This whole mess started on the day I received a commission for selling a yacht to the National Association of Hypochondriacs. I was informed I had done a wonderful job and the organization liked me a lot. They liked me so much, they wanted me to christen the ship. I did believe it to be a great honor and decided I would go ahead and do it. The speech I delivered wasn't high energy, but I thought it was clever. The food was good. But I ran into one small difficulty. When I actually broke the bottle against the ship, I cut my hand. It wasn't a big cut, but to the National Association of Hypochondriacs, it was fatal. They called an ambulance and told them to take me to the nearest medical facility.
As God would have it, the nearest medical facility was St. Blames Psychiatric Hospital For The Severely But Not Financially Handicapped. They did manage to bandage me up, but in exchange for that service I had to promise them I would sign up for Alcoholics Anonymous. Spilling wine on oneself seems to be a faux paus now days. That wasn't the bad part. They wouldn't leave me alone until I gave them my insurance information and the name of at least one major credit card. When I told them that I didn't have my wallet and couldn't get the numbers of either my insurance or credit cards, they immediately called in a specialist. After a hour of hypnotherapy, I was able to recall my insurance and credit information with ease.
While waiting for the insurance company to come back with acknowledgment of my pre-certification, they placed me in the Adult Day Care room with a resident of the facility. I soon found out a resident in a psychiatric hospital doesn't mean doctor. It means patient. I wandered around watching the residents for a while, when a young man approached me.

"Hi!"
"Hi," I responded blandly.
"My name is Kirklin Basilbub."
"That's nice."
"What's your name?"
"Tom."
"That's nice, too. A little boring, but quaint. Hey Tom, do you want to hear about something special?"
"Not really."

He looked slightly annoyed when I said that. Annoyed enough to make me feel uneasy. He must have sensed my discomfort because after my initial wave of unease, he smiled. The smile was quite unsettling. With a quick motion he turned his head side ways. The angle and the speed of the movement gave him the appearance of a bird. I almost chuckled, but thought it would be better if I didn't. Cocking his head didn't improve his image. He looked all ajar. Without readjusting his head, he spoke.

"Tom, I haven't taken my medicine for two days now, and I really feel uptight. So why don't you sit down relax and listen to my lecture."
"Kirklin, I don't want to listen to a lecture. I'm just waiting for my insurance company to acknowledge my pre-certification."
"Do you know how long that may take?"
"No."
"Well speaking from experience, they've been feeding me that story for approximately two years now. When your drugged out, it's easy to accept what people tell you."
"Two years?"
"Yes. So since they're probably not going to hurry, considering they get paid by the hour, maybe you can take time from your busy schedule and listen to my lecture."
"May I ask you a question?"
"If you must."
"Why did you stop taking your medicine?"
"My lecture addresses that concern."
"If I listen, will you promise to stay calm and not bother me again when you're through?"
"Yes, I promise."
"Okay. Go ahead and tell me your lecture."
"Well... I don't know when it happened, or why. But, it has proliferated into a new consciousness. Maybe it started as an attempt to control the environment. Maybe it's a natural longing for the womb. Whatever the case, it is now an obsession that has created it's own reality."
"What has?"
"The 'inside.'"
"The 'inside?'"
"Yes, the 'inside!' Now will you please stop interrupting!"
"I'm sorry. Go ahead."
"Well ya see, the 'inside' is well defined. It is the epitome of control. Temperature, wind, fire, electric and water all pay homage and become tame when harnessed for the 'inside.' The 'inside' has altered man. It has modified all of our natural fears."
"How do you figure?"
"Man now has a greater fear of losing control. A fear of the natural elements still exist, but it has changed. Now we fear the harnessed powers we have placed neatly into their color coded pipes and wires. We fear they will rebel against us. They have become delinquent children threatening the head of the household and making our new reality unstable. So we calmly swig our liquor and call the mighty Warden Maintenance whenever a problem arises. We suppress are feelings of anxiety until we have heart failure and die at the unnatural age of fifty."
"That's really interesting..."
"I'm not finished yet!"
"By all means continue."
"The 'inside' has also allowed man to focus in. No longer do we gaze in awe at the majestic world around us. Instead, we introspect and hypothesize. Our pride and vanity have replaced the grandeur of God. Many achievements have occurred because of this focusing in. This focus is due to the 'inside.' After all, it would have been difficult to think up the theory of relativity while listening for snapping twigs. The snap that may indicate a big gnarly beastie was about to redefine our definition of being 'inside.'"
"Oh, I see."
"That's not the half of it."
"It isn't? Go on."
"This power of focus has lead to the creation of additional realities. Cyberspace, with its superfluous chat rooms, has become the third reality. A reality pioneered by geeks and populated with techno kids trying to download pornographic pictures to replace the worn-out, old fashioned JC Penny lingerie sections..."
"Excuse me, this is all very interesting, but it still doesn't explain why you are refusing to take your medicine."
"I'm getting to that!"
"Okay, get on with it."
"The anti psychotic medications they prescribe are all products of the 'inside.' Without the security created by the new reality, the thought processes which allowed science, especially psychoneuropharmacology, to exist, would have fizzled out microseconds after the first twig snap. The 'inside' has become the foundation of modern thought. I now have choices I could never have dreamed of before. I can choose my own reality and define it in any way I want. The problem I face now is which reality I should choose. There are an infinite number of possibilities --should I select a non-shared consciousness of my own creation, but I'm more social than that. So that leaves me with the three major realities of shared consciousness: the outside, the inside, and cyberspace. I chose to take my medicine in cyberspace, and am happy to report that my computer persona is doing fine."
"Wait a minute. Taking your medicine is an important action that will help you, or at least help society deal with you. In fact it will help you to re-find society."
"I know that. But which one? There are dozens of societies out there. But I digress, back to my lecture. There are few problems I have with my inside-outside theory. One of my problems started with the term 'outer space.' Outer space is a concept designed by the 'inside' to yolk control over the entire planet. By deeming all of Earth as a big friendly inside, an ultimate coup is taking place. The 'inside' is trying to over throw the outside! But it goes deeper that that. They say outer space is a sterile vacuum hostile to life. This fabrication denies the outside its beauty and leaves the 'inside' as a dominant friend of humanity. I have chosen my side, at least I think I have. I mean, the 'inside' is within us all. Which would be better, to bring the creation of the new reality into greater glory, or preserve the tradition of the old? I have felt the rain upon my face. I have felt the wind lift my hair, and have enjoyed it. The artificial wind and water of the 'inside' is pale in comparison. I enjoy being in the whims of God. Isn't this what it is all about? The 'inside' is trying to hide from God. It's building itself a nice little shelter in which it can store its sins. The purifying nature and inherent cleansing power of the outside is removed."

He was getting quite loud now. His pitch had raised to the point of a frenzied gospel preacher. He was pounding the window sill like a pulpit spitting out euphemisms of fire and brimstone. If it wasn't so pathetic, it would have been scary. I caught myself cocking my head side ways and listening. He actually thought he was making sense. He was quite preoccupied so I decided to walk away. I kept my eyes on him to see if he would notice. He didn't. He was totally absorbed in thought. I finally managed to sneak to the far corner of the room. I thought it was a safe enough position. There was a plethora of people and objects to distract him before he got all the way over to me. I decided to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. I slid over to a pile of blankets and bean bag chairs and sat down. That's when I failed in my measures to become unobtrusive. I sat on a resident. He bolted straight up and yelled.

"Don't listen to the propaganda! It's all lies. I was a preacher. I know!"

Not wanting to draw the attention of the window sill lecturer, I tried to calm the bean bag resident down by talking with him.

"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, too. Sorry I didn't tell the world before now!"
"Tell the world about what?"
"It all started when I was in the baptismal."
"The baptismal?"
"The place where you baptize new converts, you dink!"
"Oh, of course."
"I was a preacher for one of the largest congregations in the greater metropolitan areas!"
"What happened?"
"I was about to baptize a new convert. The baptistery was beautiful. We didn't believe in any of that sprinkling stuff. When we baptized someone, we practically drowned them. Our baptistery was five foot deep and erected on a platform in such a way that the entire church could see the miraculous event take place. As was customary, the new convert went with someone to help them change from there good clothes into one of the baptistery gowns. I stayed behind and put on my chest waders. I had to wear those overgrown rubber pants to protect my tuxedo. Anyway, the event was about to take place. I was making the final preparations. I plugged in the stereo above the baptistery and started playing Shall We Gather 'Round The River, and stepped down into the water. That's when they brought out the convert. She was beautiful. The lights in the congregation dimmed. The spotlight came on and for a split second when she walked in front of it I could see right through the gown. The voluptuous figure was completely entrancing. She stepped into the water. I took her by the hands and gently lead her into the spotlight. All through my speech I couldn't get my mind off the woman's body. That's probably why I didn't realize the cord of the baptismal gown had looped around the stereo."
"What?"
"Yeah, you heard me right. The cord of the baptismal gown had wrapped around the stereo. When I dunked her under, the stereo came in with her. All I noticed at first was the blue arcs dancing on the water like tiny drunken angels. The rubber chest waders must have protected me. Then, I looked at the girl. She was bathed in arcs of dancing blue angels. Her eyes were wide open. Her body was quivering and she was squeezing my hand so tight I could barely stand it. I know I should have tried to get her out of the water. But, the angels looked so pretty dancing on her face that it seemed wrong to disturb them. Besides the energy was making her nipples hard and the gown was wet and sticking to her chest..."
"You sick bastard! Did she die?"
"No, of course not. But the incident made me think. I figured it out."
"What did you figure out?"
"Heaven is nothing more than a big battery."
"What? You're nuts."
"No, I'm not. Everything has to have a power source, or at least a recharge every now and then. Heaven and hell put together are the positive and negative flows of God's power source. He realized that He may run out of energy and one of his angel engineers came up with this human soul fuel battery. It's all quite clear."
"The only thing clear around here is the need for me to get out of here as fast as I possibly can."
"Oh it's not that bad. So long as you stay away from the crazy people."
"You're all looney!"
"So you're the only sane one in this room, right?"
"Yes!"
"I've heard that one before. You're in denial. You should accept you have a problem. There is no cure if there is no problem, and since it is obvious you need cured than you defintely have a problem."
"I don't need cured! Who taught you all this garbage?"

Suddenly the door unlatched. A man dressed in white stood in the archway. His hair was a gray white and he looked crumpled. The stethoscope dangling around his neck still had the price tag attached and he walked with an air of confused authority. I never knew pocket protectors could be doubled up in one pocket. He absent mindedly started fondling his groin and belched. He slowly surveyed the room and looked down at a chart he was holding. He be grudgingly removed his hand from his groin and grabbed a pen. Apparently it wasn't the right one because he threw it on the floor behind him and grabbed another. After several more attempts, he finally found one that he seemed content with. He wrote a few things down and opened his mouth to chew on the pen. When he went to do this however, there was a small flash of white on the tip of his tongue. He must have been as puzzled as I was. He slowly reached for his tongue and removed an overly wetted stamp. He seemed relieved. He pulled a small envelope from his pocket addressed to the U.S. Department of Naturalization and placed the stamp on the envelope. He looked behind him and yelled.

"Hey Rowena, you can remove the probe and put your panties back on. I found the stamp!"

He turned back around to face us. A look of confusion slowly overtook his face. He began to scratch his head. It was obvious he was trying to remember what he was going to do before he was distracted by the stamp discovery. He looked at the pens on the floor behind. He bent down and studied them carefully. They were all chewed at the top. The man was engaged in deep heavy thought. His finely honed problem solving capabilities were in full swing as he shifted to and fro on his heels. Then, in a moment of revelation, his eyes widened. I could almost see a light bulb over top of his head. Purposefully and with great pride, he grabbed his pen --and began chewing on it.

"So, which one of you is Thomas?"
"I am, doctor."
"Thomas, I am quite disappointed with you."
"Why is that, doctor?"
"You have a very tardy insurance company. This is very bad."
"Is their a problem?"
"Only if you let it become one. You see, if you begin to adopt the attitudes of your insurance company, you may end up with a tardy lifestyle. This is fine and even stress relieving in many cases. However, this may effect my income. If this becomes a trend then I will have to lobotomize you. I will have you drugged and make you sign over a power of attorney to me. If there is any family interference, I will have them committed and drugged. At which time to recoup my losses, I will hypnotize a rich patient to run over you in a vehicle. If you die, I will collect on the life insurance policy I will have taken out on you. If you live, I will keep you alive long enough to suck every penny from the rich patient I had hit you."
"My God! Isn't that a little extreme?"
"Poor Thomas, if I were truly cruel I would just hand it over to a collection agency."

Suddenly a knock came from the door. A solemn looking young man in a three piece Armani, came in. He looked very sad and whispered something into the doctor's ear. The doctor's face turned bright red. Angrily he turned to me.

"Thomas! You insurance premium has not been paid --and your income does not meet our high standards."
"Your not going to lobotomize me, are you!"
"No, Thomas."

He turned around to the man in the Armani suit. His face grim in determination.

"Max out his credit card, and throw his ass to the curb."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing serious, just break his leg."

It was all a blur of motion after that. I remember being lifted to the ceiling on the backs of a multitude of angry accountants. They seemed to come out of the cracks in the wall. He kept his promise though. One of them did break my leg. I think it was a accident though. When they threw me out the window, I think they honestly thought it was the first floor. It was the third.

07/25/2003

Posted on 07/26/2003
Copyright © 2025 Max Bouillet