“So,” says he. “Stress. What are you stressed about?”
The test takes about five minutes, during which time I learn only that I am indeed stressed about the things I said I was stressed about, for the needle gave a nigh-on-imperceptible quiver 'round about the time I said so, or at least it did after your man there got to fidgeting a bit with the article on the far-side.
“What does this mean?” I ask.
“It means you're stressed,” says he. “And this…” he holds aloft a copy of Dianetics, “will tell you why.”
Thinking - I know why. I just told you why. Ah well. Best just to push the bottom lip out a bit, do some nodding, say about I’m skint right now but I’m ever so interested so I am and I’d be a crazy, scabby, stinkin’ fuckin’ hoor if I was to bet against me stopping by to pick one up when I’m a touch more flush about the fivers and the tens.
For a time Sir Fleming and I stand gawking at the folks on the floor below, the folks with the scribbling and the big clocks and the air of solemn contemplation hung like shrouds about their bodies. “I.Q tests,” your man says in passing. “You’re welcome to take it if you want.”
Sir Fleming and I exchange a set of glances in the key of Damn The Test More I Want To Take, thanking him anyway, and promising to take news of L. Ron to the people of Ireland soon as they get the potatoes working again.
The End And So On
Article comments
1 - Bennett
Great. Can't find the words to say more, as reading you two messes up my ability to form sentences. But just fucking great.
Thanks.
2 - Phillip Winn
Part two building on part one forthwith, eager anticipation is relieved. Some day perhaps we shall chat further on your keen and almost-unique take on world religions, Aarons, but until then I shall content myself with reading your tinkering in English.
Cheers!
3 - DukeDeMondo
Sir Bennett, thank you very much. I'm very glad you dug our ponderings.
Sir Winn - Thank you also, and that is a conversation i would very much enjoy of an evening.