THIS SEEMS ABOUT RIGHT

For some reason the meme I saw on the internet this morning speaks buckets to me: "I lied to you, I don't like sex, now explain Hegel to me". And while the entire range of possible situations in which that might be said has escaped me, I can relate. Furthermore, I can well imagine a man or woman less enchanted by physical intimacy than Hegelian dialectics.

Possibly a person in a Southern region of the US.

Someone with a brain in Texas.


"I lied to you, I don't like sex, now explain Hegel to me!"


Or the chiropractor who used to pick up two extra large cheese pizzas on Broadway two or three nights a week, despite living alone in a flea-bag hotel room. He probably used them to tempt conversational partners into coming home with him.
It was a shallow yet fulfilling existence.

I would imagine him occasionally waking up in the morning, alone again and smeared with cheese and tomato, on his foetid matress, a possible interlocutor having fled garbed in his sheets after riffling his wallet.


"I don't know anything about your dogs, I'm here to clean up the room!"


There was a retired uncle who drank beer and dozed at the same place every night. He'd wake up occasionally, say something about "hooked on phonics" or Mongolian beef, maybe Wang Computers, then drink some more and fall asleep again. He would have also done that. At least I can picture him doing so. As well as the housepainter who hid his heroine kit behind the mirror in the bathroom. Heroine and American beer, as is well known, seriously diminish the sex drive, and discussing philosophy becomes a far more attractive prospect when in the throes of a malt liquor bender.

It was the era when mescaline was almost unknown, and hipsters were still taking LSD and pizza in unbelievable doses. A kinder and gentler age. Station wagons and open-topped sedans roaring through the desert.

Rat bastard psychotics.

Glazed ketchup.

Pizza.




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