I’ve always had a soft spot for the tired Hollywood cliché of the two mini-me guys on the shoulder representing the inner devil and angel. Do you ever feel that your little angel called in sick or something? That your bad side has taken control? I sometimes think that the little devil guy took the angel out back, put two in the back of his head, and stuffed his winged corpse into the dumpster. The autopsy report suggests that sodomy was also involved.
Perhaps we all need a personal fool to follow us around and remind us when we are screwing up, like the court jesters in mediaeval times. Like the guys who populate Shakespeare’s plays with the title of fool. In King Lear the fool is a total pain in the ass to Lear and speaks his mind without fear of repercussions. Our personal fools could be invisible to the rest of the world, but I think it would be more fun if they were visible and wore those crazy jester outfits. Their purpose would be to keep us from acting against our own interests. They would remind us that what we are about to do could be harmful.
Some things my personal fool would shout out to me on a regular basis:
“Put down the Ben Affleck movie or I’ll shoot. So help me God. What if somebody you know sees you renting that piece of crap? Why don't you just put up a huge billboard that says you have terrible taste in movies? Have some pride, dude. If you have to see that, at least rent something foreign and put it on top to impress the chicks in line.”
“Pick that up. I’m your fool, not the maid.”
“I’m pretty sure you had pork chops for breakfast. Are you sure you want to order them again for lunch? People your age drop dead from heart attacks every day.”
To which I reply, “Shut up. You don’t fucking own me, man.”
And then a fight breaks out and we are both thrown out of the restaurant. Later that night in a bar, after we have made up, the little shit starts in on me again.
“Be honest, do you really think that you need another Maker’s Manhattan? You’ve already had two, you fucking lush.”
I think that after I’ve had a few drinks some little puke in a joker’s costume isn’t going to be able to talk me out of another cocktail. What I really need in this instance is something a little less subtle to steer me away from temptation. I am thinking that maybe a 190 decibel fog horn or an air raid siren going off in my ear might do the trick. After my ears have stopped bleeding I would simply pay my check and pour myself into a cab.
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