I don’t know where my time goes anymore. Over spring break, I was dividing my time evenly between watching CNN and trying not to. Television, long a trusted distractor, had betrayed me. Fox had a new dating show called “”In Bed With Reporters,”” which attatched a live reporter to a new couple, and only paid the camera crew if they got to third base.
Turning to the computer for solace, I joined an online game of Counterstrike, determined to drift away on a high tide of easy “”frags.”” To my horror, I discovered that the host had changed the rules of the game, allowing the terrorist side to dress up as one of the many civilians who now littered the game map.
After vainly shredding dozens of empty thoubs, I soon learned that RPG didn’t only mean “”role playing game”” (fun fact: a “”thoub””, also called a “”Dish-dash-ah”” is the long-sleeved one-piece garment often worn by men in Arab countries). It allows air to circulate easily, cooling the body.
Confident that my urban-warfare training simulation had been succesful for the evening, I signed on to Instant Messager to prowl for pity sex. Multitasking like a mo-fo, I hooked up the stock ticker to check on my shares of Carlyle Group, a hot-as-walnuts Strategic Consulting firm headed by Bush Sr.
Much to my chagrin, all markets had been shut down, and instead of companies, the names of British, American, and Iraqi dead scrolled past, in silent memorial.
At this point, I realized that I was obviously dreaming. I mean, if we succumb to fear and change our lifestyle in even the smallest way, that means that the French have won.
It was then that a beautiful woman appeared to me, only her head fully visible, and the rest of her body covered in thin translucent jelly, flecked with organelles like poppy-seeds on a bagel. I couldn’t help but hope that this would be another episode in my ongoing series of tantalizingly Freudian birth-reenactment dreams.
“”I was supposed to be wearing a burka,”” she said to me, “”since dreams, like daytime talk shows, are most memorable when they speak in the language of stereotypes.””
“”But in my mind it became a bursa, a membranous pouch,”” I continued, reading her thoughts. “”Because I just had a biology final. Cruel, twisted fate …””
We drew nearer, as if to kiss. She whispered in my ear “”rhinoceros gumball,”” and slipped a small piece of paper into my open hand.
I awoke in the late afternoon sunshine, holding a glossy flyer. that read “”Come To Las Vegas: City of The Future.”” I didn’t need much convincing. Hours later, I was speeding through the Nevada desert, inventing racial slurs in the backseat of a Volvo.
Valet all the way, we made our entrance to the casino floor. Our first stop was the seafood buffet for some Nevada crab legs and raw oysters jello shots, but nobody likes a party-killer. Soon we were back on the road, headed for the Hospitalencia.
The Hospitalencia, in the heart of The Strip, is a three-star hotel/casino, non-accredited medical school, and emergency clinic all rolled into one. Where else can you get your child’s vaccinations comped while you shake hands with the one-armed man? My friends and I walked into the E.R. and pulled up a few chairs at the waiting room Let It Ride table. Before even looking to my right, I knew from the smell of chewed tin and regurgitated sagebrush that I had accidentally sat next to my scapegoat, again. Let me explain.
Fun fact: when ancient Israelis would sacrifice a goat to absolve them of their sins, they would also anoint a second goat with the same confessions, branding that goat and setting it free to roam the countryside. Sometimes the goat would wander back, reminding their former owner that their sins could never be forgotten completely, only to be banished once more to the wilderness.
Slowly turning my head and seeing the Structure logo burned into the goat’s left cheek, I saw that it was true. “”Well, this is awkward,”” I said. “”How’s catch and release treating you?””
“”Oh, fine,”” he snarled. “”How is it to be absolved of the chain link incident?””
“”You know, I’ve got a funny story about that. See, the other day, I was at the mall watching the girls in the ice rink and I saw this one girl that couldn’t have been more than …””
“”This is really fucking up my buzz,”” bleated the thorny goat, as he walked away into the crowd of EMTs and cocktail waitresses. “”If I run and find you a new sacrifice, do you promise to shut up?””
That’s when I realized everything was gonna be a-okay. When your scapegoats start doing the work for you, all you have to do is sit back and let it ride.
