I am worried about my friend, Mick. Unlike all the other Discordians, Mick believes he needs to better himself. Mick strives for lofty misguided goals in order to overcome his many inadequacies. He used to have a distinct, although often overbearing, personality and sense of humor. But, at least you knew what you were getting with Mick, trouble. Now he is only a shell of his old self. I refer to this shell as ‘m’.
The Mick I knew was witty, in an insulting type of way. He was misguided, but authentic; often drunk, but functional; unshaven, yet neat; suffering from erectile dysfunction, yet STD ridden. (Just kidding about the last one; partly). Mick could be the life of the party, although more often the death of it.
We used to hang out in BARS with live entertainment, a large menu of exotics, and cheap double shots. Sometimes we even did the cheap double shots with the exotics. “Hey Dave can I borrow some singles?” Now, ‘m’ hangs out in coffee shops where the entertainment is often a guy playing music without lyrics. The exotics are made of various tree roots; the menu consists of finger sandwiches made of grilled ahi tuna and liverwurst, and the double shots are espresso roasts. THIS IS NOT OUR MICK. This is not change we can believe in.
In these upscale coffee shops, pool cues and dartboards have been replaced with laptops and notepads. Neon lights have been replaced by ugly paintings of ugly things priced over 500.00 dollars. Bar stools are now sofas, the tables have lamps on them, and the dance floors are covered with coat racks and large stand up plants (sometimes ferns!). And let’s not forget to mention the urinal-less restroom decorated by some Martha Stewart wanna be. Please don’t forget to knock, lift the seat, and, heaven help you, aim, because it’s bi-sexual (like ‘m’).
Inside this group home like setting, ‘m’ has digressed to typing endless pages of rhetoric that will be read by no one. When he wearies of this, he downs a few more double shots—espressos, that is—and bounces over to the other patrons saying “let the caffeine-induced political psycho-babbling commence!” These three socialites then spend hours debating the last press conference held by Senator Frabish, heard only by those same three and the six other XM radio POTUS listeners. THIS IS NOT OUR MICK. This is not change we can believe in.
‘m’ needs all of the up-to-date technologically advanced gadgetries, but cannot operate any of them. He moved on to Tivo although he never learned to record with his VCR. He now owns a GPS but can’t get it out of Spanish mode. He has a TV with surround sound and one speaker.
As for food, Mick used to always be up for the late night greasy spoon. In college, not only was Mick fond of eating the cafeteria food, he was also fond of throwing it—he could fling peanut butter with the best of them. But not ‘m’—only the finest for hi‘m’. He has moved on to high society food, and organic peanut butter is just way too expensive for such flingery. He now only eats Sushi, Japanese foods, or food from other spookily distant cultures (SDC). As a matter of fact, you may see ‘m’ eating anywhere except at an American restaurant. ‘m’ believes this is the proper etiquette of a man of his new found lowercase stature, although in the Orient, McDonalds would be the delicacy of choice.
The coffee shops around here give last call at ten, which coincides with the new curfew ‘m’ has imposed on himself. No more after hour parties for Mick… ‘m’ must ‘m’asterbate at ho‘m’e.
Well, at least one thing hasn’t changed.
