Conversation · Idiot Doom Spiral

"Whoa! Rip you off? What is this, a radio novella on Channel 8? Friends don't let friends start ripping each other off! No, that's not how we operate here."

"Listen, I know it might look a little lacking right now, but you gotta trust the process. I've got it all under control. Once the strike is over, the workers will be all over the monument..."

"I guarantee the papers will pick it up, with photos and everything. You'll be the talk of the town -- investing into the community, creating value, giving back..."

"Have you got any more stories?"

"I do -- but as you can see my fuel tank is running quite low, if you catch my drift..." He spins the bottle in his hand. Not a single drop of liquid remains.

"Why do you keep losing all your stuff?"

"Good fucking question, Tequila! If I knew the answer, you think I'd be hanging out on a beach in this formerly premium but now extremely dirty two-piece Lickra(TM) tracksuit?"

"I used to own my reality situation. My business buddies and I had our own creative services agency. I had a nice apartment, an even nicer piece of ass, but somehow it all got away from me..."

"Now the only things I haven't lost are these two drunks."

"Let me ask you something else." (Conclude.)

"I'm all ears, Tequila."

"What about the other drunks?"

"My fellow members of the Union of Moribund Alcoholics? They're exactly what they look like."

"'Ey! Tequila! You wanna buy some speed?"

"Shut the fuck up, Rosemary! He's a cop, remember?"

"I thought he was a cool cop."

A gurgling sound comes from the direction of the non-responsive man.

"And yeah, you're already acquainted with Abs." He points to the man in the pipe. "So yeah, that's basically us. We drink together."

"Don't call Abigail!"

"And this is Abs." He points to the man in the pipe. "So yeah, that's basically us. We drink together."

"What's up with the tracksuit?"

"What? You never seen 100% Lickra(TM) before? Go on, feel that primo material." The man extends his arm...

You really shouldn't touch it.

"I'll just admire it from afar, thanks."

"That might be the right idea. This here is one of the last of its kind. Should probably be in a museum, honestly." He takes another sip. "Can't get it anymore. It was too primo even for Graad."

By 'primo' he means 'possibly carcinogenic'. Lickra(TM) was a synthetic fabric developed by manufacturers in the middle '40s, notable mainly for the swishy sound it makes as the wearer passes by...

It's also known to become extremely itchy if not properly cared for.

"Wow, you're lucky. He never lets me feel it."

"That's because your paws are fucking filthy, Rosemary! We're right next to the bay, you could wash them anytime."

Touch it.

"Pretty nice, huh? This might be one of the last of its kind. Should probably be in a museum, honestly." He takes another sip.

Good god, it's nearly impossible to describe how dirty this texture is. It's like rubbing two jellyfish skins together. You feel about 15% less human for having touched it.

Randomized trials have also found Lickra(TM) to be associated with a number of exotic, highly malignant cancers. So you also have that to look forward to.

And then there's the smell, but you don't even want to think about that.

"Wow, you're lucky. He never lets me feel it."

"That's because your paws are fucking filthy, Rosie! We're right next to the bay, you could wash them anytime."

"What was the name of your agency?"

"My agency, man..." He takes a long, melancholic sip. "The Boom Boom Room. Our concept was combining high art with the lowest forms of marketing -- the colour red, breasts, and oil painting..."

"I convinced my partners to reinvest some of our profits in an even-more high-concept 'cultural incubator' called 'Thin Air'. The artists were happy, the clients were happy."

"I was financing a group of poets in East Revachol who were developing a new, universal poetic language... but then it all went to shit..." He looks toward the bay.

Sounds intriguing. What say you, art cop?

If it sounds like it makes no sense, that's because it doesn't.

"Man, mixing high and low, commodifying culture, that is extremely my shit."

"Yes, Tequila, yes!" He punches you on the shoulder. "That was what we were all about... now it's all gone, of course."

"Mixing oil painting and breasts to make ads isn't high art, it's just cynical wankery."

"Well, you know, sex sells. That's the first rule of advertising."

"Maybe, but it's still tired."

"Maybe you're right, who knows? Maybe we were behind the curve? We were fucking rich, though, that much I know..."

"Yeah, actually -- you're right. Let the market sort it out. No need for me to regulate this stuff."

"That's what's so cool about advertising -- It's kind of like art, except you can also get fucking rich doing it..."

"The female isn't yours to objectify, not in art nor anywhere else!"

"That's rich coming from you, Tequila. You had some pretty wild views about women last weekend..."

"I don't know where he picked up these views, but wherever it was, he seems to be sincere about them."

"Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that mixing art and sex can make you fucking rich.

"That's so high-concept I have no idea what it means."

"I know..." He takes a long, wistful sip of his pilsner. "It was fucking awesome. And now it's all gone."

"Right, okay. Never mind that I asked."

He taps against his head. "Askin' is how you get ahead."

"What's this about a lost jacket?"

"Tequila, it's a verifiable tragedy. It was practically brand new. Sure, it didn't really go with my Lickra(TM) threads, but it did itch a lot less..."