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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Philosophy · #1212098
Presedential candidate gives an interview.
"What are the things that make you tick?" the confident suited reporter asked as he sweated profusely out of his eyes due to an obscure condition which in addition to making him sweat out of his eyes also makes him tremendously stupid. In school he had been taught by famous professors of existentialism, and so he knew that other than "why the hell should I get up in the morning?" the most important question to ask is "what REALLY do you live for?"

The interviewee shifted in his chair. He wasn't nervous in the least, but he WAS drinking out of a massive flask and he had the unsatisfiable urge to urinate. He had lost his ability to urinate while serving as a sergeant in the first Gulf War. Now he was a candidate for president of the United States. "What makes me tick?" he choked half-heartedly and chewed on his flask. "Sex and greatness. If there's anything else to live for, then you're an idiot." The candidate didn't bother to notice that regardless of any truths or timelines, the interviewer *was* an idiot. Nor did he care that his sentence made essentially no sense, because he knew full well that he was right. He would be right no matter what it is that he said. He could tell you that the sun was chicken, and it'd be true. It's not so much that you'd *believe* him, it's that it would actually be true! This was because words are all absolutely meaningless and there is nothing you can't prove. People choose to use their lives for the fulfillment of a goal or belief, and in that way they can understand "truths", but for such to occur everyone must first fool themselves into believing their own intuition. Find a woman who doesn't even believe in her own beliefs, and you'll find a suicide victim who could have been the greatest leader in world history.

"Sex and greatness... huh?" the bumblingly brilliant reporter mumbled into his Sony tape-recording device with exceedingly poor style and convention. He never learned the basics of reporting because he was a history major in college. Most collegiate end up doing jobs that have ridiculously little to do with anything worthwhile they've ever done in their lives. If you don't believe it, ask the Gods. Plus he never officially has to give a damn. He's rich because he's the son of Kurt Cobain. But he changed his name to Son House when rap got popular. Don't ask him to explain it, Son House is hilariously unintelligent, an insult to both his namesake and his father. As for what makes him tick, he lives life in a perpetual attempt to have people who respect him insult him. It's true. He only looks at life kindly when someone he dearly loves is calling him a jackass or crushing his dreams. Unfortunately for him, nobody respects him in the first place and he doesn't even believe in love. Needless to say, he's never been happy for a moment in his life. That's what we in the biz refer to often as the Milkshake Blues.


"Yes, sex and greatness, that's what I told you," Candidate/Sergeant Trower gobbled at the young blues-conessuier, "but if you want me to explain it then you're gonna have ta ask me questions about it. I'm not gonna do your fluckin' interview for ya." His Rodney Dangerfield complex got the better of him. But naturally we can forgive him for it, since we all have our respect issues. I'm pretty sure, just between you and me, that Son House thinks Rodney is his grandfather. But don't forget that he is unfathomably dumb.

"Umm, okay..." Son House struggled to come up with a question to ask. He really would much have preferred to be getting an MRI or having his teeth cleaned instead of interviewing a notorious child molester / presidential candidate. However, Son House felt the need to stifle his comfort at super-regular intervals. He figures, if he's not going to be happy, he might as well have an excuse not to be happy. Finally, after many hours of waiting (while Trower drank a large fortune in extremely deadly alcoholic delicacies), the boy arrived upon a question worthy of Sergeant Trower's intelligence.

"What do you mean by sex and greatness?" he asked.

"Hmmbrmmmrmrmrmrmmmrmm!" yelled Trower. "What I mean by that is that those are the reasons I get up in the morning. Every dream I've ever had, every idea that's strikened my fancy, and every goal I've set out to fulfill has been based on one of two things... sex or greatness. Although admittedly they are the same thing, technically objectively speaking. But let me assure you that only a gosh darn invalid would misundertake my explanation here. People like to grasp on straws such as decency and okayness, but it's all bullflop through and through. The truest, most correct, indeed the most righteous and pure philosophy on the face of God's gray universe, is hedonism. Only hedonism makes any HONEST sense. Do what the f**k you want. Crowley said that. Also Jesus did once, I think. Some people would say "Oooh you have sex with children, that's bad." But they're just dumb. They don't understand it. They don't understand that the only thing that makes life worth living is the excitement of new truth and new wonder. And furthermore, the only two things that have the ability to cause new truths or new wonder are sex and greatness. Sex does it through honest emotion, that's how it does it. The physical aspect doesn't even matter; people don't realize that sex is almost 100% mental. If everyone walked around naked as often as I do, which is all the time, then sex would be worthless to all of us, we'd see no wonder in it. Sex is great because we really care about it a lot, and we really care about it a lot because it provides us with a sense of fulfillment. It's like... 'you gonna do somethin' tonight? Yeah I'm gonna meet God when I go to the club and meet somebody who can make me feel like goodness exists, that's what I'm gonna do." That's exactly what it's like. Greatness on the other hand, greatness is a different story but it's the same. First of all know, that everybody lacks self-esteem. Period. And to regain that self-esteem, they need the approval of two separate but equally delicious entities - humanity and God. Humanity is their peers; God is their own internal personal sense of righteousness. Unfortunately for most people the two are in fact the same thing, because their sense of righteousness comes directly from their ill-informed, ill-fated peers. But anyway, topic I've off gotten from it... in the case of greatness, people see themselves in their own masters and deities." He continued a wind, "They see Mr. Elvis Presley on the stage singing their favorite song, and they see some fat-ass billionaire business mogul, and they fully believe in their heads that they are as good as everyone who's ever lived. The problem is that their own well-developed issue of self-worth doesn't factor into EITHER their peers or their righteousness. For them to believe their own hype they need people to tell them out right 'hey man, yer a God.' And so when they see Alvin Lee playing guitar it makes them believe that they could be so grand, and that they could fulfill all their inner dreams of sex and greatness all at the same time by becoming some sort of deity. That's the only way they would feel a'right with themselves. It excites them to think that a change might actually be good. That's what my presidency will be about. If you get what I'm saying, then you're doomed." 

"Sex and greatness," said Son House, unable to consider any original thoughts and therefore saying the same old thing the same old time as last time (even if it seems like he's saying it again, in actual reality all moments happen never and once, but ONLY once. It has to do with retainment and the universal consciousness.) Don't blame him though; he's legitimately a genius. 

One might ask, objectively, why a politician would say such things as that which fat, drunk, ultra-intelligent, 95-percent-approval-ratings Sergeant Trower. Suffice to say that in 2006, humanity has risen above the concept of tradition. Too many apples means sweet sweet cornflakes.
© Copyright 2007 The Alvin Lee Project (keithcohen at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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