I’m taking over for now. He will be away for quite some time, and I don’t have any idea when he’ll be back. So don’t ask me, okay. I don’t give a flying fuck. He can do whatever he likes and I’ll just do my job. Which is basically to fix his life.
He wouldn’t admit it here, but he’s in deep shit right now. Approximately six, seven inches of it. If he were in control right now and he were the one writing this post, you would have been reading the usual BS he fills this blog with. Either some watered-down Marxist shit that no one cares about, or some dark-humoured nonsense that only he finds funny. He feeds his ego with pretenses and delusions of order. As far as I’m concerned, the main thing of this blog is to censor himself from the usual artsy emo crap he writes every now and then in his other blog.
Earlier when we were in the bookshop and he was looking for a book to read, I made him get an Eco. Those Ishiguros and Ondaatjes and McEwans make him too much of a sissy. He tried to negotiate on a Roald Dahl, but the title sounds suspicious, so I said no.
“Don’t push your luck. Just do what I say. Otherwise, I’ll leave you alone to fix your own mess,” I told him. He didn’t say anything back and just took the Eco. (He also secretly grabbed a Wilde on his way to the cashier when I wasn’t looking, but I finally decided to just let it go. It’s his dough that he’s wasting for crap like that, so what do I give a damn for.)
To be fair with the guy, he can usually manage by himself, though barely. Almost always by just the skin of his own teeth. Between the two of us, he’s the one who has a bank of useless, trivial ideas that he stretches to strange theories. Aside from that, he’s not much use for anything else. Especially when it comes to the practical street stuff. Which is why he needs me every now and then.
Unlike him, I can be quite specific about myself and about what I want. He speaks in riddles when he is in a good mood and nothing at all when in a really bad one. But he tries to be honest in between moods.
As for me, I always go for the straightforward. If I had been a blogger, my posts would shock, and he would both despise and admire me at the same time, if ever he comes across my blog. Only I never get the chance to to sign-up for my own blogger account. I’m a little taken aback when he gave me his account password last night. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with this?” I asked him. “Post an entry on my blog,” he told me in that deadpan voice that uses only on me.
So maybe I’ll get to write about myself after all. I don’t think Victor will get back anytime soon. Maybe I’ll get to write the next post, too. For now, let me introduce myself. I’m Greg.
*To humor him, I asked him to pick a photo that would go with this post. I noticed he goes for this kind of gimmick. To humor me, he picked this still from a scene in Fight Club, one of my favorite flicks. I agree it’s kind of appropriate.