Tom: So if Bill Hicks says life is a ride, then all I have to do is enjoy it, right?

Satan: Sure, why not.

Tom: Hahahahahahahahahaha! I got it all figured out fucker! Hahahahaha! People will look back on this little blog-o retrospective and think, "Damn, that motherfucker was ON!"

Satan: What do you mean by that? Do you mean you think that other people will think that you were just writing for the fuck of it, that it didn't really make sense to do it but you said fuck it and did it anyways? Wow. You're a real hero.

Tom: Oh fuck you bitch. That's why you've always envied me. Because I can just lay back and roll.

Satan: The nex time you get high I'm going to make you think something is squeezing your heart like that scene in Exorcist II.

Tom: Awwwwwww sheeeit!

I get it. I understand why sports are so interesting to some people. Like guys who work together in an office. It's the ultimate neutral ground. The only time mostpeople can express a subjective opinion in the workplace is when discussing sports. As such, they filter a large portion of their personalities through "sports". Sports talk is passionate. Irrational. Witty and bitchy.

Fuck that. I see right through it. I don't "get" sports. Grown men swatting little balls does not constitute drama for me. I like playing sports. But they're just games.

Tom: I would rather have to write papers in French on the recent evolutionary developments of sexual morality as they're reflected in literature and have them graded at the mastter's level than work at West Coast Life Insurance. But it's not easy. Despite what my girlfriend thinks. And fuck you, Ray. It's not easy for anyone to put on a goddamn happy face and speak a foreign language to total strangers, just hoping that none of them see fit to rob you of your self-esteem as well as your wallet.

Satan: Good lord. Why don't you lighten up a bit? Puff a blunt, smoke a J... I know they have that shit in Montreal.

Tom: I'm starting to feel like I've been shut up inside a terrified litttle bubble for the last three weeks. Everything is so different. I mean shit, I speak French bu there's a totally different accent here! It's like fucking Amercian English vs. British English and I can hardly even understand what THOSE fucks are saying! I can see people notice notice my temporary social retardation, but they don't really seem to care for the most part.

Satan: So why should you?

Tom: I'm FINE motherfucker!

Satan: Not as fine as a lot of the chicks here. Hoo boy. They speak French too you know.

Tom: Oh fuck off.

Satan: Do you think you've been in school for too long? Have you been fully indoctrinated now?

Tom: Whatever, man. Like I said, it beats the life insurance industry.

Satan: But you're still a company man to the bitter end.

Tom: Why don't you go suck your own dick or something? I'll bet you can do that.

Tom: I climbed a hill today and sat in the clouds.

Satan: That's nice.

Tom: I have that scary/exhilarating feeling of freedom, total freedom, like I know my place as a tiny little speck in the universe but I have my will and as such I set plans into motion and now those plans are coming to fruition and once again I'm going off on an adventure to somewhere I've never been before and I'm not really just a piece of shit office grunt...

Satan: Wow. Go easy there tiger, you're foaming at the mouth.

Tom: It feels... healthy.

Tom: You drunk?

Satan: Yeah.

Tom: Good.

Satan: If you could have anything what would you want?

Tom: Well... everything I have right now.

Satan: Bullshit.

Tom: Really.

Satan: Okay.

Tom: I'm hiding out next weekend.

Satan: Why?

Tom: Because of the pride parade.

Satan: What's wrong with having a gay pride parade?

Tom: I'm not gay. I'm suspicious of any kind of "pride". And I fuckin hate parades.

Satan: So what are you going to do instead?

Tom: Close the shutters, drink beer, smoke, contemplate, play video games, write, clean, play with the cats, and talk on the phone.

Satan: That's so boring I'm speechless.

Tom: No it's not and you know it.

Tom: I have to get out of his country.

Satan: Why?

Tom: My tax money is being used to wage war in Iraq.

Satan: I see.

Tom: Yeah. If I leave the country, then none of the money I earn will buy bombs or bullets that kill Iraqi civilians.

Satan: Congratulations.

Tom: Complacent fuck.

Satan: Oh am I?

Tom: Well, um, I don't know. That's kind of why I brought the whole thing up. Am I being melodramatic? Is there something I'm missing?

Satan: What do you want from me? I'm the Lord of the Underworld. I thrive on this shit. I love death and destruction and charred corpses. I love seeing dead children. Chaos becomes me.

Tom: Well, I don't like it. I want people to be as happy as possible. I can't kid myself any longer. I'm sure every country has something shameful to hide, but my god, it's got to be less than what the American government perpetuates.

Satan: Well, what's the solution?

Tom: Ask countries to establish "aggression free zones"- designate areas that will donate no tax money to funding any military endeavors- recruitment, munitions, any kind of war contracting. How much would you bet that these areas are the safest in any country from terrorism? And maybe countries can use this in a big game of weapons non-proliferation.

Satan: No I mean what's your short-term solution?

Tom: I'm going to go to a country that doesn't contribute to the Iraq war.

Satan: As far as you know.

Tom: That's right fuckface.

Tom: I'm tired of my current world view.

Satan: That's a pretty broad complaint, do you think you can narrow it down a bit?

Tom: Well, I don't feel like I have a whole lot of long-term hope in my life. I think that the world view (reality-tunnel, whatever you want to call it) that I use as the basis for all of my actions is as accurate as it can possibly be, but it's kind of depressing.

Satan: Why?

Tom: I don't know if I believe in anything other than what I perceive. We're here, wherever here is, and this is all we've got. As I recently explained to a Christian friend, rather than making life meaningless, this "one-shot deal" approach imbues every action with importance. Since this is all we've got we have to make the most of it. I take it for granted that, as the existentialists say, this brings about tremendous responsibility, but I accept that and I am determined to make the most of it with the tools I have.

Satan: Do you feel like you're doing a satisfactory job of that?

Tom: Well, um, yes. Unless I let simple animal fears get to me too much or I forget the transient nature of everything I see and experience.

Satan: Then what's the problem?

Tom: Well, I AM going to die some day. Everything I ever knew and cared for will be gone. Won't that kind of suck?

Satan: Well, maybe, I suppose that depends on your point of view. At this point I would ask you to remember two things- you won't be around to experience the moment when everything you ever knew or cared for ceases to exist, and it's inevitable that that's going to happen, so there's no use getting too worked up about it anyways, right?

Tom: I guess not, but lately I've been considering constructing an alternate reality-tunnel to dip into from time to time where things work out happily ever after as my brain would like them to work out at any given moment. I call it my happily-ever-as-defined-by-me-at-any-given-moment world view.

Satan: That's a lot of hyphens.

Tom: Is that your only criticism?

Satan: Well, it's certainly no more egocentric than any of the world views espoused by any of the major religions. Are you sure you don't just miss believing in God?

Tom: No, not at all. That didn't even give me any real peace when I was five years old. It didn't stop pets from dying or forests from disappearing or people from going hungry. What I'm suggesting is simply being open to the possibility that there is data out there that I haven't encountered yet that might mutate my current everything-changes (goes "extinct") reality tunnel into something that doesn't seem quite so gloomy at times.

Satan: Knock yourself out, kid.

Tom: Thanks.

Satan: Well, look who it is. Had some sort of depressive fit of late?

Tom: Maybe. I don't know. I tell you this though- the thought of going to work tomorrow to pay my elecricity bill and a part of a credit card bill seems like the biggest fucking con in the world, and I'm the mark.

Satan: Can't take this shit much longer, eh?

Tom: Nope. But as the man said, "I would do anything for love..."

Satan: I hate that song.

Tom: Me too. But that's the only reason I'm here.

Satan: Sounds like you're making the most of the situation.

Tom: Oh fuck you. I joined a really cool band and it fuckin broke up. Nothing to do with me. I look around a little bit and nothing interests me. I'm going to finish recording my Squid single and play in the subway. That's about all I want to do musically at this point.

Satan: Great. You fascinate me.

Tom: Dude, I just cleaned the whole fuckin apartment, I'm sorry I'm too tired to entertain you...

Satan: Go to sleep.

Tom: I am asleep.

Satan: I see you pacing back and forth over there. What's the problem?

Tom: Dude, it's such a stupid problem that I don't even know if I want to talk about it.

Satan: Well you're never going to figure it out by pacing.

Tom: I'm pissed about cleaning up my house. I like things a bit neater than Kendra and our apartment is almost always dirtier than I'd like it to be.

Satan: Have you guys talked about it?

Tom: Yes several times, and I don't feel like a satisfactory compromise has ever been reached.

Satan: If you had your way, what would happen?

Tom: Well for starters Kendra would have cleaned out the catbox like she said she would. This disturbs me because when I was at her parents' house last weekend I saw them ask her to clean up some empty cans in the basement and she seemed to ignore them. It seemed odd to me that they would even ask her that- wait, I don't think they asked, I think they told her.

Satan: And let me guess- you don't want to be a parental figure to her?

Tom: Correct. I just want my apartment to look how it would look if I lived alone. Of course I realize that's impossible, but as I said I don't think a fair compromise has been reached. As it stands, we're both unhappy- I get pissed off about the cleaning, and she's afraid of coming home to find me in a bad mood because of the cleaning.

Satan: I think you need to make it clear to her just how important this is to you.

Tom: It's extremely important to me. I feel like I've lost control over a part of my life, and as I've attempted to address the issue I feel like a bitchy neat freak. I'm afraid of this happening with other issues that arise.

Satan: Well, to be perfectly frank I think you need to be patient and prepared to let things go from time to time, and she needs to decide if this is important enough to make a few changes in her living habits. That's what this boils down to- both of you have to make a few changes. And in the long run these aren't big changes- it's not like you hate the way she dresses or she hates the way you laughs. The things you need to change aren't that big of a deal- changing them is. Even though this may be something you're both willing to change, thus far you're the only one who's made any changes. The nature of this type of quandry dictates that the person who likes it cleaner always loses. That's not fair, so you're upset. And this isn't the sort of thing that gets fixed in a day. What you need to know is that more often than not you're going to come home to a clean house, and she needs to know that you're not going to be suddenly angry with her and make her feel like a slob. But to establish that, I think you guys need to talk this out some more decide how important it is to each of you, lay some ground rules, and stick to them over a period of time.

Tom: Sounds good to me.

Satan: Yeah well it takes two to tango. And Kendra's not going to be up for another hour or two.

Tom: What should I do?

Satan: Eat something, clean the catbox, jerk off, play some video games, and go for a walk. Later, when she's awake and you guys have already talked about other things, bring it up calmly and gently.

Tom: Where's the part where we fuck like crazed weasels?

Satan: Um, I don't think you need any advice about that.

Tom: Ha-ha! Bitch.

Tom: Hi.

Satan: Well hello there.

Tom: Guess what?

Satan: Um, what?

Tom: I don't have anything to complain about.

Satan: Hahahaha! Ahahahaha!

Tom: Fuck you.

Satan: Ahahahahaha! Hahahahaha!

Tom:

Satan: Hahahahahahahaha! Oh... ahahahahaha!!!

Tom: ARE YOU FUCKING FINISHED?

Satan: Ahahaha!!! Hoo boy... Nothing to complain about? You?

Tom: I just looked at that last post. All of that shit's changed.

Satan: Is that so?

Tom: Yeah. Kendra and I moved out, she's not stressed about school (at the moment), and my stepdad had surgery to remove the tumor.

Satan: That was all my doing, you know.

Tom: I know. I also know better than to get too comfortable.

Satan: Eh, I wouldn't worry about it. That's the deal with you humans. You complain about everything and in the rare moments when you're actually content you can't help incessantly worrying about the next undesirable thing that may be coming your way.

Tom: Shit man, give us a break. It's not like any of us have ever done this "living" thing before, you smug, pointy-tailed fuck. Seems to me that most people are taught that feeling good is bad, what Wilhelm Reich called "pleasure anxiety".

Satan: What's the solution, doctor?

Tom: I dunno. Read a book. Chill out. Realize you're going to die one day and try not to get too stressed out about it. Don't be a dick.

Satan: Nice.

Tom: I guess it works better in theory than in practice. I can't help but think that the psycho-social development of humans throughout history mirrors that of the individual.

Satan: Are you suggesting that mankind is still in some sort of asshole junior high school phase?

Tom: More like some psychotic junior high school phase. Then again, maybe that's who we are.

Satan: Jeez, and Christians think I'm an asshole...

Tom: Hey.

Satan: Hey, what's up?

Tom: My living situation sucks and my girlfriend has been tired and stressed out for the past two weeks and I fear that she doesn't want me as much as I want her. And my stepdad has a big tumor in the roof of his mouth. It's taking an enormous emotional toll on him and my mom.

Satan: Well, let's start with the girlfriend. Are you afraid she's not telling you something?

Tom: Sort of. She's a lot quieter than I am in these matters.

Satan: What are you going to do?

Tom: About what?

Satan: Um... the living situation.

Tom: Well, all I can do right now is save up money to move out.

Satan: Are you doing that?

Tom: Yes. Not as much as I'd like.

Satan: You and Kendra are supposed to move out together?

Tom: We're not "supposed" to do anything.

Satan: Sorry. You've been talking about moving out together?

Tom: Yes.

Satan: You know she's really stressed out from school. You remember that, right?

Tom: Yes.

Satan: So your living situation, your love life, and your family's health kinda suck right now.

Tom: Yep.

Satan:

Tom:

Satan: I got nothin'.

Tom: Me neither.

Satan: What would your ideal circumstances be right now?

Tom: Kendra would be refreshed and completely horny for me, so much so that I'd wake up to her molesting me, I'd have a spare thousand dollars in the bank, and my roommate Jonathan will have sold all of the puppies that are keeping me up at night, shrieking because they're locked in a cramped utility closet. Every rotten motherfucker in this town with a bad attitude would disappear, and my stepdad wouldn't have a large tumor in his mouth.

Satan: That's a tall order.

Tom: No shit Sherlock.

Satan: I'll see what I can do.

Tom:

Satan:

Tom: Really?

Satan: Yeah, hold on a sec.

Tom: (waiting)

Satan: Okay. It's a done deal.

Tom: Thank you Satan.

Satan: Any time.

Tom: Hi there.

Satan: Hi.

Tom: How ya doin buddy?

Satan: Oh pretty good.

Tom: Been keeping yourself occupied all this time?

Satan: Very funny.

Tom: Why?

Satan: You know the the word "time" means nothing to me.

Tom: Jesus Christ, you diabolical screwhead, I'm just making conversation.

Satan: Oh, just can it you twinky, and tell me what's on your mind.

Tom: Nothing really. I just read an excellent biography of William James Sidis by Amy Wallace called "The Prodigy". It's totally renewed my interest in intellectual pursuits.

Satan: Are you saying you've been on an intellectual hiatus?

Tom: Of course not. It's just that now, since I've graduated, I've got more time to devote to, well, whatever I want. I picked up an Arabic grammar book, "501 Spanish Verbs", and two Mensa puzzle books.

Satan: Mensa puzzle books? You know you'll eventually get bored with those puzzle books and take them back without having read more than a few pages of either of them, and you'll feel like a failure.

Tom: But I want to get in to Mensa.

Satan: Why on earth would you waste time doing that?

Tom: Well, partly for the possibility of meeting other pretentious intellectuals, but mostly just to piss Ray off. I mean, once you're in, you're in for life. You pay your dues and they give you a smart card. I'd love to be able to whip that baby out in an argument and shut everyone up.

Satan: You know it's all a scam, right?

Tom: What do you mean?

Satan: The whole Mensa thing. Let's put it into context: A group of people get together and say, "We're going to start a smart club." Who wouldn't want to be in a smart club? And who determines who's smart enough to be in their little club? They do. Right there, they've got you. Either you pass their little entrance exam and conform to the intellectual herd, or you take a stand and say "I know that intelligence is too varied a thing to be measured with standardized tests, nor does any existing intelligence test measure creativity, emotional maturity, or drive. Therefore I will not subject myself to your club's critique." Either way, you lose.

Tom: You know, I totally agree with you, but I can't shake the sneaking suspicion that if they offered you a membership, you'd join in a heartbeat. Just to get a smart card. Basically you're just jealous cuz they wouldn't let you in. I saw your test results.

Satan: You're so right. And I hate you.

Tom: Just one question: How could the all-knowing Prince of Darkness fail the entrance exam to Mensa?

Satan: I'm not talking to you any more today.

Tom: Okay, once again I've been away for a while. I've got a few items to go over here if you've got a second.

Satan: Shoot.

Tom: I think I figured out why parents love their kids so much.

Satan: Yes?

Tom: Well, they've been right there from the beginning, they've seen their children in their most innocent state, and they've also more than likely been a witness or a cause of many of the things that have shaped their children's personalities. They have a window looking into the psyche of their children that almost no one else could ever have. Hence they have an understanding of their children's motivations and actions that, even if it is unconscious, is far greater than probably anyone else's.

Satan: Unless we're talking about one of those parents who tries to eat their offspring, literally or figuratively.

Tom: True. But you know what I'm sayin right? How it doesn't make sense to hate anyone because there's an infinitely complex series of events that have made them who they are?

Satan: So what else?

Tom: Well, this is my first post-France semester post so I kinda feel like I should say something about that. But I'm not going to. Yet.

Satan: Okay. What else?

Tom: Check this out: http://socialgenius.typepad.com/conversations_with_satan_/ Can you believe this motherfucker?

Satan: Maybe it's a coincidence.

Tom: Yeah fuckin' right. His blog is brand new. I been here for years. Like LL Cool J.

Satan: Well, I guess it's time I came clean with this...

Tom: What?

Satan: You were gone for too long Tom. I've been seeing someone else.

Tom: WHAT THE FUCK?

Satan: Look Tom...I got bored, okay? You know this relationship has never fulfilled me! I have needs that aren't being met! You're not the only one who matters, you know that you selfish piece of shit? Oh look at me, I'm Tom! I think I'll run out to Texas because I'm in love with some punk rock chick... oh what do you know, that crashed in burned in record time, now I think I'll run off to France and cavort with Parisian whores for a few months! After all, I'm the only one who matters around here...

Tom: I do have a cool life, don't I?

Satan: Shut up. I hate you.

Tom: Fine. Go fart around with your new friend. You'll be all mine again soon.

Satan: Like hell I will.

Tom: We'll see about that, buddy. I've got DOMINIC on my side.

Satan: Bring it.

Dividends of The Big Payoff

It's not that looking for jobs is the worst thing. It's wanting to stand up in the middle of the interview and shout, "Yes, yes, oh god YES I'm one of THEM! I'm an ECCENTRIC! One of those which all your carefully prepared, snappy little forms and legal agreements and drug tests are supposed to weed out! God damn it, couldn't you have done us both a favor and tried a little harder? I mean, for chrissakes I'm stoned RIGHT NOW! As soon as I leave here I'm going to go home and smoke more and read some Charles Bukowski! I'll probably be listening to Satie when I do it. After I'm done there I'll probably masturbate a few times in glorious stoned ecstasy and then pass out, sticky cock still in hand. Fuck that, I KNOW I will! And you know what? FUCK YOU TOO! WHAT?!? Oh yes... yes of course I'll submit to a voluntary urine analysis. Be happy to."

P.S.- You hear the shit coming out of those speakers overhead? You know what that is? No? I didn't think so... it's VIVALDI you motherfucker, and why are you listening to it?

Even with this attitude, it took me two days to find a job. I'm INVINCIBLE.

So I was at the beach a few nights ago. I made up my mind a few weeks ago to visit one of my favorite beaches before I go so I could say some goodbyes to my hometown. Not that I'm never gonna come back, it just might be a while before I live here again, if ever. I went to the tidepools at La Jolla and watched the sky and the waves breaking over the rocks. I wasn't feeling too good as I drove there but as soon as I parked my bike and started walking to the beach I couldn't stop smiling. The wind was blowing and it was cold, but I looked up into that black sky and felt completely free. I guess that's why I'm leaving. I stared out into the blackness for a while and thought about my family and my friends and the people I care about. I thought about how all my relationships are in my head and I'll always have them with me because of that. I felt connected to everything. I felt absolutely insignificant, and that made me feel good. I felt like a god and that made me smile too.

Eventually I got too cold and went to a coffeeshop for some tea. I just happened to bring my Walt Whitman reader with me that day. I've been skipping around as I read it, and imagine my surprise when I opened it up to this poem:

"On The Beach At Night Alone"

On the beach at night alone,
As the old mother sways her to and fro singing her husky song,
As I watch the bright stars shining, I think a thought of the
clef of the universes and of the future.

A vast similitude interlocks all,
All spheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets,
All distances of place however wide,
All distances of time, all inanimate forms,
All souls, all living bodies though they be ever so different, or in different worlds,
All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes, the fishes, the brutes,
All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages,
All indentities that have existed or may exist on this globe, or any globe,
All lives and deaths, all of the past, present, future,
This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd,
And shall forever span them and compactly hold and enclose them.

I don't believe in magic or mystical coincidences or anything like that, but I'll say this: after seeing what I saw and reading those words, I'm ready. I'm free. Beyond any contraints, be they emotional, monetary, governmental, or whatever... I'm ready.

Satan: How'd it go?

Tom: Pretty good. I talked to my sister beforehand and she reminded me that I've dealt with people being flaky on me in the past, not calling when they're supposed to and not being somewhere when they say they're gonna be, and I'm worried about repeating history you know? I told her Tiff has similar issues with people trying to control her.

Satan: You're not the controlling type.

Tom: I know and it seems like we just weren't understanding each other.

Satan: So it's all good.

Tom: I think so...I mean yeah, I know it is, I just feel kinda shaky you know? I hate fighting with people I love. I don't want her to hate me for making a stink but it was important, you know?

Satan: Yeah yeah yeah. So what are you gonna do when you get there?

Tom: Four-fingered surprise, day and night baby!

Satan: Ooooh, what's THAT?

Tom: Hahahahahahaha...

Satan: Tell me tell me!

Tom: Shut up you demonic little bitch.

Tom: This morning I was thinking about going into therapy.

Satan: Why would you need therapy when you have me for a confidant? Me, a figment of your imagination that you personify with a Biblical name that stands for everything evil, unwholesome, and destructive in the universe. I'm genuinely hurt.

Tom: Fuck you, bitch. I'm all jacked up over a woman.

Satan: Can't get that shit on lockdown?

Tom: Honestly, I don't know what my fuckin' problem is anymore. Monday morning she sent me a few emails saying she was worried about money and then I started worrying too. She said she was gonna call me at 7 that night. I figured I'd be okay until then but I was still worried as fuck. She was tired and fell asleep and didn't call me until like 1 in the morning. By that time I had already left in a huff, gone to the beach and wept harder than I have in years, came back, and went to bed sad and angry.

Satan: Jesus fucking Christ man, you cried over that?

Tom: No. I'm leaving for Austin on Sunday and I've been planning on going to one of my favorite beaches before I leave so I can say some goodbyes, you know real spiritual shit like that. I went to La Jolla and the waves breaking underneath the black sky were too much. I've been going to that beach since I was a child and I started getting hit with all sorts of images of my family: my mom picking up seashells, my dad and I playing in the surf, stuff like that. I know how much my parents mean to me and in the past two years or so I've been coming to grips with the fact that I'm not going to have them one day. I'm okay with it but goddamn it was overwhelming. Then I thought of my pregnant sister, who I love just as much. This whole "circle of life" thing completed itself in my head and it was as overwhelming as getting run over by a fuckin freight train. I'm glad it was dark out so no one could see me crying.

Satan: So...maybe this isn't all about Tiffany?

Tom: Maybe not. Two people have posited the notion that maybe I am still stressed out from finals, which aren't over yet.

Satan: But they're almost over right? Why do you need therapy?

Tom: Yesterday morning Tiffany and I talked and it was all good. She sent me an email later asking me what time I was gonna be home so she could call me. I told her and made plans to be around when she called. I was on my way home and decided to check my email on a whim. She had sent me another email telling me that she wouldn't be able to call me until later because she was going to see Punk and Porn. If I hadn't have checked my email on a whim I would have been waiting again and gotten very, very upset. Instead of getting upset about it, I sent her an email asking if we could set up a time that's convenient for both of us to talk so I'm not waiting around going nuts and she's not feeling like a bad girlfriend because she doesn't have a phone.

Satan: And?

Tom: She called me and was upset about the email. She says she tries really hard to call me and she doesn't have a phone and when we first hooked up she TOLD me that she needs someone who can keep up with her busy life. I just want to stop feeling the way I have been for the past 3 days and I was asking for her help. Instead I feel like I got attitude and misunderstanding. I went to bed absolutely livid.

Satan: What are you gonna do?

Tom: I don't know. She said she'd call me at two today. I'm afraid to say anything about it.

Satan: Okay, okay, hold on here. You're REALLY tweaked about this whole thing. You've already said it might not all be about the phone situation...

Tom: Yeah. I'm really fuckin afraid and insecure in relationships.

Satan: Well, fuck man...aren't we all?

Tom: I don't fuckin' know. I ain't you.

Satan: So how do you feel about her right now?

Tom: I love her. I miss her and I think it's coming out in fucked up ways. Last night I was almost mad enough to punch a hole in the fucking wall, but I would have given anything to talk to her for five more minutes. Right now I'm at work and I've been checking my email every 5 minutes to see if she's sent something. Every time the phone rings I look to see if it's her number. I'm driving myself nuts.

Satan: Relax.

Tom: Huh, easy for you to say.

Satan: Oh yeah Tom, I'm not really you. Fuck you.

Tom: No fuck you.

Satan: Look man...

Tom: Hey, I TOLD her I have baggage too, but NOOOOOO, she didn't believe me... "Oh you're PERFECT Tom, you're so handsome and sweet." Maybe baby, but I gotta tell you...

Satan: No buts. Just quit being a shithead right now.

Tom: That's the tragedy. I'm not trying to be a shithead.

Satan: Look this is getting really sad. Will you just give yourself AND your poor girlfriend a break?

Tom:

Satan: Oh hell.

Tom:

Satan:

Tom:

Satan: Well?

Tom: Well what?

Satan: Oh screw you man, I'm outta here. Gonna go listen to my new Bill Hicks CD. FUCK YOU.

Tom: Fine. I got plenty to do here. I'm totally okay now. I feel great. I can totally resist the urge to check my email every five minutes. Screw you.

Tom: Hi.

Satan: Hello.

Tom: I've been away a while.

Satan: Yeah.

Tom: I'd like to think you've been missing me.

Satan: Sure. What do you want?

Tom: I've been kinda apprehensive the past few days.

Satan: Having second thoughts about dropping everything and moving to Austin, eh?

Tom: Well, no. I think I'm at a place I always get to when I really want someone. I feel helpless and childish and bitchy.

Satan: Sounds like it's really hard for you to give yourself to someone. Don't do it if you're not sure.

Tom: I'm sure I want to do this. Can't I worry about it too?

Satan: What do you worry about? Don't you think Tiffany loves you?

Tom: I think Tiffany loves me. But I listen to a lot of classical music. Is that gonna be okay? Jesus Christ, why do I get like this?

Satan: Get like what?

Tom: I JUST TOLD YOU, FUCKER.

Satan: Ah.

Tom: WHAT?

Satan: I said, "Ah," as in, "I see."

Tom: Goddammit you better fucking tell me RIGHT NOW...

Satan: Can't do it. That's the point. I can't tell you, so I'm not going to. You'll find out on your own. Don't worry too much, okay?

Tom: You simple, smug, motherfucking bastard. I'll cut you motherfucker, I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU!

Satan: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!

Tom: I hate you.

Satan: What's up?

Tom: Seems like it started out with us making mix CDs for each other. Listening to music, going places, talking a lot. Somewhere, somehow, the focus shifted. She needed me to eat dinner with her parents more. She couldn't always be there for me to talk to.

Satan: And so?

Tom: I'm a little bummed out on relationships right now, but I don't wanna sound bitter or whiney or vindictive.

Satan: Okay.

Tom: No sage advice?

Satan: I don't know...maybe she wanted different things.

Tom: I think everyone wants the same things and has different ways of getting it.

Satan: Maybe.

Tom: You're not helping...

Satan: What do you want?

Tom: No pressure.

Satan: Granted.