Oswald wiped the rainy weather from his face long enough to
see another reason to cry his eyes out if he so chose: Antero Magnus with a
book of matches. Clearly, a compromise had to be made. Or did it? “Why the fuck
do you keep following me everywhere I go? Are you some kind of lost puppy dog
or some shit?” In a brazen move reminiscent of last night, Antero swiped the
ready roll from Oswald’s hand and lit it himself before taking a few puffs.
“Excuse me?!” said Oswald with big red eyes. “That’s not yours to smoke! I need
that shit for my depression!”
Handing the marijuana roll back to its rightful owner,
Antero spit out a cloud of green and said, “Let me ask you something, Oswald.
How many times have you puffed the shit out of that roll and found permanent happiness
afterwards? The answer is zero, because as powerful as that shit is, it’s only
a temporary fix to a much bigger problem.” The incel took a seat next to his
charge and patted him on the shoulder. “You already know what the bigger
problem is, don’t you?”
Taking a puff and spitting out an even bigger cloud than his
lungs would allow, Oswald said, “Yeah, I know what it is. It has something to
do with a weirdo in a trench coat taking hits of my Mary-Jane. Seriously, what
could you possibly see in me? I’m not what you’re looking for. I don’t blame my
insecurities on other people.”
“Which is precisely why you punched a muscle jock in the
dick and why you ran away from a smooth-legged English teacher.”
Wide-eyed yet again, Oswald exclaimed, “Dude! You’ve got to
stop following me everywhere! That’s fucking creepy!” Antero chuckled and
removed his sunglasses, revealing those horrifying cyan-colored eyes. “Ah! Put
your glasses back on! Put ‘em back on!” screamed Oswald while shielding his
face with his hands.
“As you wish,” said Antero before complying with his
“friend’s” request. “But I must warn you, there are scarier things in this
world than weirdly-colored eyes. There’s a conspiracy against us. And when I
say us, I mean you, me, and every other Supreme Gentlemen who’s had the deck
stacked against them their whole lives. We don’t look like the normies. We
don’t talk like the normies. We don’t wear the same kind of hats they do
either. That bothers them. So what do they do? They commit social genocide.”
“Okay, okay, okay, this is getting fucked up,” said Oswald
with his hands raised. “Social genocide? You’re using the G-word to describe
not being able to get laid? How in the hell do you…”
“I don’t expect you to understand right away,” said Antero
while readjusting his sunglasses. “Some lessons take longer to learn than
others. But to answer your question, the G-word isn’t all about getting laid.
Anybody can get laid. Surely, there are enough sex surrogates and prostitutes
to go around. It’s love that we seek and can never find. We give it all away
and none of it is returned. A simple thank-you would be enough for some people.
Me? I want a little bit of interest with my investment.”
Oswald’s mouth became O-shaped at the statement he tried so
desperately hard to digest. Antero dug through his own trench coat and pulled
out his wallet. “You know what? I can tell you’re not convinced just yet.
That’s okay. College is a time for learning, right? Well, you’ve got a lot to
learn about the way the world works against us.” Antero handed Oswald a
thirty-dollar McDonald’s gift card and said, “Two words: McDonald’s
prostitute.”
Flipping the card over and over again in disbelief, Oswald
stared at the meal ticket like he was holding a severed head. “Mc…Donald’s
prostitute?”
“That’s right, little man,” said Antero before patting him
on the back. “Everybody’s got a price tag on them. For the women down at Mickey
D’s, all they ever wanted was a little bit of loving and a Quarter Pounder with
Cheese. That’s how shitty our economy has gotten. When you’re too broke for a
basic McDonald’s meal and you have to turn to sex to get one, that’s how you
know shit’s all fucked up. Of course, I don’t know how in god’s name a Quarter
Pounder could taste good when there’s splooge sloshing around in their mouths.”
“This….this…this is sick, Antero. This is fucking sick!”
“I know it’s sick, Oswald. I know. But sometimes you can’t
take the highroad forever. You want someone to love you, right? You want to
experience that cherry pop for the first time? All you have to do so come
bearing the gifts of French fries, nuggets, greasy meat, and…well….greasy
meat!” Antero chuckled at his own joke.
Finally peeling his terrified eyes away from the gift card,
Oswald said, “Dude…you’re not funny. Nothing about this is comical. This is
wrong. Really wrong!”
“You’re a good man, Oswald. Ordinarily, being a good human
being has its rewards. But not in this Stacy-dominated world. You’re desperate
enough. I can see it in those bloodshot eyes of yours. You’ll either have the
most romantic night of your life in a McDonald’s parking lot…or you’ll get a
lifelong lesson that no sexy-legged teacher could offer you. Either way, I just
gave you the keys to the city. It’s up to you now what it is you want to do
with them.”
Antero patted Oswald’s back and walked out of sight. The
little guy turned his flabbergasted attention back to the gift card. It was so
wrong, yet so right at the same time. There was something seductive about the
way Antero talked. There was a reason he led so many people down their destined
paths. He made so much sense in that one oratory.
Having those dark thoughts jolted Oswald awake, causing him
to accidentally drop the gift card on the table. “What the fuck was I
thinking?” he asked himself while holding his head in his hands. “I can’t do
this. This isn’t right. No, no, no!” The three no’s were punctuated with the
dwarf lightly banging his head against the table.
Once the forehead pain became too much to bear, he took a
look around the commons for any signs that Antero might be right. Sure enough,
this place was swarming with examples. Men and women holding hands while
walking together. “Chads” and “Stacys” making out on the grassy lawn. Oswald
even saw one guy holding his crying girlfriend’s head in his lap while he
stroked her hair. What the lonely dwarf would give for the chance to be touched
like that.
That Mickey D’s gift card started him straight in the face
with lust and seduction. It was such an easy solution. Antero could have been
his savior in that one moment. His own personal Jesus Christ, to use yet
another Matrix quote. Oswald finally made the decision to scoop up the gift
card and tuck it away in his wallet. If nothing else, he could at least enjoy a
good meal, one that made him feel better than any roll of green ever could.
Oswald walked away from the commons huffing and puffing on
his roll of weed. He kept feeling his scraggly beard and lengthy hair while
contemplating if he should clean himself up for this meeting with a McDonald’s
prostitute. Maybe throwing his pot-smelling coat in the wash machine would also
be a good idea. Then again, did he really have to change himself for someone
who was only in it for the nuggets and the burgers? There was thirty dollars on
the card, which meant he could get extra goodies to make himself more enticing.
The shave and haircut could wait another day…if that day ever came.
The dwarf put his headsets on and played “Bless the Wings”
by The Moody Blues on his MP3 player. Was that song a little too romantic and
sappy for what was about to happen that evening? Perhaps. Was Oswald expecting
too much when he contemplated a potential relationship with this McDonald’s
girl? He thought so. But as long as he was high on pot and already depressed
from the day’s events, a little lovey-dovey psychological cinema was perhaps
the right call.
Judging from the stares he got from “normies” walking by,
any kind of vicarious romance would have been welcome. He certainly didn’t get
it from the “Chad
The dwarf picked himself up and apologized profusely to the
young man and his girlfriend. He thought that would be the end of that, but
then he noticed the couple walking away with their noses in their shirts,
presumably from the pot smell. Oswald was tempted to go back there and punch
the shit out of both of them. But it was more tempting to just take a shower
and wash his clothing rather than get himself expelled for stupid shit. Maybe
he did have to change himself after all. But for a McDonald’s hooker? So much
debating took place in Oswald’s mind, all of which was settled with a few more
puffs of Mary-Jane.
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