This phobia came from a childhood mind-molestation, at the age of six, when his very nice neighbor taught him how to perform oral sex and anal sex by showing him homosexual pornography. But the neighbor never performed these sexual techniques on him. He just liked to mess up the insides of young brains. Experiencing this kind of thing as a child will definitely mess up the insides of your brain. It will either discourage you from being intimate with anybody when you grow up, or it will throw you into the opposite direction: nymphomania for females, andromania for males.
But Sorpon Black’s philosophies had nothing to do with his enormous cock. They had to do with the intelligence of sandwiches.
“I don’t think anyone really believes that sandwiches are the creators of the universe,” I tell him. “Sorpon Black was just trying to be entertaining.”
“Hardly,” Mort says. “It all makes sense because sandwiches are made from all four food groups. And if you compare the four food groups to the four elements, they are relatively the same idea. And if the four elements were layered together like a sandwich, you would create a god. Therefore, sandwiches are gods. Don’t you agree?”
“I guess,” I shrug. Not actually interested. Like most philosophies, Sorpon’s theory is worthless to argue against. And I am not one for arguing.
“You’re not a deep thinker, are you?” He realizes my lack of enthusiasm.
“I was into deep thinking when I was a kid, but then I grew up,” I say, insulting his use of the word deep.
“Are you saying philosophy is immature?”
“Basically,” I tell him. “To most people, philosophies are just common sense.” Then I get personally mean — I’m in an odd mood I guess. It’s fun to be mean. “People like you don’t have common sense, so philosophies seem new and interesting to you, but you don’t realize that they’re not at all new. Only to the immature.”
Mortician tries to speak, but I cut him off — the first time I have ever cut anyone off. “Mature people don’t need to question the world they live in, because they’ve already figured it out.”
Mort grins at me. “So you think you’ve figured out everything about reality?”
“Not really, but I’ve figured out that nobody can prove any philosophy theory, so they’re useless. Nobody’ll ever know the complete truth, so there’s no reason to worry or argue over petty beliefs. The only groobly thing about Sorpon Black’s philosophies is that every single one revolves around sandwiches, and I love sandwiches.”
“You’re such a philosophy-bashing philosopher,” he says.
I am insulted, of course, because he’s right. I never expected Mortician to call me a philosopher — he’s more perceptive than I thought he was. But I’m happy to be insulted. It’s a surprise that the emotion is still within me. Maybe arguments are good things after all.
I switch the subject. “What do you think about our situation?”
“What?” he says. “You mean living forever? Sounds boring to me.”
“We won’t last forever here,” I say. Our lives might be longer than those already dead from history, but those from history have souls that are eternal. They are the ones who will live forever.
I chug some HOT liquid.
The drinking is killing the poor mood I was in. Taking me from hating things to loving things, and I smile.
Mortician says, “Yeah, the situation we’re in is not good at all, but you have to look on the bright side as I do. Think about how everyone else in the world are all zombie-like. All gone. Thousands of soulless bodies wondering the Earth.” Brains like pillows. “And we are fine. We have lives and each other. We have responsibilities and fun.”
I nod at him, scratching my drink.
“We are the luckiest people in this world. I mean, we still have a chance. I don’t want to live like this forever, but it’s better than nothing.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. “Because I’m positivethat we’ll be nothing before the end of forever.”
“Not me,” Mortician says. “I’m sure there will be a way out someday. If we hold onto our time and work at Satan Burger, eventually the walm will be gone. Eventually, there will be a new world.”
A new world.
I take my God’s Eyes to Christian and the four-armed yellow girl he has with him. She seems to be all over his skin, in a slut-ticking frenzied way. The skin leaks a little yellow on him; paint smearing across his neck and face, but it’s a sort of grease that seeps through arm-pores. A reaction similar to sweat, but only produced during fornication.
I examine her closely. One pair of arms is human-sized but the other is longer and closer to the hips. The longer arms come thoroughly around Christian’s waist section, tugging him into her possession. Her eyes have only one color in them: red. Her lips are thin and curled at the end. Christian digs his taster deep between those rubber lips and he seems happy. Well, I would be too if I was with a creature as beautiful as her.
When I was a kid, my parents always told me to only marry inside my own race, but I didn’t find much fun in that. I always wanted Asian women or African women or the Hispanic ones or any of them that didn’t seem to have boring Caucasian skin. I also believe that the melting pot that is America is really going to melt all of us people-ingredients into one product. ONE RACE. That isn’t black nor white, but a grayish mud-color. Because people fuck an awful lot and eventually don’t care who they are fucking.
Of course, fucking is an endangered performance like everything else now, so Americans will never be gray. But there’s a new melting pot in Rippington and there will be a lot of interracial fucking going on. I doubt that this will result in the melting to one color; there’s just too many races to mix.
When I was young, I liked to drop a cluster of colors into a paint bucket and watch them swirl around and into each other, color-motley, moving, LOUD. And I kept swirling and swirling and swirling to see what spatter-storm of colors I would come up with, but in the end there was only one color and it was a murky purple-brown-puke that was very boring to look at.
I always thought that the only way to end racial prejudice was to melt us all down to one color, but now I think that God created racial prejudice so that his colorful paint bucket would not turn into a single, boring race.
Mortician is talking about a theory of his, so I go back to my corpse. He’s talking about the new world that the walm people will make if the walm ever disappears.
“It’ll be a shitty place at first,” Mort says. “Too many races will produce a BIG ethnic war, and the race with the most people will probably be the first in power. Of course, slavery will definitely come back. The humans are perfect slaves. They won’t put up a fight without their souls, no complaints, and they’ll last forever now that they can’t die. New governments all over the world. Different races will take over different territories. And there will be wars for land and religion as usual. The whole world will be a new place and the only memory of human civilization will be on the blank stares of the human zombie faces, working like machines until the end of it all.”
“Do you think that we’ll be made into slaves too?” I ask.