experience ?

Apr 22 15:40:18 rammy2k2 well, i've been working in adult industry for some years, affiliates , dunno if it applies on what u need, but i was curious :)

Apr 22 15:40:37 mircea_popescu rammy2k2 adult works. who've youy been working for ?

Apr 22 15:41:44 rammy2k2 mircea_popescu: streamate, money tree, chaturbate

Apr 22 15:41:57 mircea_popescu rammy2k2 when, for how long, gimme some highlightds

Apr 22 15:42:38 rammy2k2 mircea_popescu: i quitted adult like 1 year ago, since i got seriously into this disease called crypto

Apr 22 15:42:45 rammy2k2 worked for like 5 years

Apr 22 15:42:52 mircea_popescu rammy2k2 when you started adult is more interesting. who were you on gfy ?

Apr 22 15:43:02 rammy2k2 yes

Apr 22 15:43:04 rammy2k2 still am

Apr 22 15:43:05 rammy2k2 :)

Apr 22 15:43:08 mircea_popescu who ?

Apr 22 15:43:11 mircea_popescu same handle ?

Apr 22 15:43:13 rammy2k2 seXXXhub

Apr 22 15:43:46 rammy2k2 had some troubles with zombaio, but who didnt ? : ) )

Apr 22 15:44:38 mircea_popescu rammy2k2 to be clear, were you working as an affiliate manager for any of these programs you mentioned, or simply used them as an affiliate ?

Apr 22 15:44:51 rammy2k2 oh, simply used them

Apr 22 15:45:27 mircea_popescu myeah.

Apr 22 15:46:20 rammy2k2 in what area u need stuff to be done ?

Apr 22 15:46:50 mircea_popescu in the area where someone with 10 years' experience being an aff manager, and whom i can verify worked with programs i know and delivered results, is looking to start a biz.

Apr 22 15:47:03 mircea_popescu you're not that guy, you're some guy that joined gfy in 2011. [↩]Apr 23 11:42:56 fluffypony mircea_popescu: I reached out to an affiliate manager I know of, great candidate, to see what it would cost to lure him away from his current venture...no word back. [↩]

« The idea for a great film...

S.MG, April 2014 Statement »

Category: S.BBET

Saturday, 03 May, Year 6 d.Tr.

Big numbers, random numbers and who's got your number ?

.cri no : syad eseht trats sgniht doog lla sa detrats lla tIi

asciilifeform yarchive.net/dev_random.html

Sunday, 20 July, Year 6 d.Tr.

Awstats and stuff

You're perhaps one of the people that wonders what happens to the personal blog of a guy that's been the source of a story which ended up on the front page of slashdot and everything else in January, and then twice in March - both the Berkshire 1k Bitcoin beti and the SEC emails attracting ample attention.

Well, one thing that doesn't happen is the so called slashdot effect. Much to my (and apparently no-one else's surprise), contemporary blogs no longer bite the dust once one major outlet links them. In fact, even should most of the major outlets in a field or two link them they're not going down. This may be, of course, a result of technological maturation : we're no longer running the Internet out of chopsticks and chewing gum like it was the case in the 90s. Current servers are powerful, dependable and much, much cheaper. We could thus say technological maturation has resolved that problem.

We could however also say that social (or if you will, economical, the two aren't distinct in this context) maturation has resolved the problem. For you see, back in 1994 traffic was massively concentrated on just a few (very simple) sites, much like Romanians were concentrated on just a few (very simple) ideologies. You were either for the West, progress, wealth and general well being or else you were for the East, evil and fuck you.ii That as far as everything political goes, and in the matter of aesthetics, you either listened to Iron Maiden and were a cool rocker (!?) of ours or else Depeche Mode and fuck you faggot. Simple!

Obviously that simplicity, other than creating a lot of social disparity and economic inequality, doesn't serve much of a purpose for anyone. And so as things evolve and systems complexify, the disparities dissolve, inequalities flatten and everyone is better served. You could gather about two million Romanians out in the public square to sleep there and scream their lungs out on the grounds of "East, evil and fuck you!" back in 1989. You can hardly gather a hundred on any particular topic today, be it gay parades or retirees' rights. Why is that ? Why should that be ? Whatever.

Things work similarly on the Internet. Back in the day everyone who was cool visited site X, and everyone who was lame visited site Y, and that was the whole of the web : site X and Y. Today nobody makes the sites they visit much of a point of their cool (except, of course, various bunches of lamers, but that's besides the point as they don't have any cool anyway).

Moreover, of all the people interested in one particular topic, or niche, or segment, a vast majority already have a hierarchical structure of sources in their head. If you wish to hear the Republican talking points on the shutdown you don't go to google and type "please show me some representative Republican sites". You already know where to look, which incidentally makes Google significantly less useful in aggregate : sure it can send some visits, but the users it sends aren't representative of the Internet population. They're a selected group, and they're selected for cluelessness. Who would want to pay to be visited by more clueless people ? Some some sort of scammer, perhaps, like a patent toy vendor or something - unless you're selling cheap goods for massive mark-ups, google advertising makes absolutely no sense for you.

At least that's what I'm thinking, because I can find no other explanation for stuff like this :

True, March goes as far as January in terms of unique visits and bandwidth burned, and March is only ~21 days in. So per day it must be something like 50% higher. And yes it does slightly better than February, a month which saw no major outside linkage.

Still... the only thing my eye sees in there is deterioration. Sure, the influx of new users that slashdot and all the many news outlets covering the OpenBSD story brought made February (a shorter month) show slightly more unique visitors than January. So Trilema "retains", to some degree. However, these more visitors actually read fewer pages. (They also generated more hits, on a per capita basis, but this is likely explained by the fact that they didn't have many of the elements on a page cached, like old time visitors do). You would theoretically expect that when someone discovers a treasure trove of fascinating material (which is what Trilema is, spare me the hate, it's misplaced) they binge-read. I know I do, I read three years' worth of Ballas' site in twelve hours,iii I read the whole first page of Nick Szabo in a day and when I discovered Oglaf I took a day off to go through the entire archive.

As far as I know this behaviour is not peculiar to me,iv and while you could perhaps say that it's peculiar to me and the people I know as a self-selected subgroup, the only obvious selection criteria would be that these are intelligent, informed people, which kind-of reduces that putative argument to a restatement of the aforesaid google-is-for-idiots point. In the end, what use are "more people" ? Nobody wants more people, what's desirable is more better people. Just people, that's trivial, costly and to be perfectly frank... smells bad.

Looking through the month's day-by-day, I see a 4x average March 16th, followed by a 1.4x average 17th ; then a 5x average March 19th, followed by a 1.9x average 20th. Today will probably be more or less average, give or take.

The only conclusion I can possibly offer is, don't think your readership is on slashdot, reddit, facebook, whatever-news-site. Odds are, your readership probably already knows about you, if you're five years old or so. And if they don't, they will, but through mentions in their web of trust, not through ads, not through carefully crafted relationships with the people that can - or pretend to be able to - dope the public message with your breadcrumbs. Be they SEO "experts" or PR "professionals" or whatever advertisers in between, the real world of trade - for speech is trade, people exchange words - isn't happening there. They're not the center of it, they're the fringe of it.

When's the last time Drudge was being interviewed on MSNBC as an "expert" or whatever they call the monkeys these days ? And yet, the White House is afraid of him, enough so to be hatching campaigns and so forth. They should be afraid of him : he sunk the previous Democrat president, among other things.

Now how did he manage all that ?

———Which ended up with something like four entries on Reddit's first page. [↩]How amusing the Ukrainian replay is for someone who's actually lived the exact story twenty years ago I couldn't begin to tell you. [↩]This is a massive part of the problem : most good outlets out there consist of five articles the author wrote over the past three years, because smart people have no discipline whatsoever. Exactly opposite, Trilema is a behemoth the size of which boggles the mind. Millions and millions of words, a never ending deluge of cool.

This may seem ultimately pointless, to the very poorly disciplined smart people in question, a rehash of the ancient La ce imi serveste mie radicalurile ? for slightly better educated people. Consider this point : when a month ago the various alphabet soup secret services of the USG finally discovered that they should have been paying a lot more attention, an intern was given the task to "read and summarize Trilema". A month later about a dozen or so people are working at it, and they're still not done. Because it's not god damned easy, to go through thousands of articles, many of which are in Romanian, and summarize my point. What point ?

I couldn't have produced this retrospectively, or on a JIT or as-needed basis. The only way to have some classes of things is through making them when you don't actually need them for any directly discernible purpose, something known on #bitcoin-assets as asciilifeform's parachute, but otherwise illustrated by that ancient fable where the fox asks the wolf why's he sharpening his teeth when there's no one to fight, to which the wolf retorts that when there'll be someone to fight there's going to be no time to sharpen teeth.

So now, consider the following similarity to illuminate your present situation : cryptographically complex, mathematically beautiful algorithms are not defeated because they weren't sufficiently complex or beautiful. They're defeated, and quite trivially so, as a matter of course, because they were trained to be defeatable from the get-go. They were constructed with this purpose in mind. Their defeat is baked in, from the very beginning, in the form of carefully chosen priors.

This is also why you're trivially defeated. It's not because you're not smart enough, it's not because you're not, in principle, as the theoretical construct you view yourself as, perfectly able to resist. It's because in practice you never do, because you're trained to fail, and because you're trained to construct your failure as you go. The Reuters reporter covering the SEC and financial fraud told me that I'm the only one to have ever released SEC schmooze, why do you think that is ? Do you suppose I'm the first person they came to with their "be our friend, give us free stuff for free" proposition ? Take Zachary Warren as a fine example, ever heard of him ? [↩]Random convo, happened this month :

Me http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/JumpingTheShark

Friend Aha.

Me This was, 2-3 years ago, an excellent reference for all things stupid, or pop or w/e you call the shit. Meanwhile it became popular, and so unless you read it today you'll probably never derive any benefit.

Friend Yeah I remember tvt.

Me O, you do ?

Friend Yeah I once blew away a whole week reading it.

Me Check out how the articles have deteriorated.

[↩]

« So here's a problem for you...

Here's a thought : being Bitcoin is more of a something to be than being Jewish ever was or could ever be. »

Category: Meta psihoza

Saturday, 22 March, Year 6 d.Tr.

Asylum, Chapter Two

Manny glanced at the clock, another three minutes to quitting time. He shifted in the chair, trying to ease the cramps and stiffness in his legs a bit. The chair was too small for him; chairs were always too small. He flexed his long fingers once and finished transferring the data from the paper invoice to the spreadsheet on his computer screen.

Then, changes in sound all around alerted him the end of the long work day had finally arrived. People were standing in their little spaces, gathering their things and rushing towards the elevator. Manny saved his work, shut down the computer and stood. He took his time, letting the main rush of people from the office get well ahead of him. Manny didn't like to stand in crowds; he stuck out too much, always looking down at the tops of people's heads.

Several times he heard the elevator doors cycle as he moved slowly about his cubical, straightening the stacks of papers, aligning his chair carefully in front of his computer, gathering his things. Finally, it was mostly quiet again and Manny strolled off towards the elevators.

Stabbing the call button with a long finger, he waited patiently, slouched a bit more and studied the floor. He didn't need to think about where he was headed, how his free time would be used, or even what he would eat until the next work period. It was always the same. Ride the elevator to the street level, straight out through the big glass doors in front, turn right and walk one block to the bus stop. Bus number 66 would be along in a few minutes, and then transfer at the 35th street stop. Finally off the bus, turn left and walk two blocks to his apartment building.

Manny turned the key in the lock and stepped into the quiet and dark of his apartment. He walked straight to the television, turning it on first to break the silence, next he went to hang up his coat and place his briefcase neatly on the floor of the closet. Next, to the kitchen, turning on the lights as he went, there he checked that the oven was set at 425F and clicked it to on. Waiting for the oven to heat, he opened cabinets and drawers, assembling the dishes and tools that would be needed for his dinner. The light on the oven door clicked off, indicating it was ready and he opened the freezer, took the box from on top of a tall pile of such boxes and closed the door. He slid the frozen meal into the hot oven and went to watch the news while he waited.

The buzzing of the kitchen timer interrupted the sound of the blond on TV, talking about the latest bombing somewhere in the mid-East, and Manny went to fetch his dinner. He settled again in front of the TV and began eating just as the news finished. He switched channels to start the night's round of sit-coms as he methodically consumed the food, not even noticing that it included roast turkey and mashed potatoes, these dinners all tasted pretty much alike anyway.

Later after some hours of sit-coms and made-for-TV movies Manny gathered up his dishes, turned off the television and went to the kitchen. Flimsy foil tray into the trash, dishes and utensils cleaned, dried and put away, he moved on to the bedroom. Finally, just as he reached to turn on the alarm which would ensure he started the next day on time he recalled that tomorrow was not a work day. Leaving the alarm off, he slid between the clean but worn sheets and closed his eyes.

Bright sunlight streaming through the bedroom window woke Manny the next morning. He stretched and yawned, on Saturdays he allowed himself to vary his schedule a bit, 30 minutes or so, a little early or late to do his shopping and banking did not matter much.

Later, with breakfast finished and the kitchen once again spotless he put on his coat to make the short walk to the mail box. Outside the courtyard was full of children enjoying their day off from school, screaming and running about as children will. Manny retrieved his mail and returned quickly to his apartment.

Today's stack of mail was added to the pile already on the corner of his desk and he hung his coat carefully in the closet again. Settling at the desk, he sorted the mail carefully into two piles. One pile included his paycheck and all the things he must attend to, mostly bills, the other was for advertisements and other unidentifiable clutter that usually stuffed his mailbox. Beginning with the first pile Manny prepared deposit documents for the bank, wrote checks and filled envelopes, each action also produced a careful, neat entry in his personal ledger.

The stack of envelopes was then set carefully aside and Manny began to investigate the second pile of mail. He took his time, examining each piece to see if it held any interest for him before dropping it into the trash bin hidden beneath his desk.

He was almost through the stack when a little folded over flier caught his attention.

The title was "Asylum!"; it listed an address not too far from his bank and suggested that it was a great place for people to go and make new friends, fill normally empty hours with games, music, companionship... Manny considered it for a moment, perhaps he would be able to fit in a stop there after he had finished his banking today. The flier was added to his stack of envelopes and he completed his methodical checking of the junk mail.

Back in his coat, Manny filled his pockets with the outbound mail, bank documents and the flier. He closed and locked the apartment door, setting off on his usual round of Saturday chores.

***

"Knock, knock, knock."

She yawned and padded barefoot to the door, wondering tiredly who would come calling at this hour.

"Oh, it's you. Give me five minutes." She stepped back to let the man in then locked the door behind him.

He settled onto the sofa, feet encased in expensive shoes finding a home among the fashion mags that littered her coffee table and she disappeared into the bathroom to the sound of running water.

Five minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, her still damp body smelling of soap and barely covered by the towel wrapped about her, paused a moment there a bit uncertainly, watching him chat away on the ever present cell phone.

Finally he looked up, acknowledging her presence and motioned for her to join him on the sofa. She slid on to the sofa next to him, nearly losing her towel in the process, and retrieved a magazine from among the piles on the table. Idly she flipped its pages, wondering how long the call might go on, she was clueless about the subject since he was speaking Italian and that was not one of her languages.

Finally a clue that his conversation was coming to an end, the phone was transferred to the far ear, freeing his closer hand to push the towel aside and squeeze her thigh. She smiled, moved a bit closer and tossed the magazine back towards the table, it overshot the mark and slid off the far side taking half a dozen others with it.

'Ci sentiremo domani.' He clicked the cell to off and added it to the mess on the coffee table.

She stood, letting the towel fall into a heap at her feet and reached for his hand. Words were not needed, he rose and followed her off towards the bedroom, watching the way her ass swayed slightly as she climbed the stairs.

She pushed the rumpled covers aside and stretched out across the bed to wait, a bit impatiently, while he removed his clothes and tossed them in the general direction of the empty chair in front of her dressing table. Watching through half closed eyes she felt her pulse start to quicken, it wasn't that he was that good looking, and his body was nothing to rave about either, still there was something. For her men were mostly business, even if they didn't know that. This one was different, there were some obvious reasons she saw him differently but there was more to it than that. He came and went in her life like clouds passing over the sun, here one minute and gone the next. They were close in a physical way but the workings of his mind, the way he felt about things, if he felt at all even, these things remained a mystery to her. Yet she always welcomed him, she was in fact pleased, excited even, whenever he chose to make an appearance in her world and oddly enough almost as pleased when he left again.

Maybe it was just the unpredictableness of it, the bit of danger and living on the edge it represented to be this close to someone she couldn't either predict or control, or maybe it was the challenge, or perhaps this was love?

Whatever the reason, she was more than ready for him by the time he had finished stripping and turned towards her. The hugeness of his cock standing tall made it quite clear he too was more than ready. Foreplay was not needed and he entered her quickly, silently.

***

Leaving the bank Manny pulled the flier from his pocket and checked the address again. Yes, he thought, it should be just a few blocks north and east from here, in a quaint older section of the town, where he rarely ventured. Carefully replacing the flier, he set off at his usual brisk pace.

The day was bright and sunny, the streets crowded at first with impatient drivers, horns blasting, and the usual mix of loud smelly trucks and buses. Further along, as he approached his destination, the vehicles thinned and the street seemed almost quiet by comparison. Here and there were also a lot more pedestrians than he was accustomed to, people strolling casually as if they had all the time in the world. He responded to the relative peacefulness of the place, slowing his own pace and looking about a lot more than was his usual custom.

The streets here were lined with trees, many of them protected by short walls, just the right height to sit comfortably and rest, watching this slower paced corner of the world. Many of them were indeed occupied, and he examined their occupants casually as he strolled by. There a young couple, holding hands, chatting earnestly with each other as if the rest of the world did not exist, here an old man studying the pavement at his feet and smoking, and further along a woman perched carefully on the edge of a wall sorting through bags of things.

It was tempting to find an unoccupied wall and join them, perhaps he would. Later.

Arriving at the address specified in the flier he pushed open a door and heard the soft tinkle of a bell in the distance. Stepping in a bit he saw what he imagined was a gentleman's club, of course he had never actually been in such a place, but he had seen many representations on TV and in movies. What Manny could not detect was that it was much like a girl wearing her mother's shoes, a bit awkward and ill fitting. There a TV was placed wrong, it would interrupt conversation, the newspapers on the table were folded too neatly, the books on the shelves pristine and untouched, brightly shining their virginity to the world, and there was a film of dust on the chess set indicating its lack of use.

"Good afternoon, my name is Fred. Welcome to Asylum." The man stuck out his hand and smiled broadly at Manny.

"Over there in the corner, with his nose buried in a book as usual is John."

Continued

« Asylum, Chapter One

Asylum, Chapter Three »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 26 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

Asylum, Chapter Twelve

Peggy stood at her kitchen counter methodically working the shortening into the flour mixture with her fingers, just the way she had learned as a girl in her mother's kitchen. The feel of it in her hands was comforting, reassuring, in a world that seemed to have spun out of control around her. This, she guessed, was why she still baked biscuits nearly everyday. All of her friends had long ago switched to those canned things from the supermarket, along with TV dinners, delivered pizza, and instant tea.

All the wonderful time savers of the day ; Peggy couldn't help but wonder just what they did with all that time they were saving. She had enough trouble filling the hours left over even when she stuck with the old-fashioned ways. And what about those two at the club last night? Surely neither one of them actually lifted a finger to do mundane things like cooking and cleaning, after all one could break a perfectly manicured nail that way! Quickly she arrested that thought, it was way too catty, a few more like that and she would be just like them.

Sliding the pan of biscuits into the preheated oven and moving to the pantry to select a jar of fruit preserves she sighed to herself, what had she been thinking, giving into an impulse like that foolishness with the coffee. It was exactly the sort of cattiness she found so annoying in others. And allotting in her mind incredible powers of persuasion to Janice was simply hiding from the truth. After studying the orderly rows of jars for a moment she selected some of last summer's peach jam and carried it to table. There really was no good reason for her to be resentful of women like that, they did not create the value system that seemed so wrong to her, they were only pawns of it. How the world had come to value dyed hair and polished nails so far above a well run home and perfectly prepared food was a mystery to her, one well beyond her powers of reason, at least for the moment.

Spreading jam on her still warm biscuits she realized there would be more than adequate time later to beat herself up over this, the thing to do now was damage control.

Manny, obviously quite smitten with Frankie, would be ok, as long as Frankie came back. Now there was the rub, would she come back after what Peggy had done to her? There was certainly more to that Frankie and Janice situation than met the eye. They had, after all, left together. Would Janice admit to Frankie that the coffee was her idea?

Finished with her breakfast, Peggy hurried through the clean up chores, suddenly anxious to get to the club, finish cleaning up the mess from last night and see what all the after effects would be.

***

Ralph took the last clean bowl and spoon from the dishwasher. He filled the bowl with Cheerios, awful things really, but supposed to be good for his heart! On top he heaped several spoons of sugar, then drowned the entire thing in whole milk. Most likely all that sugar and milk fat canceled the benefits of the cereal, but he couldn't stand the stuff otherwise.

Looking for a place to sit, Ralph carried his brimming bowl and spoon from room to room, slopping a bit of sugary milk here and there as he went. Finally in the living room he gave up, perched the bowl on the edge of the coffee table, where he had spotted a small blank spot and shoved yesterday's mail over, pushing the piles on the sofa together and making just enough room to sit.

Sitting there he consumed the mixture, slowly, methodically; while his mind raced at break neck speed. What a mess! This room, his whole house, his bank accounts, his credit cards, everything really was such a mess. And on top of all that he had made a real mess of things last night at the club too. The club, it had been the one shining spot of peace, order, even hope in his life and now he had screwed that too!

Such a fool he had made of himself, drooling over those two girls, and dear Peggy just watching it all! He hadn't even tried to talk to Peggy while driving her home, he was just so absorbed in thoughts of those girls. How could he, what were girls like that to him? Had he managed now to mess that up too? Well, really there was nothing there to mess up anyway, foolish idea on his part that a woman like Peggy, so strong and in control would be the least bit interested in him.

Ralph resolved, for what must have been the thousandth time in his life, to do better. It was way past time he got a grip and sorted his life out, after all he made the messes, he should clean them up. But where to begin?

He slowly became aware of the empty bowl still clutched in his hands, alright, this was as good a place as any to start. Today he would clean house, it would give him plenty of time to figure out what to do about the other things that needed to be sorted out.

***

Manny checked his watch again, wondering for the briefest moment if it was broken. Surely more than a minute had passed since he last checked, but no, the time was confirmed by the large clock on the office wall. Another 5 minutes to quitting time!

Close enough! Manny began to straighten papers and shut down his computer for the day, today he would be first at the elevator when the clock finally inched its way to 5PM.

Today he would not waste time going home first, today he was off to the club, briefcase and all. No, wait, why bother with that briefcase, there really was no need, he only carried it out of habit and a desire to look more professional and important than he really was. Closing the case he tucked it next to the small filing cabinet where it would probably not be noticed. At last the hands of the clock reached the magic hour and Manny practically bolted for the elevator, hardly noticing and certainly not caring about the crowd of fellow office dwellers that surrounded him.

Of course Manny knew that this headlong rush to the club was silly. After last night it seemed unlikely that Frankie would ever be back to the club. Never mind, it really didn't matter, if there was any chance of seeing her again Manny would be there. He rode the rest of the way on the bus smiling.

***

Fred was a bit later than usual arriving at the club that day, he left home at the same time as always but somehow his feet had not wanted to move at his usual brisk pace. It seemed that if he did not arrive at the club and actually view the mess they had left, then it might not have happened. His wonderful club, things had seemed to be going so well... It was, or at least had been well on its way to becoming what he had envisioned. A quiet, homey sort of place where people could meet, relax, talk, and simply share bits of their lives without fear.

Placing his key in the door Fred paused, almost wishing that somehow it would turn out that last night had all just been a bad dream. Of course it had not been, there was the sofa still pulled over, out of its usual spot, remnants of refreshments still on the side table, a few missed bits of food and broken things at the end of the coffee table, which was slightly askew from its normal place, not lined up neatly with the couch as it should be. And also there, next to the table, the blue vase, resting miraculously unbroken after its various mishaps. Fred paused, considering starting with picking up the vase and replacing it on the table, but somehow he just didn't want to touch it, like somehow it might jinx things to move it another time just now.

Deciding to ignore the mess for the moment Fred went on to the office and settled in behind the desk. The membership list was front and center, where he had left it last night, neat little check marks beside the names of those who had come for story night. He stared at it blankly. Slowly it actually came into focus and the last two names on the list leaped out at him, different from the rest, they were hand written at the bottom instead of neatly typed in alphabetical order.

Frankie, Janice, those two, or was it just Frankie? They had changed things last night. He considered, what were they doing here anyway? They really didn't fit, he thought about keeping people like them out, but no, that would violate the spirit of the place he was trying to create, anybody, everybody who felt the need should be welcome here. What exactly had happened last night? Fred was really not very sure, had Frankie finally had enough of Manny and spilled her coffee on purpose? Certainly a better alternative than using the probable purse alligator. Maybe it really had been an accident? Should he ask Manny about it, or just let it pass and see what happens next? Fred's head was actually starting to hurt from trying to puzzle it all out, when the sound of the front door provided a welcome interruption to his train of thought.

Peggy looked around, spotted Fred in the office, apparently busy with some paperwork, waved as cheerfully as she could manage and set about clearing up the last remnants of last night's joke gone bad. The first thing she noticed was the blue vase, resting on the floor beside the coffee table, odd she didn't recall that being left there when she and Janice had been picking up things last night. She reached to retrieve it from the floor, then paused, what if it was broken, on the bottom, where she couldn't see it? She would never forgive herself if her foolish stunt had caused that. Summoning nerve from somewhere, she touched it carefully and then grasped it firmly. Whew, after looking at it closely, positive there was no damage, she set it back on the center of the table where it belonged and moved on to the rest of the cleaning. Finally, everything was done except for replacing the sofa, she was about to interrupt Fred and ask for his assistance when the front door opened and Manny entered. Manny was wearing the biggest, most foolish looking grin she had ever seen, she couldn't help but smile back in response. Had she ever even seen Manny smile before? Was this a normal smile for him? It was positively infectious, she felt happier just seeing it. Manny bounced over to the other end of the sofa and grabbed the armrest.

"Need some help?"

Peggy could only manage a nod in response. Together they replaced the sofa and then settled down on opposite ends of it, surveying the once again orderly club.

Fred emerged from the office just as they finished moving the sofa and greeted Manny. He was still trying to figure if he should ask Manny about last night or not when he noted the the big smile on Manny's face. That did it. He would not ask anything, Manny was happy, and he would share it if he wanted to.

Fred sat near them in an easy chair and the three of them began chatting about nothing in particular. It was one of those very forgettable small talk conversations, meant to do nothing more than fill the silence and pass some time. Every few minutes one of the three would glance towards the front door, each with their own hopes about who might enter next.

Peggy surprised herself by wishing that Ralph would show, she was actually starting to like the guy in spite of her better judgment. After the silent ride home last night, she couldn't help but worry that he had somehow guessed she was responsible for the mess. What would she do if someone actually asked her about it?

Manny, of course, was hoping for Frankie. She didn't even have to talk to him, he just wanted to see her again, assure himself that she was real, not a dream.

Fred wanted anybody else to show. He was truly worried that most of the members would not be back after last night, especially John now that he thought about it.

Time passed, they ran out of small talk and the silence started to weigh on them. At last Peggy got up and moved into the kitchen, finding things there to busy herself. Fred drifted back to his paperwork.

Manny moved over to study the shelves of books, hoping to find something to fill the time waiting for Frankie to show.

Eventually his eye fell on a dusty old tome, in barely readable and very gaudy Gothic print the title appeared to be "The Diary of a Don".

He flipped the book open to a random page and began to read.

***

My Liver and the Lover

I woke this morning with a vague indisposition and a heavy head... calling it morning is just a manner of speaking, it was at least half past noon. Looking in the bathroom mirror I could tell, by the yellowish tint of my eyes that in fact I had a liver crisis overnight. How very polite of the poor thing to not wake me, and go through the thick of it in splendid solitude. Just to make sure, I pulled out a horribly charged tongue... That was it, I felt for the tried organ. Milk, a lot of it, let's make up.

In the fridge the reason for it all still awaited me, at least in part. Unfortunately English doesn't really have words for all the sorts of chocolate I had in there. First, there is a sort of chocolate mousse, with rum, that is much like a thicker, creamier chocolate fudge. There was at least a half pound left, but considering it was 2 pounds to start with, I didn't do that bad after all. Then three different sort of pralines,filled with hazels, with vanilla butter and with marzipan. Two different boxes of chocolate bonbons with all the ridiculous wrappings that someone way up there in the chocolate industrial hierarchy decided once and for all must be in the absolute worst taste affordable by the modern wrapping industry. The reds, the yellows, all gildy, the designs... the smaller box had the unfortunate effigy of a W. Mozart on it... the maestro had a definite expression of exasperation on his press rendered figure. With a sigh I had to admit my defeat, picked the maestro, along with the box he was on and the chocolate stuffed in it, along with most of the pralines and threw the lot in the garbage. They were there for almost a week now, enough is enough. I decided to keep the fudge-like thing, I really like that one after all.

I really hate throwing away chocolate, and I'm sure it's all linked to my childhood. It's not that I had a sweets-deprived childhood you see... but growing up in a soviet-satellite country in the 80's, chocolate was a truly scarce commodity. Trying to balance the ridiculous situation of a huge industrial sector that could not sell water in the Sahara, the rulers of the time decided to cut on all imports. It did keep the coke and meth and most all other sweet stuffs well out... but also bananas, and cotton, and silk, and fine drinks and, interestingly enough, condoms. It seems the committee for national planification decided that, since it can't really supply even bread to most of the citizens, the only thing to do is force them to multiply, thus solving the problem. Don't ask me how they figured that one.

However, even the communists have some people more equal than others, and my family was more equal than most. Now you might not ever think about coca-cola, except when you're out and go buy, and then only for maybe two intervals of three seconds each. But try to understand the mentality of people living in a communist regime. Nothing was on sale anywhere. Not even oil, or sugar. Imagine a 23 million strong country that had absolutely no convenience stores. At all. None. You can see how keeping yourself supplied becomes an important matter. Often enough, the most important matter. For days. Weeks. Eventually it turns into a life-long preoccupation. Fifteen years after the fall of the regime, people still spend over half of their income on foodstuffs. As a direct result of this devouring preoccupation with the bare necessities, my house was ever overstuffed. At a time I was very sick, and the doctors figured it might be the appendix and they might have to operate. However, they told my folks, they have no serum at the hospital. I'm okay for a few days it seemed to them, but in case I need surgery they need serum. My family went into a panic, and everybody in the far reaching family network was alerted. A couple days later a total of 23 pounds of physiological serum was stacked nicely in a dark closet, in half pound and quarter pound bags, enough to do a triple bypass on a horse and two mares, and it turned out I had an intestinal indisposition and my appendix was fine. In fact I still retain it to this day. Once my father brought a 95 pound box of chocolate wafers. It sat in a closet for weeks, anybody who came visiting was forced to take at least a few... course they didn't have to be forced too hard. Kids might have been talking about sex, arson, rock and roll, sex again, fast cars, super heroes, or whatever else in the US... but here, they were talking about sweets. You can't imagine how loved I was because I always had sweets. And back in those days, whoever had them was smart, beautiful, and always right. Looking at people sucking up cause they don't want to be in bad terms with the bubblegum dispenser is probably a life wrecking experience, especially when you are young and inexperienced. You might think that is the worst and most base manifestation of all there is disgusting in mankind. It's what the communists called 'the new man'.

As a result, I really hate to throw away chocolate. I am sure somewhere there must be a nine year old kid who never had any chocolate in his life. Or his eleven year old sister who, after probably days of fighting with herself, offered to trade her (almost) complete collection of Pif magazines for a full bag of Hariboos. You probably don't even know what those are anyway. Or what somebody had to do to get them blasted French socialistic propaganda pieces of crap they called Pif magazine.

I have a friend. She is young and smart. To add to that, she is very very beautiful. Of course we might well know that beauty in women is an entirely ludicrous concept, just like the idea of true love. But the crowd doesn't know, and she is fortunate enough to be the very ideal of the time. Natural blond, very thin, with long legs and a very common face, which is to say it has very little for distinctive features, her nose is not too big and not too small, her lips are not too full and yet not lacking, her ears are not too high and not too low... in a word she is perfect. Sad perfection of the lack of all accident. What is even more rare, she is very determined. She knows what she wants to do with her life. She is in fact very poor. Her parents divorced, and over here that means the same thing nine cases of ten. It means the husband was a drunk, and that's usually a violent drunk, but that is not enough, that can go on for years, decades. It also means he was unable to keep a job. My friend has decided, I'm sure, although she never told me as much, since we never really discussed it, that she will never be poor in her life. It is one of those decisions that align a life around an idea, and she has the discipline to do it, too. She doesn't have the confidence unfortunately, which is, I'm told, very common for girls with disrespected fathers. She shopped around for some and figured in her position her best shot at making the pot-o-gold is to become a lawyer. Of course, most girls that are so close to a Barbie doll (except they also include a vagina) want to be stars, singers, go to Hollywood, marry a rich guy. Did I mention she is smart? She is dangerously smart, I might say. She somehow managed to grasp, without me even telling her, the crappiness of that gildy dream. In fact, she decided to fuck unattractive old men for a limited time only, instead of putting herself at their disposal for the rest of her life, which in that case is usually either very short or very sad. Who can say now Marilyn died for nothing?

To go through college however one needs money. Also clothes, food, a place to stay. In this town all that is very expensive, especially if one would rather have good food and nice clothes. You can spend living decently an yearly average salary each month... or two weeks. So she entertains. She is not precisely a whore, but that is a scholarly distinction. She doesn't walk the streets at night trying to talk to strangers. Besides, that would be very inefficient for her purpose. This country is very stratified, and to spend your time with the commoners you will have a callous vulva before you can afford a semester's tuition. Not to mention the poorer they are, the more difficult they are to manage... a millionaire might pay you a thousand dollars just to laugh at his jokes... but your average guy will want you to cook, clean, fuck, be jealous, be abused, do all this once in private and twice in company so he can show you off to his friends, and when all is said and done, his money back. So she entertains those who can afford. In fact she doesn't ask for much, at least in terms of the civilized world, and she is very much decided to work for all of it.

We however are friends, which isn't my delicate way of saying we never had sex. It is my delicate way of saying I am the only one person that I know of that a professional of keeping company appreciates the company of. Since I'm neither abusive towards women, nor do I really think any less of a woman for fucking around, we are rather close. As such, I know all sorts of things about her that people will never find out. You might think I just proven myself the liar about the not abusive part, being en route to tell you intimate bits about a girl that obviously has shared them with me as some sort of confidence. In fact, I know her well enough to be certain that right about now she will have her blood racing with the perverse pleasure of being seen naked, or rather stripped, of the only covers she decided to keep all for herself, and all this in complete anonymity. So you see, my dear reader, yet again you are the instrument of the whore's pleasure, not the other way around. And considering you likely paid to read this...

In the hope that anyone will ever get this far with the reading, let me continue. My friend has an admirer. What's better, a secret admirer. In fact I suspect there must be at least two, I'll tell you why later. She is a very neurotic girl, as most very disciplined people are, and for a bit she was somewhat scared. Said admirer's face was never seen, although every now and again she thought she spotted a likely contact at an event, or in a bar. What the admirer did was send her flowers, sometimes, and chocolate, most of the time. And of course all sorts of notes filled with the most ridiculous crap, and usually in verse, or should I say in rhyme. I never could quite understand this, the libraries are filled to the brim with poetry, some good, some not so good, but all of it five notches better than anything an average bloke can produce overnight. And yet nobody uses the library, everybody insists on scribbling his very own, very poor rhymed sentences in love notes. Why? I ask you. You think there is any chance anybody might spot your theft? So what if they do? Better stolen good verse than your own poor. In the former all that proves is you would steal for your love. In the later, that you can't write poetry, or even worse, that you are idiotic enough not to notice. And if you have the common sense to steer clear of the very very famous ones, and the very fashionable ones, there is no way on earth you will ever get caught, even if your beloved is an university teacher of poetry with 27 PhD's on her wall. In which case she wouldn't be interested in you anyway.

My friend happens to be borderline on eating disorder. She barely eats anything. She is far from fat, so far from it I told her a number of times I'm surprised she ovulates at all. And on all those occasions time proved she was, indeed, just late. She will not eat anything animal. She doesn't swallow, it took me a while to realize what her problem was, sitting there not saying a word, not spitting, not swallowing, her usual sharp, decided self unable to make a call... normally at such a time you ask, but how was she to ask? She lives off roots and grass from what I imagine, and at some point she had managed an anemia. I took her to my doctor, ever since having a bullet taken out of my leg with the equivalent of a nail file disinfected with a lighter flame, and then the wound strapped together with silk torn from a beautiful green skirt I liked very much I have developed a sort of underground hospital, I think I could probably pull off an underground liver transplant if need be. Of course, the wild years are now long behind us, and any real emergency is very unlikely, but still the thing develops as by a will of its own. Hence I have a doctor, or a dozen, for most anything, and in this case I told the good man the girl is not eating anything and he'd better fix her up, which he did try, and I'm not sure what stances of medical hell he painted before the young and huge eyed lawyer-to-be, but it did have some effect, and she eats at least fish and liver every now and again as a result.

But not chocolate. Definitely not chocolate. So I get stuck with it, what can I say.

Continued

« Asylum, Chapter Eleven

Asylum, Chapter Thirteen »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Monday, 27 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

Asylum, Chapter Three

Peggy lingered on the bottom step, blinking hard to hold back the tears, and watched the car pull out of sight. At last she turned back to the house, her house, but no longer her home. Closing the door softly behind her she leaned her forehead against it and let the tears flow. Spent at last, she swallowed and wiped haphazardly at the tears that wet her face.

The silence and emptiness of the house enveloped her, she wanted to run about and turn on everything, fill the space with sounds of life, but something held her back. Such an action was like her tears, another surrender to the pain, a pain she did not wish to acknowledge.

Softly she walked about the house, looking for work to busy her hands and mind. Alas, all the surfaces were immaculate, dusted and polished; the beds all made, the laundry all done, even the toys that normally littered the floors of the children's rooms were neatly put away. Finally she came to the kitchen, seeing the tea kettle waiting on the stove she busied her hands preparing a cup of warm soothing tea. Slowly, making a ritual of it she assembled china cup and saucer on her best silver tray, neat slices of lemon arranged prettily on a small plate. Carrying the elaborate tray into the parlor she set it on a table and settled on the sofa beside it to take her tea.

Raising the warm aromatic tea to sip, she was hit with a sudden flash of anger. The tea cup flew across the room, china shattering and breaking the silence as it struck the wall. Tea ran down the pristine eggshell white wall, staining it brown and ugly, exactly the way Peggy felt inside.

Oh, God, she felt so empty, so alone, so adrift. For so long she had been wife, friend, lover, mother and now she was, what? Nothing. Well she was still a mother, at least five days a week, but weekends seemed to stretch on for years, leaving her to wallow in her own solitary pain. And now, now it was summer, the kids would be away, a whole summer alone, whatever would she do with herself?

She gazed calmly at the deep brown stain created by her moment of fury; she would leave it there, a reminder that anger was sometimes a useful antidote for the pain.

Leaving the tray with its neat slices of lemon littering the table, the shattered china cup on the carpet and the ugly brown stain on the wall she grabbed her purse and quickly left. A walk to clear her head; escape from the memories that filled the house, that was what she needed.

Not wishing to encounter any of their old friends and hear the pity in their voices or see the hint of fear in their eyes, she turned towards a part of town she had rarely visited. Once a fashionable shopping district, this area had been largely deserted, many of the little shops now closed and the streets largely empty; just the semi-desolate sort of place that suited her current mood. Even the shops that somehow clung to life here appeared dingy and forsaken, the windows long overdue for a cleaning. The sidewalks sported the occasional bit of windblown debris instead of welcoming decorations in front of the stores like flowerpots.

Then ahead on the sidewalk, a figure, no, a statue of some sort. At last close enough to identify it, she almost laughed out loud, a wooden Indian, a real honest to god wooden Indian. What sort of store would put out such a thing in this day and age? She stopped reading the single word painted on the shiningly clean window, Asylum!

***

There was a timid knock at the door, and the man at the desk raised his gaze slightly then dropped it back to whatever form he was reviewing, maybe never to escape again.

"Come in."

"Hello Mr. Hinkle-Bailay."

This time Mr. Hinkle-Bailay allowed his eyes to wander away from their allotted form, a 54-6/P Personnel Management Record to be precise, for a significantly longer interval, maybe even almost an entire quarter minute.

"You are late."

"I'm sorry Mr. Hinkle-Bailey. I came as fast as I could, but the elevator door was stuck..."

The man looked at the girl, distraught, but she obviously missed that, she wasn't even looking at him. In fact she was eyeing the beige plastic-thing-that-looks-just-like-a-dish-sponge-but-they-sometimes-call-carpet-for-some-reason.

"It's just one floor!", the man spoke as if he was far away, in a fog.

"... and then my heel got caught."

"Your heel got caught! Where?"

" ... in the grate in the bathroom." She squirted the answer with the obvious satisfaction of somebody finally presented with an easy enough question in an otherwise excruciating examination.

Mr. Hinkle-Bailay literally scratched his head while considering the girl's adventure in covering 40 yards and one flight of stairs.

"Hmmm" he said with sudden realization, "What do you know, you are indeed late, but that wasn't what I meant before."

"OH!?", the girl nearly squeaked.

"No, you see I meant generally. You were late yesterday morning, 15 minutes. You were late today, 12 minutes. Your average over the past one month, excluding weekends and holidays, was 11 minutes daily. Actually you were only on time once!"

"Ooh", the girl's squeak had turned to heaving.

"... and you must understand, we are a respectable office, with very important assignments."

"Yes, Mr. Hinkle-Bailay."

" ... and not only do we have a reputation to maintain but you set a very bad example for our other employees, who do somehow manage to get here on time."

"Yes, Mr. Hinkle-Bailay."

" ...and considering you seem to be, for whatever reason, unable to blend into our fine organization here, I am indeed sorry to have to tell you your services will no longer be required."

"Oh, but Mr. Hinkle-Bailay."

She was about to burst out crying, then she swallowed her tears and started on what seemed to be a reasonable path of logic.

".. this is my 3rd job, this, in two months ... and and... and" tears really caught up with her now.

"What am I to do? I don't think I'm doing anything terribly wrong am I? I mean, I never manage to wake in time, or stuff like that... but after all it's only 15 minutes, it never is more. And I always deliver the papers for the day, and I never lost one yet... uhh ... except that one time when a folder slid behind the filing cabinet. But then I got the super to get it out and it wasn't even really damaged... "

Mr. Hinkle-Bailay was no longer listening, his gaze had returned to the form on his desk, pen in hand he finished filling in all the little blank spaces, recording his dismissal of the girl for posterity.

"You know I really need to pay the rent somehow... What am I to do now?"

But the answer to that question, if indeed Mr. Hinkle-Bailay did supply one, will never be known, for by now a security guard had escorted the girl well into the corridor and the office door shut itself.

***

God, an asylum was certainly what she needed. Should she go in and see what this place was?

Taking a deep breath the normally somewhat timid Peggy opened the door and walked into the mysterious shop.

Two men were standing close to the doorway, chatting, beyond them she could see a warm and inviting room, filled with soft overstuffed furniture, shelves of books and even a game table. To Peggy's eye the room lacked a bit in what she called finishing touches, it needed a painting or two on the bare walls, perhaps a vase of flowers on the table, but it was generally cozy and inviting anyway.

The two men paused in their conversation and turned towards her, the shorter smiling broadly in welcome. He stuck out a hand to shake and said,

"Welcome to Asylum! My name is Fred. This is Manny." He indicated the man next to him.

"And John is in the back, hiding behind a book as usual."

Peggy took Fred's hand and shook it tentatively, nodded to Manny and tried to smile.

"Oh, I saw the Indian out front and I was just wondering what this place was, hope I am not interrupting anything."

"Not at all, come in, come in." Fred turned towards a group of soft chairs.

"Have a seat, I can explain things to you and Manny at the same time."

The three of them settled down and Fred began explaining his ideas about a refuge place for people with too many lonely hours, a place to meet and hopefully make new friends in a world that always seemed too busy.

Continued

« Asylum, Chapter Two

Asylum, Chapter Four »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Sunday, 26 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

Asylum, Chapter Ten

Frankie looked around, and she was Napoleon at Waterloo, minus the hemorrhoids and the Duke of Wellington. She was Admiral Lord Nelson at Trafalgar, minus two shell hits to her flagship and all the wood and debris in her eye. She was Sir Francis Drake, she was Anne Bonny, she was every man and woman to ever stand fast on the field and look through the telescope or binoculars or their own hand at the crowd, and decide how to properly butcher the lot. Where should the cavalry charge, where should the cannons blast, where will the screaming melee run to try and find salvation, and how to lock their retreat, so that by dusk there will be nothing left that crows can't manage. All of them were in her, like a warm smoke, smiling mildly. But she wasn't about to win or lose a war, borders wouldn't change as a result of her success or failure, people wouldn't suffer under oppressors or rejoice in freedom depending on her flair, it was just a pleasant evening people spent at a club, in a town, somewhere on Earth. Or was it?

The man was indeed not very much off the mark. There they were, an unbelievable collection of idiots. However, by now she had observed enough to notice a few interesting points. They were not rich. To her it was obvious, the way lack of truffles is obvious to a seeker sow. She knew more rich idiots than any banker, or broker, or junk bonds salesman, or casino floor manager, or luxury hotel front desk person in the world. By now a deep understanding of the way rich idiots are was already starting to crystallize in her pretty blond head, and she could spot one in the subway or under the sea, in no matter how large a crowd of penguins. It was like kids cheating in school. Some kids cheat and behave as if nobody knows; some kids cheat and behave as if everybody does. The more money they had, the less they behaved like idiots in fact, trying to cover the dirty little secret of their own hollowness. And if they didn't have any at all, they behaved like this bunch, as if everybody has already spotted it, but if they are nice and well behaved and don't make a ruckus then maybe everybody will be kind enough to not point it out. And suddenly Frankie was gleeful... it was all obvious. All they wanted was to be left alone. They got together and formed a club so they can leave each other alone, and then pretend to themselves this artificial construct is enough social life for any human, so they don't have to meet anyone else, that maybe might not leave them alone. What a cozy nice place. How well designed, who is after all likely to be inclined to join their club without being one of them? The man had happened on it and of course he realized all of this at the first sight of the first one of them.

Frankie frowned at that thought, but quickly mended her forehead because the first guy she had met here had noticed it and was visibly worried.

It was always like that, he always realized everything at the first damned sight, and then he would say and do things which seemed a bit odd, a bit out of place. He seemed a bit odd and out of place all the god damned time. And yet, if you clear your head and look around and pay attention to details and try to see how it all works, the way you would examine an old mechanical watch for instance, it suddenly strikes you, he was perfectly right, precisely on the mark, and not only did and said the perfectly right thing, but made you do it too, in spite, or rather in total disregard of your own mind as if he had strings in your god damned head. But one day she will surprise him. She will one day stumble on a huge gap in all that perfection he uses as a net over the entire Universe. She will live to see the day when there is uncertainty and sudden realization in his eyes too, and the bit of fear and the bit of joy. Then she will find the right words to stab him, until pointy edges of words can be seen coming out of his back... or maybe she would just laugh and laugh and laugh... or maybe she would just smile and caress him...

More people came, and Frankie was suddenly pulled from her reverie by an alarm bell in her head : there was another woman present. Her eyes were already focused before her brain had the chance to realize what was going on, and she was already cutting the newly arrived woman into small bits and weighting them. Frankie never particularly liked women, nor their presence. She always felt compelled to have an attitude. Either agree or disagree, like or dislike, each and every gesture they made, the most insignificant details of dress, whether they spoke with an accent, whether they always spoke with the same accent, the way they walked, the way they sipped water from a glass. It was as if every single woman she ever met had to be carefully checked against an average, and the differences, all of them, had to be marked as beneficial or detrimental. Frankie didn't really like much in other women, or even liked much the concept she could like anything, so more often than not it would end as a race to find fault with everything, or find reasonable excuse to consider every single detail and mark of individuality as a fault and a flaw. It was downright tiring, and so, without noticing, she ended up unable to stand any of them. Well of course, there were exceptions. Poor Peggy wasn't an exception, quite the contrary, and through an interesting inverse effect, because it was so plain obvious how she managed to do herself disservice by most things she does, and the way she does them, Frankie liked her more than most. It was, after all, not so hard to find that saving fault that would make it all okay. In this particular case, the woman had been left. Either her husband, or her long-term boyfriend, but very likely her long-term husband left her, and very likely for some other woman. That one never happened to Frankie. Or to any of her friends. Which is to say, she wouldn't be friends for long with anyone who was that inept. At a time like this, anyone with any sense would stay as far away from the eyes of the world as possible. Obviously though, this woman was not very aware what the world even is, and Frankie felt a sudden warmth for the poor idiot woman rise in her, the diffuse and imprecise way affection works in women that never had children. While she was quite unaware of that feeling, she was very aware of the terror and hate she was causing in the subject of her observation, but when Peggy did not even raise her eyes to meet her gaze, the battle had been won, and Peggy didn't even know, had not realized there had been a battle. On the other hand, that simple fact, maybe random, maybe dictated by some unconscious voice of ancestral experience, assured that while Peggy was defeated, she wouldn't be purposefully mistreated. After all, she wasn't, and never was, a challenge.

Frankie pondered what to make of it for a brief moment, then decided that if she just won't notice the tubby she came in with, he will feel ignored and follow her wherever she's going and that will be alright, for a while at least. As the woman left Frankie went back to her previous line of thought the way you go back to a tasty dish you were just about to sink into when the phone rang. To make the best of this she would have to play along, at least for a while, and of course that was just what the man said she should do, right when they talked about it the first time. Let them cocoon her into their cozy little place, the way a wayward family of asocial spiders would, covering each and every feature she had, until she is nothing more remarkable than a plump blob... she shuddered for a moment, a lifetime spent to underline and define and even invent features if need be, and now allow these bunnies to make her into pulp, even if it were just for their private mental use of her image... how horrible. What's the matter with that anyway she wondered, she never minded much that all the kids in school would religiously masturbate at least once a week (Wednesdays usually, gym day) thinking of some naturally occurring or not image of hers. And then she realized every man she will ever meet will do the same for the rest of her days, some of them more, some of them less, there might be some variation in frequency, but they all will do it, and she didn't particularly mind that either. Yet somehow she found it very repugnant this time. Odd thing, have to think about this some more later, you never know what the surprise she wanted to deliver to a certain party will be built out of. Frankie had for years now a running tab with disparate parts she would ponder now and again in the vague hope something in there might turn into the peg to trip her friend with, but mostly because it was fun to ponder them.

Registering the new arrivals at last, Fred realized he should be at his post by the front door, greeting people. Glaring briefly at Manny, hoping beyond hope that Manny would get the message and behave, Fred mumbled something towards Frankie to excuse himself and bolted for the front door.

Standing just inside the open door Fred checked his watch, 5 to 8, time for the others to start arriving any minute now. Glancing back to see how Manny was behaving he noted that Frankie and Manny had moved back into the main room, Frankie settling into the sofa like a queen surveying her realm, Manny hovering over her in a rather protective manner, Peggy was back by the refreshment table looking busy and Ralph seemed to be stumbling slowly in that direction, trying to tear his eyes away from Frankie. Fred considered what he might say to draw Manny away, still not convinced that he would behave himself.

"Hi, Fred, uh, I mean hello."

John made his usual mumbled greeting, started a bit when he noticed the unfamiliar face in the room, and made for his usual corner behind the bookcase, before Fred could manage even a simple hello, much less a handshake.

Practically on John's heels the others started arriving, people who had joined in the last few days and had not yet had a chance to meet anyone else. Fred was occupied for a bit there introducing the newcomers to each other and finally managing a moment to call Manny over and ask him to introduce this group to those already inside. Now with a moment to collect his thoughts Fred turned to count heads of those inside and try to determine if he should be expecting anyone else. He was startled by a soft female voice with a slight accent that he could not place speaking practically in his ear.

"Hello, My name is Janice, is this Asylum?"

Fred turned to find himself drowning in the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

"Hello, Janice, welcome to Asylum, we are just about to start a meeting, will you be joining us?"

The young woman smiled radiantly and looked a bit past Fred into the room. A shadow passed over her face, like she had seen something she didn't like but she quickly recovered and turned back to Fred with a warm smile.

"Yes, I would like very much to join you, at least for this evening."

After a last look at the street to see if any other surprises were about to drop in on him, Fred closed the door and showed Janice into the room.

"Everybody, this is Janice."

"She is, isn't she."

Fred looked at Frankie a bit puzzled and swallowed an 'huh?'

"Is what?" Asked Manny while fixing the new girl as if he was going to paint her as soon as he got home.

"Janice", Frankie said, matching the frozen gaze of her sometimes best friend and part-time arch nemesis.

"Eh shuddup, at least it's a girl's name." Janice was slightly red on the forehead, which on her very white skin looked actually rather nice.

"Oww aren't you cute, all flushed like that." Frankie really liked the way a crossed Janice looked, and besides, she didn't mind all other people called Frankie that she ever met were male. Poor Janice will have to learn one day that in order to get on somebody's nerves you have to say something they would hate to hear, not something you would hate to hear. But she'll be damned if she will ever share that particular bit of practical wisdom with her.

"Why, thank you, dear. Busy tonight, unfortunately."

Right about now Fred finally managed to find the only screwdriver they had available, and all the various screws scattered on the floor, and painfully fixed his jaw back in place, at least enough to mumble comprehensibly and attempt to put a stop to the developing melee.

"Manny, will you be kind enough to pull in an extra couch for our new guest?" Meeting the popping eyeballs of Manny, he realized the enormity of his request... Jesus what a gaffe, he thought, simultaneous with hearing

"A sofa will do." coming through the smiling rosy lips of what he now subconsciously considered the club's mascot wolverine.

"Do I smell coffee?" An obviously unconcerned Janice wanted to know. She precious knew her ass was not too big, in the appreciation of all those that should have a say, which didn't include scrawny female remakes of some second rate gangster hero or other.

"In the kitchen, through there." John said in a calm, very distinct tone, and he suddenly had all the eyes on him, which oddly he didn't seem to even register, let alone be bothered by.

Both Fred and Manny were eying John, both pondering in disbelief whether it was indeed him that spoke, or if he had a recording hidden somewhere? And what a devious and definitely not to be neglected in the future character he turned out to be. Both were so submerged in contemplation, in fact, that they missed the luscious swaying of a certain form for which a sofa would suffice on its way to the kitchen, not even hearing her say

"Thank you, kind sir", in a definitely softer voice, until a few seconds later when she had already gone through the door. Frankie smiled noticing their simultaneous late turn towards the door frame that had already swallowed Janice whole, and the subsequent and also simultaneous return to eying poor John, the kind sir. While wondering if they were twins, or just very equal on the IQ scale, she was eagerly awaiting a horrified scream coming from the room where both the other women had retreated, which she heard was called kitchen... odd choice of words, isn't it?

"Do you know the lady?" Obviously Fred had somehow managed to surface from his previous pensive stupor.

"Which lady?" Frankie was still smiling.

"Janice?"

"Can't say that I do." said Frankie, certain that her statement will be taken to mean that she doesn't know Janice.

Fred was looking at her with his eyebrows about to mix with his hairline, Manny was just staring blankly.

"But...uh....I mean... hmmm.... well you did seem to be... uhm... I mean..."

"Well what can I say, she is probably nice and welcoming like that with everybody."

"You think? She did say she was busy tonight." Manny tried hard to enter the game.

He was certain something was going on between these two girls, he was in fact secretly convinced something is going on between all the girls, no matter what size serving, if there are at least two of them together anywhere, they definitely have some scheme going on. That idea never formed explicitly in his mind, but he was always trying to figure the secret and most arcane plot any group of women he happened in the proximity of was certainly weaving. Come to think about it, this was all Manny was able to summon up for an entice and entangle the opposite sex craft. The notion, very vague and imprecise, they all form a sort of witch coven, and the even more vague notion that if he would somehow manage to guess what the plot was, extraordinarily good things would happen. Do not ask what, precisely, these good things were, this being the vaguest part of the entire matter, which was vague to begin with.

"She did say unfortunately, however." Frankie sent the ball back, for the pure pleasure of playing, and Manny looked at her, wise to the fact she was playing, but not wise enough to notice he was being played for a fool.

"Hmmm, that she did." Even in school girls would always chuckle around him and his few friends, and that always served to strengthen their conviction that indeed the girls were all playing out an elaborate scheme, and they of course looked more resolved than ever to crack it up and bring it all to light, not anything public, just include themselves by the sheer power of their deductive skills... which of course made the girls laugh to the point of nearly pissing in their cotton knickers, which of course a girl can't quite afford doing in school, so they had to quickly flee the scene, which in turn would make it seem to the boys they came very close that time, and should try harder next time... this is probably a good definition for what a nerd is : a person that thinks they can get into some girls underwear by the sheer power of their deductive skills.

In the kitchen Peggy was still busy arranging cookies on platters and other little chores to occupy herself, still not ready to emerge and greet that woman she had seen in the office with Fred.

"Hello, I was told I might find some coffee here somewhere."

The accent was definitely British, and the voice much too mellow to have come from that icy blond creature.

Peggy turned to find another model of that woman standing there, this one in a different color scheme, blue eyed and dark haired, but just as perfectly coiffed and manicured, yet much softer and more real. She actually returned the woman's smile in spite of herself.

"Sure, coffee is over there." Peggy pointed but made no move to get anything.

"Thank you. I'm Janice." The woman put out a hand to shake and Peggy could hardly refuse to take it. It was soft and now she probably smelled of perfume. Great!

"I'm Peggy, are you joining Asylum too?"

She smiled broadly, "Well, if that beast out there doesn't manage to kick me out first."

She moved on to the coffee pot and fixed herself a cup of coffee while Peggy turned back to the plates of cookies trying hard not to giggle out loud.

"I can see you giggling, you know? Your back is moving."

With that Peggy actually burst out in laughter.

"Welcome to Asylum, I am sure we will get along fine, and what can she do, two against one."

"She can drink very, very hot coffee."

"Excuse me?"

"You got an ice machine here?"

"No, but there is ice over there for the sodas."

"Good girl. Microwave?"

"Yup, no way Ralph would be around here without one, over there."

"Alright, make sure you know which cup, put it in the oven until just the very second it gets served, then dump an ice cube in it and be sure you'll be around to watch the results."

Peggy blinked, it sounded like a very sophomoric trick. But indeed, it might be good for a laugh.

As she lifted the first platter to carry to the refreshment table in the main room Janice spoke up again,

" Oh, please let me help you with that."

Both women then walked back to main area, hands full with plates of goodies and Peggy thinking that this woman might indeed be an asset to the club.

Refreshments placed about the room, cups, soda bottles and ice arranged on a side table used for refreshments, Peggy looked about the room and inquired if anyone else would care for coffee. She noted the requesters and then after a quick glance at Janice, who had settled onto one end of the sofa, returned to the kitchen.

Fred took center stage, and welcomed the newest members to the club. He explained briefly about the event schedule they had come up with so far and invited more suggestions for additional events. That small bit of business aside he introduced John, explaining that John had bravely volunteered to take the first turn at story telling.

Just as John had stepped forward to take a seat on the stool they had decided would make a nice perch for the story teller, Peggy returned from the kitchen bearing a tray filled with steaming cups of coffee. There was a small pause while Peggy moved about the room, placing cups and saucers at hand for those who had requested them, Frankie was served last.

That task complete Peggy moved back to stand near the end of the couch where Janice had curled up, the empty tray dangling from one hand.

John, from his vantage point on the stool surveyed his audience, cleared his throat and began.

"Once upon a time, in a land far away but not so very different"

his voice was clear and distinct, resonating so that the room seemed to fill with the soft tones. It seemed that indeed John would be an excellent storyteller, the only oddity about it was a lack of focus in his eyes, instead of looking at his audience it was like he was watching a scene that only he could see.

"from our own, there lived a man with three beautiful daughters."

"Raaackkk!"

The sound that startled everyone but John was somewhere between a screech, a shout, and a cough, certainly not a sound to be expected coming from the formerly composed Frankie. The coffee cup she had just sipped from flew from her hands, tumbling through the air towards the unsuspecting lap of Manny, seated on the couch next to her, spitting dribbles of coffee the way a swirling porcupine would dart quills at everybody in sight, and her hands were grabbing her throat, which, coupled with her almost popping eyeballs made for an incomprehensible scene. Was she choking herself? Extracting a fish bone, repenting her sins, starting some demon summoning ritual? Uhh...

The ill fated cup struck Manny on the knee, slopping hot coffee down his leg and bounced on, this time towards the array of dishes spread on the coffee table in the center of the group. Manny's leg jerked in response and he tried to leap to his feet, unfortunately the toe from one oversized foot at the end of his lengthy leg caught under the edge of the same coffee table and he toppled it sideways, lifting one end of the table a couple feet above its normal station.

Slowly, almost majestically, the dishes began to slide down the polished incline, first a platter of cookies, then the tray bearing condiments for the coffee, another platter of cookies, this one in some disarray since it now included shattered pieces of the coffee cup and finally the pretty blue vase that had graced the center of this table since the day John showed up with it.

The room erupted in a flurry of sound and motion. Some jumping backwards, attempting to avoid the toppling Manny and crashing dishes, others reaching forward trying uselessly to catch or arrest the sliding dishes. Peggy, horrified at what she had done, dashed for the refreshment table to get more ice for Frankie. And in the midst of all this commotion John sat calmly, continuing his story, apparently unaware of the disturbance.

"And as luck would have it, one rather plain daughter."

John continued implacably with his story as the first platter of cookies and the tray of coffee condiments reached the end of the incline and crashed to the floor. By the time the blue vase had arrived at the end, the table had settled back to an almost level position and it teetered there on the edge for a brief moment, as if thinking about whether to topple or not.

"Now this daughter as it happens was also very bright and curious and had curly hair." Abruptly he stopped, noticing at last the predicament of his precious blue vase. In one smooth leap he crossed the distance, caught the vase and darted to his usual location behind the bookshelves, not making any further noises.

"Are you hurt, dear?" Janice had this soft voice, but more than that, it was almost as if her palate never quite got around to calcifying, and consequently she almost had the soft voice of a four year old.

Peggy had to turn to see this one. Unbelievable, she had never seen anything even remotely like this, that woman didn't feign innocence, she simply spoke with downright innocence. If a jury, nay, if a conclave of the brightest juridical minds of the land was assembled to decide if Janice had anything to do with the little plot, not actually coming up with the idea for it, and bossing Peggy around to do it for her, but simply if she had anything at all to do with it, even as much as a suspicion, a shadow of a guess that it might be planned, she would get acquitted. She would not even have to do anything, or say anything remarkable, witty, or crafty, or even anything at all for that matter. She'd just look at them with her big blue eyes as she sat curled on the sofa, and maybe ask what was the time, or if it rained outside, and that was it, home free.

Looking over her shoulder as she was, she felt blood rising to her face, and she quickly went back to the kitchen before anyone had a chance to notice she was flushed, if indeed she was. That woman ! She really didn't have a chance, did she. She never will have a chance, and indeed she never had as much as a shadow of a hint of something badly worn that sometime, ages ago, resembled vaguely a chance. She suddenly realized the ridiculousness of it all. In college she was indignant because boys would ignore her, and that was based on her deep belief that in fact all girls in that campus were essentially the same. Sure some were blond and some were dark and some were tall and others short, and some studied a lot better than others, or maybe just a little better. But all these were to be, at least in her mind, details, vague and not very important specifics that didn't matter enough to change anything fundamental. After all every girl sat on a chair and each ate supper, and drank about just as much water, and got the same number of marks, if different marks still just as many of them as any other, and all were required to take the same exams, which were delivered to them on standard bits of paper, one for each, the same for each, and they all got the same time to do the task, and would get marked with no regard to anything but what they managed to write on the paper, at least ideally, and practice was not very far off from that, to her recollection. All along, everybody kept telling her, telling all of them, that they are all about the same thing, and more importantly, that "you my dear, can be anything you want to be". After pounding that load of crap at her for years, her parents, their relatives, their friends, the nice people on TV, all of them, they just gave up saying it, and instead acted as if it were perfectly true, with the cafeterias and college courses and exams and tax statements and driver's licenses and conveniently packed 1 serving consumer goods.

But it never was true. It never even was a reasonable mistake to make. It was so untrue, in fact, that people didn't even have a clue what the hell she wanted when she demanded, without knowing it, that they live up to her preciously deceiving world view, and keep treating her with that sort of sameness. It's why she could never quite explain to anyone what precisely she resented so deeply in their behavior.

After all, this Janice probably never even went to college. She probably didn't miss a single frat party, of course, and God only knows what they do there, but that isn't really college. And why not? Peggy hated the way a small gremlin, or whatever other tiny devil breed she seemed to carry around nowadays, kept always asking these sorts of nerve wracking questions.

Back in the war zone, Frankie was eying the Siamese cat on the sofa, but strangely enough she wasn't in the least bit frowning, as all the men in the room rather expected, she didn't seem furious or reaching for the ominous self defense implement she had to be carrying in her purse. Instead she was just sitting there looking at Janice.

Manny had finally managed to disentangle himself from the legs of the coffee table and assorted junk now in a pile at the end of it. He stood a bit shakily and started brushing at the coffee spots on his brown corduroy pants. Not too awful, at least the coffee matched.

"No, I am not hurt. It would take more than a little tumble like that to hurt me, I used to play college basketball." He spoke radiantly, if in somewhat modified colors.

"Oh, I'm not sure they make coffee tables tall enough to satisfy, then."

Just because she was not particularly upset with Janice didn't mean Frankie was anywhere near the kind and caring disposition she had started the day with, either. And she could almost see how some inept question about her own relative state of health was working its way through that college basketball veteran's brain, as if the thing was transparent and a little blob was moving slowly through alembics and pipes and filters and whatever other mechanical parts make up the normal brain.

Fred, finally recovering himself, looked about for Peggy and then realized she had gone into the kitchen.

"Peggy, would you please bring out a broom, dust pan and whatever else we need to clean up this mess."

While waiting on Peggy's return he looked about some more and noticing some tension among the parties figured he really should get them all working together to smooth things over.

Peggy heard Fred call for whatever else was needed to clean up an overturned coffee table, so she picked up that (if you don't know what, we aren't going to be telling you either) and drifted back into the room, still much absorbed by her thoughts. You see, she always blamed her husband. It was his fault. Life is a succession of choices, you do the right thing, you do the wrong thing. There is no mistake about it, nothing just happens, you don't slide slowly and wake up one day in Parchman. The way you end up there is at some point you make the decision to be a criminal, just as she made the decision to study hard and finish college and get married and have kids. And just as he decided to fuck around and be the unreliable turd he appeared to anyone disposed or inclined to use enough of the day's light on him. But she never made a decision to burn a perfect stranger in her life, and she didn't think she just started either. If Janice walked in over some guy in some kitchen and told him to drop his pants, she was pretty sure the result would be just as immediate. And a funeral or a plane in flight or an elevator or anything else in the circumstance didn't likely make much difference. Where is then that hypothetical guy's choice? Where was her choice really?

"Maid Peggy, to the rescue." Frankie had again an air of commanding officer on the battlefield.

"Be so kind and help her clean up the mess, will you?" She never mentioned Janice, or even looked at her, and yet Janice was quickly to her feet and between the two of them, everything was cleared in a few minutes... well everything except the various coffee stains everywhere.

After that everything happened very quickly, as if on strings, Frankie got her jacket, Janice was opening the door, and without a word, before anyone quite realized what was going on, if anything at all, they were outside on the sidewalk and Frankie was stopping a cab.

The rest of them just stood there for a moment, gaping as the door closed behind the girls. Fred was the first to take action.

"I suppose this little accident has really spoiled our story night, in fact," he said looking around, "our storyteller, John, seems to have disappeared also. Perhaps we should all call it a night and reschedule this event?"

Manny looked at Fred with amazement.

"What reschedule? You are wanting to change our schedule now over this little thing? After we worked to come up with events, and then find out what nights people could come and ..."

Peggy interrupted at this point, she could see the red starting to creep up Manny's neck and figured he would reach boiling temperature any second.

"Manny, it seems we may need to be a bit flexible here. Our new friends have already left and I am sure they will be wanting to hear the rest of John's story at some point."

"Oh, yes, indeed. Why did they leave anyway? And together, too? I thought Frankie said she didn't know Janice, this is indeed a most puzzling development."

Ralph spoke up for the first time in what now seemed liked hours, so much had happened.

"You know, we really messed this up by moving the furniture about. If the sofa had just stayed where it belonged then the coffee table would not have been so close and then you would not have gotten your foot caught an..."

Even Fred could see that at this rate there would be a real argument if something was not done. Damn those women anyway, they didn't belong here at all.

"Alright" he said, "I think we all need to cool off, go home and talk about things some other night."

With that he walked over and opened the front door, actually glaring at each in turn to make sure they understood he expected them to leave with no further ado.

Manny opened his mouth, prepared to continue with his comments, then managed to notice the determination on Fred's face and closed it again. Still, he was not really ready to leave just yet, and managed to find ways to make himself look busy while the others drifted towards the door and said their good nights. Manny was really confused and upset by the whole scene, here they had for a few minutes, the two most beautiful women he had ever seen in their midst and yet somehow it had all been screwed up. What had happened anyway? First the two were at each others throats, like a cat fight or something, and then after whatever happened to Frankie and the coffee, they looked like best friends. Bah. Nobody could ever understand women. And that incident with the coffee, what in the hell had happened? Peggy served the coffee, could Peggy have done something awful to Frankie's coffee? But why? That made no sense at all. Peggy was at the door, she and Ralph, apparently together, what was up with that? Still confused Manny finally realized he was the last and Fred was watching him expectantly, perhaps he better leave.

Manny stepped out on to the sidewalk, Fred firmly closing the door behind him, just in time to see the two women getting into the same cab.

Continued

« Asylum, Chapter Nine

Asylum, Chapter Eleven »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Monday, 27 January, Year 6 d.Tr.

Asylum, Chapter Sixteen

Janice's quick exit left the three men standing there in a daze. Well at least Manny and Fred were a bit dazed, John really didn't seem to notice, in fact he was apparently still talking to her, "virus represents ... the struggle of man ... computers are after all machines ..."

Manny and Fred glanced at each other in some puzzlement, Fred shrugged and turned back to his office, suddenly wanting some privacy to consider recent events, and especially to ponder the things Janice had said and see what use he could make of it.

Manny watching Fred retreat to his office was also happy for a bit of privacy, John it seemed was in a world of his own and unlikely to notice much, so Manny set himself to retrieving all of the ill fated papers he had been working on and made a small ceremony of destroying them.

First he got a small trash can from the kitchen and placed it in easy reach then he crumpled the first sheet of the flow chart and tossed it in, reaching for the next sheet he looked down and realized that leaving crumpled sheets in the trash was not the way to put an end to this silly incident, and besides, what if somebody was curious and pulled them out to read?

Manny leaned over and retrieved the crumpled paper and carefully smoothed it out again and placed it back on top of the stack. Now what?

Again he picked up the first sheet, this time he tore it in half, stacked the halves and tore again. This was better!

Each paper in turn was torn, and with each tear Manny felt a curious sense of satisfaction, something about the finality of things ... and something about new beginnings too, but the exact meaning of it all eluded him and he mostly just enjoyed the ripping, stacking, ripping ...

***

"Hi there. You in town?"

"Yea."

"Well in that case kind sir, mind if a pair of nice girls come over for a swim?"

"Who's that, you and Frankie?"

"Aye."

"Sure, come over, I just had the pool cleaned."

"Oh, did you let the boy go?"

"Terribly sorry, I didn't know you would be calling. Besides, it's a girl."

"You have a girl that's cleaning your pool? You are a very sick man, you know?"

"What am I to do, she's a coed, needs a job desperately."

"Surprisingly."

"Not like I make her wear very short cutoffs or anything."

"I'm sure you aren't. It's the weather, right?"

"Right."

"So what time?"

"Say after eight? Give me a chance to get there."

"Sure."

"Say, want me to send the car?"

"Now that would be nice. Pick us up at my place."

"Talk to you later then."

***

Ralph had awakened that morning to an empty bed, not unusual for Ralph but somehow this morning he had rather expected to find Peggy there beside him. He lay there a long time thinking carefully over the events of the previous day, trying to understand, why had she left? Apparently sometime in the night, after he had fallen asleep she had left, why?

No answers came to him, as usual Ralph found the actions of women were a complete mystery. Finally he stirred, time to get his day started, it was after all Saturday and there was shopping to be done.

In the kitchen getting his usual bowl of cereal with whole milk and lots of sugar Ralph was reminded of his determination to sort out his life, that project had started so well with all the cleaning. The kitchen even still showed some evidence of his efforts, for the first time in years there was actually space to sit and eat at his kitchen table. Looking about at the progress he had made Ralph was moved to continue the effort. But of course this was shopping day, Saturdays spent clipping coupons, making lists and shopping had for years been the main point of order in his life, surely that should not be changed?

By the time Ralph had finished consuming the bowl of cereal he was no longer sure just what it meant to have some order in his life. Instead of starting his Saturday shopping day in the usual way, looking through the week's papers for coupons and noting what was on sale where, he began by actually checking his fridge and cupboards to see what was needed.

In the fridge he noted that only 2 sodas remained and was about to write "soda" on his list when he recalled finding at least a case in the garage. He probably bought that case sometime in the past, on sale somewhere, and put it there when he didn't have room in the house, but he had no idea when that might have been.

In fact most of the checking for needed items went like that, he recalled at every turn that he had found bags of chips in the living room and cans of tuna on the back porch and...

In the end his list included only milk and bread, things he could easily get at the corner store, there really was no need for the usual shopping expedition.

Today he would instead continue with his plan to clean up and order his life a bit, and perhaps call Peggy later to see if she was interested in another movie or something.

***

"I told you so."

"Well yes, but you couldn't have told me the how."

"So you had to go find out?"

"Yep."

"Satisfied now?"

"Wait until you hear the story."

"So let's hear."

"I thought we were going for a swim."

"We are."

"Well then if you don't mind I'll tell the story there, it gets on my nerves to tell the same story twice in half an hour."

"Ah, ok then. Got your bathing suit?"

"Mmm?"

"Your bathing suit." Janice was glaring, speaking with pauses, long pauses between each word. "Do you have a bathing suit?"

"Don't you come with one built in?"

"Oh stop being impossible. You have five minutes to pick something or else I'll make you wear a pink one."

"You have a pink bathing suit?"

"Yup."

"How the hell did you get that?"

"It was a present."

"Excellent. Bring it over then."

"Heh?"

"Bring it over."

Janice started shuffling the bathing suit drawer (she had a bathing suit drawer) and eventually produced a one piece baby pink swimsuit.

"Wonderful" said Frankie in a very pretentious tone, "it even has pleats. This shall do perfectly, my dear." Janice was laughing so hard her eyes were teary.

"Oh look, the car is here." Indeed a white limousine was making the curve, slowly, carefully, the way a whale going up a river would maneuver.

"Alright, let's go."

"Listen, to swim in a swimsuit you must put the thing on first! Holding it in your hand does not count."

"Eh, we'll change in the car." Frankie was already in the hallway dangling her new pink purse.

"You know, it is so obvious you have never ever used underwear in your entire life... nobody holds that thing from the crotch."

"So I have an innovative grip."

"Good evening ladies." The driver was opening the door so the ladies could get in.

"If it isn't Freddie." Janice smiled. "Where have you been hiding you old dog?"

"Well you know ma'am... little of this, little of that..."

"A lot of that?" Frankie held out her pink charms bag.

"Eh, shuddup." Janice pushed her in the car and got in herself, and Freddie closed the door delicately.

Frankie touched the button and while she was unbuttoning Freddie's neck and head were slowly eaten away, until there was only a thin line, even that quickly consumed.

"What, you turned shy all of a sudden?" Janice touched the button and began unbuttoning herself. As Freddie was being regurgitated slowly, at first just a line, then wider and wider to normal size she winked at him in the mirror and poor Freddie was all smiles.

"How do you even put this thing on?"

"Please tell me I don't have to potty train you, too."

"You don't have to potty train me, I'll happily go in the ashtray."

"If the happy proprietor of a white town car lights a cigar and finds Frankie poo in the ashtray you will probably end up having your rear end surgically welded shut."

"That'd cut out a lot of fun though."

"Exactly."

The girls were comfortably sitting and casually chatting completely naked by a small pile of clothes.

"I think that guy's mirror is going to crack any minute now."

"Ya, his eyes are pressing it kinda hard, huh?"

"Yup."

"Alright, so wanna get dressed now?"

"What, get back dressed? How many times you think I can be bothered in the same day?"

"I meant in your pink swimsuit."

"Us both?"

Janice was squinting.

"Alright, alright, here goes." Frankie put one leg in, then the other, stood backwards in the car with her ass practically resting on the thin wall meant to protect the poor driver and pulled her swimsuit up.

"Hmmm.... interesting cut. Is this a new topless concept?"

"You have it backwards for Christs' sake."

"What, they have sides?"

"Yes they have sides. Everything has sides. And you are getting on mine."

"Fine, be that way." Frankie got in the swimsuit with no further difficulty, and just in time. Not because the driver couldn't have taken anymore... well maybe because of that too, but mostly because they were there. Freddie stepped out and opened the door for them.

"Welcome, ladies."

"Didn't come yet."

"Ya Freddie, see when she was a little girl her parents took a trip to central Africa, and lived in some rural settlement for a year or so. The village elder took good care of her, you could say. So she doesn't even know what it means."

"Eh shuddup, I'm sure he saw better."

"I'm sure he didn't look."

"Heh, it's not like you can cover a whole rear mirror you know? Not just yet anyway."

The girls went bickering and backbiting across the lawn and entered a living room, while Freddie quietly, slowly dissolved in the distance.

"Where oh where is the bar?"

"It must be down south, by the docks and all."

"Eh shuddup and find me the bar will you?"

"Maybe we should chant and it will magically appear."

"What would we chant?"

"Um... what would you like to drink?"

"Actually I would like a bottle... maybe vodka."

"In that case I want orange juice."

A few moments later a maid pushing a sort of cart, the like of those they use inside airplanes came in, there was a bottle of vodka, a bottle of yellowish stuff, glasses, ice, ice tongs, small paper umbrellas made somewhere in China, napkins...

"O, looky, a magic wand." Frankie quickly took solid grip of the ice tongs.

"Put that down!"

"Ha! I gots the magic wand, now you have to carry my supplies." Frankie started through the glass doors towards the pool, Janice sighed and picked up both bottles. "Fine. You get the glasses."

"No way, I don't need glasses, and even if I did I'd get contacts instead."

"You don't imagine I'll palm feed you?"

"Oh I'd never... Well now that you mention it..."

Frankie jumped in the water and made a couple of twirlies, the maid carried the ice bucket and rested it on the pool side.

"Oh it's nice and warm. Give here." Frankie put the ice thongs next to the bucket and got both bottles from Janice. "Let's see you jump."

"Uhhh..."

"Ah come on, jump."

"Mmm..." Janice was acting like a kid that never saw a river in her life, during her first day of swim class.

"Jump! Jump! Jump!"

"But it's wet!"

"Which means it's ready. Now don't dally."

Janice took a few steps back and ran towards the pool, then when she was at the brink took a leap and flew a few feet in the air before collapsing sort of backwards in the water.

"Ooooouch" the bubbles coming to the surface carried the message of her sore butt.

In the meanwhile Frankie emptied the vodka bottle enough so it would now float in the pool.

"You need more practice."

"You need to be sent to a nunnery."

"That may well be so, but since they have not yet invented the nunnery that would need me sent there, I am relatively safe."

"Good Lord, what did you do with all the vodka?"

"I poured it in the orange juice."

"So what did you do with the orange juice then?"

"Huh?"

"Both bottles were full."

"Ah well... age shrinks all..."

"Alright, I need to blink now, save me a spoonful please?"

"I am sure he has some more stashed away somewhere."

"And you are determined to find out?"

The girls carried on with their chatter and took turns at the bottles, which got more and more seaworthy as time went by.

***

Peggy woke to the sound of the phone, she was momentarily disoriented, not at all sure what time of day or night it was, or even exactly what day it was, a very odd feeling for her indeed. She fumbled for the phone on the table next to her bed, anything to quiet the annoying sound which was making an incredible echo in her aching head. Realizing that her head ached, she recalled the events of the previous day, or was it still today? Ouch, that phone call might be Ralph and she certainly was not ready to talk to him, she drew her hand back under the covers, reconsidering the instinctive response to answer the phone.

She lay there counting the rings, surely whoever it was would give up soon, all she wanted was some quiet so that she could retreat back into peaceful slumber.

By the time it finally stopped she was unfortunately wide awake and in need of both a trip to the bathroom and a large drink of water, some aspirin to go with that water might also be a good idea. Peggy reluctantly tossed the covers aside and rose, finding it necessary to stop and steady herself against the walls at least twice on her way to the bathroom. Ridiculous, one bottle of wine and she was practically a basket case, she would either need to get better at it or drop the idea of drinking altogether.

Much later, when the aspirin had dulled the pain in her head and some food had settled her stomach she sat down to consider the Ralph problem. It was not so much that she regretted the previous night with him, but that she certainly didn't care for a repeat performance. A man in her life occasionally would in general not be a bad thing, but Ralph was really way too much like her ex-husband for comfort. Were all men like that? Her rather limited experience provided no clues to this question, and come to think of it, many others too. She would need to find a way to make Ralph understand that she did value his friendship, but was simply not interested in any more of a relationship with him. The ringing phone uninterrupted her train of thought and she reached to answer it.

"Hello."

"Hi, Peggy, it's Ralph. I was wondering if you were busy tonight? There is a new movie opening that sounds interesting and maybe we could catch that after dinner at the steakhouse?" Ralph was speaking very quickly, not even taking time to breathe, it was clear he had been planning this little speech for some time and just wanted to hurry and get it all out.

Peggy considered for a moment before she answered, Ralph really was a bit thick, it would probably take more than a simple refusal to discourage him, but if she went too far then it would hurt his feelings and there was no need to be mean. Ralph had not really done anything wrong.

"Thank you for the invitation, Ralph but I am really rather busy. I expect we will be seeing each other at the club again soon enough." There, she hoped that would give him the idea, she wanted to restrict the relationship to friends at the club.

"Oh, ok, well then, hope to see you there soon." His voice fell at first, the disappointment obvious, but then rose on a note of hopefulness when he thought of seeing her at the club.

"Alright then, see you there. Bye."

***

"Oh, I can't believe this, sirens in my pool!"

"Hi mister, you happen to know the way to the Pacific?"

"I am not very sure, but if you don't mind I could help search for it."

"Aren't you a bit too dressy to go looking for the Pacific?"

"'Tis so, sadly. Give me a few minutes, I'll be right back then."

"Bring a bottle of vodka on your way."

The man nodded and left, and was soon back in a robe.

"Jesus that's a pink robe. How very gay!"

"It's not pink, it's beige."

"What?! Who taught you colors?"

"What am I to do, it came as a set with the bathroom towels. I got roses on the tiles in the bathroom, I need rosy towels. I'm stuck."

"You look really funny in it."

"Which is why I can't really wear it except with people I know well enough."

"You might get yourself another robe."

"Yes, but I'd have to actually kill a day to get a decent robe in a decent color. When I have a surplus day I might try it. But as it is... these people selling stuff are real idiots, there is no way they will sell you a green robe with rosy towels. I was on the phone for half an hour with some operator, she kept explaining how it's a set. What absurdity to only make same color sets. What if I want yellow pants and blue vests? Do I need to get sets and wear yellow vests and blue pants too? Bleah."

Janice looked at Frankie and an understanding emerged between the two. The man dumped his pinkish robe and slid in the water.

"What is this?" he was holding the strap of Frankie's swimsuit.

"I donno... she made me wear it! I didn't want to, but she made me!" She was looking at him like a kid forced to eat ricin oil.

"I meant the color."

"Umm... beige?"

"Good girl. You learn fast, you know?" the man was patting Frankie's head while Frankie was doing a sort of purr like noise.

"What did you do to the driver anyway, when I went in he was supporting a pole looking in the sun... when I came out he was unmoved."

"She made me do it! I didn't want to, but she made me!"

"Do what?"

"Well... you know..." Frankie was blushy and looking down.

"Did you stain my car?" The man had a sudden falcony expression.

"No, no, she's just making things up." Janice had a very appeasing voice.

"No I ain't... you made me!"

"Awww, there there, now tell, what did she make you do?"

"Well we were in the car..."Frankie was almost crying "and then..."

"Yeah?"

"And then... she made me take off my clothes!"

"No!" the man had a shocked expression.

"And the underwear!"

"You had underwear?"

"Exactly!"

"Awwww."

"And then..." Frankie managed in betwixt sobs "and then she made me sit there and ...and..."

"Awww there there."

"Yeah!" Frankie had the face of a long misunderstood kid the day he is finally done justice.

"So the guy is debating whether to go jack off?"

"Probably..." Frankie was laughing "he should, too, I have come to discover that all ills in this world arise from the fact men are not able to sit quietly in a room and masturbate."

"Hey, wanna jump?"

"No, I got my butt slapping for today, thank you."

"Ah come on, we'll hold you. You have to learn to jump eventually."

"I do?"

"No, but it might be fun."

"I don't know..."

The man and Frankie were holding hands, not the way you would normally, but closer, each holding the wrist of the other, and keeping both hands close together.

"Now come step here. Then we will lift you and then you jump and when in the air put your palms together and turn so you go in head first."

"But I might fall!"

"Well falling is the whole point of jumping, you know."

"What if I hurt myself?"

"You won't, just take care to jump sideways so you don't land on us."

"Mhhh..."

"Ah c'mon."

Janice stepped on their arms and was sent flying into the air... then she remembered she is supposed to turn and go in head first... a bit too late, and she fell sorta sideways.

"Ouch."

"Did that really hurt?"

"No, but unless I start early, you will ignore me when it starts to really hurt, and what will I do then?"

"Hehe... this time try to remember to go in head first, and put your hands before that, palms together."

"Alright."

She stepped on their arms and went flying again, higher this time, but she yanked her butt and was perfectly aligned head first and all, about a foot above water. As she reached the surface things weren't all that aligned anymore, and she splashed water all the way over the pool side.

"Meh."

"Well, one more, you almost got it that time."

"You will have me drowned!"

"Yup, it's our secret plan."

Third try sent Janice flying a good five feet, and the distance obviously helped, for she reached the water like an arrow and did a flip underwater to come out couple yards away, no splashing.

"See? You too learn fast."

"My turn now" Frankie was getting excited "and no feet tickling!"

"Mind reader, aren't you?" Janice was smiling with the calm, contagious smile of someone who just accomplished something and is proud and happy.

***

Fred sat there at the desk listening to the ripping noises. He briefly considered if he should go see what the exact cause of the sound was, but finally thought better of it. It seemed every time he ventured out of the office something was going on that made his head hurt.

He could also still hear John talking, no doubt going on about flow charts and viruses and programs. Fred shook his head, why oh why must it always be computers.

Fred hated computers, or more properly he hated the way people acted about them.

Last week, when he opened his electric bill he had nearly fainted. Electric bills came on those stupid cards, the ones with holes punched out all over, usually in just the spots where you needed to read. Fred was pretty sure that there local electric company was the last place on Earth still using that old method of printing bills, and it was more than annoying. The bill in question said 1012.00, or so it appeared between the holes. That was of course ridiculous, it surely should have said 101.20.

After catching his breath he had realized what must have happened and determined that he would make a trip down to the local electric company office and straighten it out. He looked at the enclosed return envelope for the office address and discovered it was only a post office box, next he looked in the phone book but instead of a regular listing all he could find were some entries in the front for important numbers, like police, ambulance, fire, gas company, etc. All those numbers listed in nice bold print, but no addresses, like no one would ever want to go there, only call. Finally he surrendered and, locating the number for billing problems, sat down to give them a call. He should have prepared better for that call, maybe a soda and sandwich, maybe even a newspaper and a change of underwear. First he had listened to telephone trees that never seemed to end, and also never seemed to have the options he was looking for. After not finding any selection for reporting problems with your bill he decided to try getting a report that told how much he owed, maybe it was after all only a problem with the printing and the punch holes.

To do that, the voice told him, he must indicate his customer number by using the buttons on his phone and then verify that he was really himself by inputting the last four digits of his social security number. His customer number was 14 digits long, it took Fred 3 tries to get it right, each time the annoying computer generated voice said:

"That is not a valid number, please try again."

In the end his account there matched what he had thought was on the bill and he was back to trying to find the means to report a billing problem. Apparently nobody ever had to report billing problems because there were no options on the menus that allowed for that and he took the final one that claimed it would put you through to a real human operator for further assistance.

The flat computer voice then reported that the operators were currently busy serving other customers that presumably didn't have any problems with their bills, either, and that his call would be taken when one of them was available, and thanked him for his patience, then started playing some old music, stuff he never liked the first time around. At this point Fred had leaned back in his chair, expecting to wait a few minutes, and composed exactly what he would say when he finally got to talk to a human being. After a few minutes the music stopped and Fred was ready to start talking, but it was not the operator, just a repeat of the original message, then an ad thing talking about how great the electric company service was, then back to the music.

It went on like that for more than an hour, music, message, ad, music, message, ad, music ....

Fred's mind had wandered away completely, day dreaming about tropical islands without telephones or electric companies by the time a real human voice came on the line and asked for his customer number. Startled it took him a few moments to recall what he was doing and why, then a few more moments to locate and repeat the number, then of course he must prove he was he with the last four digits of his oh so secret social security number.

At last the human voice said "How may we help you, Sir?"

By now Fred had recovered himself a bit and launched into his planned explanation of how impossible the current bill he was holding was, that he had never in all his years of living at the same place doing the same things ever had a bill of more than 110 dollars and how over a thousand was simply impossible and must be an error.

When he was done the voice on the other end began what was clearly a prepared speech, in fact Fred was pretty sure the operator was actually reading it from something, the pauses were all wrong. What he basically said was that all the billing was computer generated, and since computers don't make mistakes, there couldn't possibly be any error in the bill.

The conversation, such as it was, went on like that for a while, Fred carefully explaining and the operator reading things that were not really answers. Finally Fred asked to speak to the man's supervisor, and the man replied,

"Certainly Sir, I will have to put you on hold while I call him." With that the music resumed.

Another hour or so went by, Fred had drifted comfortably back to his tropical island, the one with no phones, no electric companies, and no ads. Again he was startled back to reality by a real human voice interrupting the seemingly endless stream of music, message, ad, music, message ....

"How may we help you, Sir?"

Once again Fred had to provide the long customer number and prove who he was before the problem could be discussed. The supervisor did not appear to be reading from a script and Fred was finally able to get his point across, the man agreed that there might indeed be a problem and assured him that it would be looked into, in the meantime Fred should pay the amount he thought it should be and a corrected bill, if this one was wrong, would be arriving in his mail in a few days. Fred really didn't believe it, but what was he to do? He thanked the man, hung up and made a mad dash for the bathroom.

***

Darkness chased the threesome out of the pool, not because they minded the dark, but because they didn't appreciate the cool that comes with it, especially not on naked, wet skin. They took residence in the living room that was separated from the pool by a sliding glass door, Janice and Frankie were sitting on a sofa, each wrapped in a large fluffy pinkish towel. Right across from their couch there was a chimney hosting a fire burning happily, as if it were made of cute flame puppies hopping and jumping and leaping every which way. The man was sitting in an armchair on the side, wearing his robe. In between them there was a small Louis XVIIth table with the remnants of the second bottle of vodka, the first bottle of orange juice, an oddly shaped bottle holding cognac in its XIIth year and a small wooden case of cigars.

"Aren't those illegal?"

"I'm sure they are."

"What if you get in trouble?"

"What, the pool girl might be a Customs agent undercover?"

"For instance."

"I suppose I shall have to peep under covers next time then."

"So you should."

"At any rate I am sure you will bail me out."

"Fail that, she can always crash a car in the jailhouse and you could be like Bonnie and Clyde."

"Who'd be Bonnie?"

"Clyde."

"Obviously. So how's the club thing going?"

"You should ask the senseless bitch here." Frankie was in a very chuckly mood, and considering the vodka damages, that's completely understandable.

"You two been at it again?"

"No, I just met this very amusing fellow from drawl land... but he's a bit of a pinhead so I had to ask her to baby sit for me, as it were."

"Let me guess, he was crowding you."

"I was starting to worry his hand might imprint on a skirt or something. And then she asked him to take her out to lunch and went out wearing my short mink on top of a quarter ounce of lace and heels."

"Red?"

"Hehe, yea, red." Frankie was very much amused "And then we went out, guy wanted to take me to the steakhouse something! I suppose I should be thankful it wasn't Joe's diner."

"You should be thankful it wasn't Joe's all you can eat shrimp buffet."

"That too. So we sat down and I ordered the bisk."

"At the steakhouse?!"

"We didn't go there eventually" Frankie had a suave smile, "we went to Victor's instead. And people kept looking at my bisk as if it wasn't printed on the menu and they couldn't easily get their own... And Paulie was babbling most of the time so it didn't amount to much conversation really..."

"Was my mink fastened?"

"Ya, second clasp."

"They weren't staring at your bisk, dear."

"Course not, it's not brisk, it's voluptuous. Moving right along, I was getting bored and across from us there were two guys eating, a very strange pair, it was an odd time to think it a business meeting and they weren't exactly right for each other to think it anything else... sitting face to face, the one facing me started smiling and I think he winked a couple of times too. Naturally I was shyly surveying my bowl, after all it just wont be fittin' for a lady to behave thusly, or worse, to encourage such freshness, especially when escorted by such handsome a chevalier as Mr. Paulie what's his name."

"Ya, good point. What's his name?"

"Umm... Driscoll. So I was sitting there minding my own soup but the other guy just kept at it, and eventually his friend noticed, and this is where it gets interesting. He turned once, and as it happens Paulie had his head turned right then, he was calling the waiter for more wine, and then this fellow started shouting "You bitch!" but very interestingly he was talking to poor Paulie! And then he grabbed his salad bowl and dumped it on Paulie's head!

Janice was laughing, the man was laughing, Frankie was laughing, the fire was obviously having fun too, even the passing maid was smiling... a well spent evening.

"Imagine the poor fellow. He was mumbly and babbly all day, now some guy calls him a bitch in a restaurant and dumps salad on him. He was so red I thought I was getting more bisk. He was just sitting there red as a tomato, and apparently turned to glass, didn't move or anything, flakes of zucchini slowly sliding on the back of his neck and cheeks and so on. Eventually the other guys got thrown out, and a couple waiters kept shining him, cause by now he was not only very red, but shiny too from the salad oil..."

"So what did you do?"

"Well I wanted to get a cab and send him home... but he kept not wanting to... eventually I remembered we need to buy some liquor on the way back anyway, so we stopped at a store and while we were waiting in line to pay for the stuff there was a guy in the other line who kept fussing about wanting all his bottles arranged I don't know how in the bags, to which the clerk said something like "Oh, stop being so bitchy." Unfortunately this was 10 inches behind Paulie, so I suppose the poor fellow snapped."

"Oh dear."

"He grabbed a bottle and bashed the clerk's head in, luckily it was a nice solid bottle or else I think he would have killed the poor guy, but anyway I think he cracked his skull... and then there was blood everywhere of course, and everybody was screaming and Paulie had this devilish look on his face and was yelling "Who's the bitch now?" every half minute or so, and overturned half the shelves and threw bottles and whatever he got his hands on at people... Then the police showed up and of course they got showered with bottles and whatnot too, they had to taze the idiot."

"How did this get you arrested?"

"She got arrested?"

"Yea, what you think she'd miss an opportunity?"

"Well I wasn't going to let the guy fight the mob by himself was I? After all he was so far having all the fun."

"What, you hit people with bottles?"

"Na, I just abused the officers."

"You really have a fetish, you know?"

"So we rode in the van and Paulie was still going "who's the bitch now" every so often, I think he might be slightly affected."

"Great, you inseminated my hillbilly."

"I did what?"

"He's insane now, and it's all your fault."

"How is it my fault?"

"What made you get the bisk?"

"Anyway, how did you get out?"

"Well it's not like I had done anything wrong really... besides the police officers were fresh out of school I think... really young... so I made nice and nobody ever pressed charges."

"I'm surprised they didn't keep you overnight though."

"Yea, as I said, they were fresh out of school or something."

"So I suppose I shall have to visit the poor darling in jail now."

"You know, you should bow to my greatness, this way you shot about five rabbits at once. He's not out to pester you when you're busy, you get to prove your eternal everlasting friendship and good qualities, and I'm pretty sure he will need an ambassador to the old man."

Janice dropped her towel and bowed a few times to Frankie's greatness, touching the sofa with her forehead and all.

"Ya I suppose it works out great... did you manage to salvage the drinks?"

"Ya, in the commotion they never noticed we didn't pay, so I just carried the bags to the car while the police were dragging Paulie to theirs."

"All in all not a bad trade."

"Well since you were such a darling, I will share a bit I discovered earlier that I was going to keep for myself."

"Ya, whatever were you doing at the club? And why did you tell me you were busy?"

"Well I was, but I managed to finish everything, you know how it is, you count this is half hour and that an hour and this is another half so three hours at least and in the end it all takes twenty minutes. So then I went to the club, thinking if you come back with Paulie it'd be best if I'm not there and you send him off."

"Ah... okay."

"But guess oh guess what was transpiring at the club?"

"Do tell."

"You remember Manny? Well Manny was busy writing wish charts. You know what wish charts are? They are these large pieces of paper on which one can find explained how to get "a favorable impression" and "appear in a favorable light" and generally speaking get Frankie to notice him."

"Little old me?"

"I don't know about little."

"You're just jealous."

"Course I am. So there I read on the countless pieces of paper Manny's plans to conquer the fortress of you."

"Hehe poor fellow, getting in is not that difficult. Getting out..."

"Well how is he to know that?"

"You know, this is always getting on my nerves. On one hand nobody is ever to be supposed to know anything or be able to do anything. On the other, everybody is to be treated equally, and with respect and we have to think everybody has a right to this and to that. Doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Don't start. One thing didn't make much sense though, he kept noting and underscoring and decorating the concept of Frankie's childhood traumas."

"What are those?" Frankie was mildly curious.

"Did he mention anything other than this generic expression?"

"No, that's the interesting part."

"Well, I paid them a visit a while back, and I mentioned you had a bad childhood."

"Someone should have told me at some point."

"Well I was stuck to give them something to chew on, I figured that bit of psychobabble was least likely to be accidentally proven a lie."

"Can it ever be proven a lie?"

"I seriously doubt it."

"So is it?" Janice was looking at Frankie, half serious half joking.

"I don't know, hon. What's a bad childhood?"

"Well, did your father force you to have sex with the next door neighbor's dog when you were eleven?"

"No."

"Well then."

"That's the criteria?"

"I figured if you said 'no, but...', it would have been one thing, and if you just say no it's another."

"Smartie."

"Some of us did go to college."

"But none of us went to the library."

Continued

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Asylum, Chapter Seventeen »

Category: Cuvinte Sfiinte

Monday, 27 January, Year 6 d.Tr.