Voice #1 and #2 (of many)
I don’t really want to write tonight.
Okay, but we haven’t written in a few days. What do you want to do?
I want to watch TV.
That’s all you do anymore. You’re becoming a Pillsbury doughboy.
Yeah, well, all you ever want to do is write, you Marcel finger up his ass Proust wannabe.
All right, look, we have to stop this bickering.
I’ll stop if you hand me the goddamned remote. I’ll forget you’re even in the room.
Look, I understand the need to chill out. We can’t create fine literature night after night without a break.
Literature? Is that what you call this? We wrote a piece about an angry blogger with a boil on his butt. That’s literature?
You’re the one who wanted the humor blog. I would have loved to make it a poetry blog. The fact that you are willing to write at all is like manna from heaven to me.
There you go again with all that highfalutin crappola. Jesus fucking Christ are we out of Pringles already?
The thing is, if we are going to take another night off watching TV, don’t you think we should at least agree about it first?
If you are willing to go upstairs and fill this empty bowl with Pringles chips, I’ll agree that you can get me a beer while you’re up.
Very funny. You know that if I go, you go. We are one and the same, you and I, just different voices in the same head.
Yeah, you’re the nagging “we’ve got to write every day and keep our edge” voice and I’m the “pull my thumb – woops – is that the 5:15 train already?” voice.
What did I do wrong to end up with you? Really, I wish I knew. Why couldn’t I have been a creative influence for, say, Walt Whitman?
You don’t think Walt Whitman had his meat and potatoes side? Ha! You’d be in his head going on about that “Leaves of Grass” gibberish. “We’re really making progress. This is wonderful stuff. Let’s keep working.” And this other voice would be, like, “Whoa, would you check out the ass on that pool boy?” Pffffth. Sometimes I just break myself up.
All right, it’s obvious we’re not going to get anything done tonight. Could you at least promise that we’ll try and write something substantive tomorrow?
Yeah, yeah, whatever. Hand me the remote. Let’s see what’s on.
Hmm. That looks good.
What? That?! The nature channel? That’s fucking educational. I’m not watching that unless they got some of them half-naked native girls getting high from chewing tree bark.
You’re such a boor.
Yes, well, a boor but not a bore.
Wait, how about this?
The Antique Roadshow? You’ve got to be kidding.
Well, what exactly are you looking for then?
Wait a sec. I’ll find it. I think it's on channel 536.
You can’t remember our four digit pin number but you can keep track of 900 channels.
Here it is!
What is this?
"Sturgis 2004 at Full Throttle."
Oh, dear God. Sturgis? Tell me you’re joking.
Harleys, babes and beer. All the elements of good television.
You’ve never ridden a motorcycle in your life.
There’s no telling what I would have accomplished if I wasn’t home writing term papers with you all the time, Poindexter.
I’m not going to sit here and watch this. My lord, is that woman riding that thing completely naked?
Well, she’s got that little red, white and blue thong, but, yeah, she’s pretty much naked.
You know, we could probably write a piece about this.
Now you’re talking.
Shh. Be quiet. We’ve got to listen. This is research.
Research. Right. That’s what this is. I’m with you on that.
One more thing and then we watch. Tomorrow night. No TV, okay? Tomorrow we write. Deal?
Fine. Deal. Now go on upstairs and get the snacks. And a cold beer. One of the ones from the back of the refrigerator.
Okay.
10:12:03 PM  Random Nonsense
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