A Good Friend

Conversation between Duckworth and Bobbie.

Bobbie is a good boy. Does everything that is asked of him. Even when it scrapes cells off his soul.

Duckworth is lost. Staggering through life, doing everything he never believed in just so he can afford Chef Boyardee in a can.

D: "The fucking job strips me of my soul, it rips my heart apart, knocks me off balance and forces me to be and do things that kill me, slowly, painfully and inevitably."

B: "What the hell are you talking about? Do you realize that nobody likes their job, that they just suck it up every day and make it through? So they can go home and beat the wife, curse the kids and get rip roaring, nasty ass fucking drunk? So they can roll out of bed the next day and do it all over again."

D: " You don't get it, man. Yeah, I know everybody hates their job - the world is a piss ass place. Full of disappointment, sacrifice, hatred and dead ends. But the majority of people are stupid enough to rationalize their existence. The fools accept the fact that this is the way it is. They put their heads down, like mules, and stumble forward from crappy jobs and forced poverty to the sweet release of death."

B: "I think you are putting out a pretty dark vibe there, man."

D: "Oh, really? Did you, when you were a kid, dream about being a warehouse supervisor? Stepping on your co-workers, filling out paperwork until your ass bleeds, and doing it all over and over and over again?"

B: "It's a good job, man. Security. Buys the wife necklaces and peace of mind. And, just so you know, when I was a kid, I dreamed about being a rock star. But that was just a dream, man. I picked up a guitar and it felt like Chinese algebra to me."

D: "I'm talking about the people who cannot get to work without a 6 a.m. shot of whiskey. The people who have to escape to the bathroom 9 times a day, hyperventilating, because the job, the people, the situation, crushes them down to a height of 1 centimeter. Sometimes these very people slip out under the door, undetected, just to look at the sun and remind themselves that they are human. Unfortunately, at a height of one centimeter, they are often trod upon."

B: "There is nobility in doing what must be done. Sheryl Crow sang that it is a muddy line between what we want and what we have to do."

D: "There is no nobility in acquiescing to get worn down, beat down, broken, battered, and humiliated by a job and the people who do that job, to the point of avoidance, dark corners, total sacrifice of personality and soul, praying for an early death and being disappointed by the sunrise every goddamn morning."

B: "You are exaggerating."

D: " You think I am exaggerating because you are such a lifeless wimp that you have bought in to the propaganda. You believe that the only options in life are offered by employers and rules and acceptability. Even though those employers, with all their rules and intimidation, are ruthlessly trying to strip you of your right to life. Your existence. Your individuality."

B: "You need to get a grip, man. You are losing it."

D: "The only grip I need to get is around your throat and around her throat and around his throat and around every throat that breathes to suffocate me. I cannot do this anymore. I cannot play this meaningless game. I cannot pretend. I cannot do that which is exactly opposite to who I am just to get a fucking paycheck. Every check fattens my account and shortens my life."

B: "Let's go get a drink. Maybe calm you down."

D: " Yeah, let's go get a drink. Let's go get a bunch of drinks. And when I have had a bellyful of booze I'm going to crush your head with a concrete block."

B: "OK. As long as you are quick. As long as it doesn't hurt."

D: "Oh it won't hurt. It will be a goddamn relief for you. You won't even feel the relief until just before your eyes close for the very last time. And then...................epiphany."

B; "You're a good friend."

D: "Goddamn right."