Saturday, 7 December 2013

The Genie

I switched on the light, and tossed my backpack onto the bed. I threw aside a dirty towel and some empty cigarette boxes, kicked off my jeans, and hit the bed. After about five minutes of numb unconsciousness, I dug out a remote from under the pillows and switched on the air conditioning. I went over to my cupboard, opened the locker, and procured one of the two slim joints I had rolled last night. I pulled the curtains, switched on the zero-watts, and switched off the light.

Syd sang the Jugband Blues as I gave the thinny a boom. The Joker gave me a menacing grin from his place on the wall across.

"Fuck you, man." A stupid mosquito was buzzing around my head. "Why don't you go suck blood from a dog, or something? Stop that!"

When I realized I'd been talking to a mosquito, I realized something much deeper. Even if the mosquito could not make sense of whatever I had said to it, it must have affected its memory in some way. I had read somewhere that scientists had successfully tapped into memories of rats. If it could be done with something like cockroaches, or (Holy Shit!) mosquitoes, you could spy on anyone anywhere.

This raised a lot of questions about privacy and security in my mind, and I proceeded to ash the roach. This would require some thinking, and that would require a cigarette, but all the packs I found were empty, and I kept throwing them onto the floor. The only thing that seemed to contain anything at all was a small pack of butter.

I picked it up, and kept tossing and turning it over in my hands. As I was doing this, I noticed some yellowy substance oozing out one of its corners. The strange thing was that the substance, instead of dripping onto the bed, was forming a blob in mid-air. Either this was some really good weed, or my dealer was mixing acid for kicks.

Over time, I don't know how much, the blob grew larger in size until it was about the size of a basketball. I was too confused, and maybe too lazy to react. Am I supposed to be scared of a butter-blob? Do I scream for help? The blob eventually grew a mouth, and it was then that I decided on a definite plan of action.

"Fuck, I'm tripping." I said, and lay back, as Jefferson Airplane wisely advised me to go ask Alice. I really wonder if she could make sense out of whatever the fuck was happening after all the crazy shit she had been through.

"Sire! You have retrieved me from this hell!"

So now the butter-blob was talking to me. Great! This was probably what was missing from my life. A talking butter-blob. Fuck.

"Sire! I thank you immensely for your help! I will grant any one of your wishes with utmost pleasure."

"Fuck off." I said, and closed my eyes.

"Sire! It is my duty to serve you, or I will loose all honor among my people."

"And I ask of you to get going. That is all the help I need from a talking butter-blob."

"You insult me, Sire. I could grant you anything from exotic fruits to bricks of gold, and all you have to ask is for me to leave?"

"How would I know if the fruit is poisoned, or the gold is real?"

"That hurt my feelings, Sire!"

"You say you can get me food?"

"Sure, Sire! Whatever you may want!"

"And will you be so courteous as to eat with me?"

"Ah, Sire! In my world, it is inappropriate to do so. I could give you company while you eat, however."

I picked up my laptop, and created a new text file.

"Could you get me five loaves of French bread?"

"Here it is, Sire!"

A platter with five loaves of fresh French bread appeared on my bed as if they had always been there.

"You're giving me company?"

"Oh yes, Sire!"

"Good."

I picked one loaf off the platter, dipped an end of it in the blob of floating butter, and bit off a huge chunk.

"Sire! You are eating me." the blob said in a shaky voice.

"I know." I said, and started writing this document.

I've almost finished the second loaf, the blob is much smaller in size, and it is sniveling away like anything. Anyway, the loudness of its voice is decreasing steadily with its size, so that should not be a problem.

I can hear Hendrix say he wouldn't have given a fuck either.

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