The Unnamed adventures of Roger Weaver

Chapter 3

The Story The Authors

At times like these Roger tended to fret that he was going prematurely senile or some even worse fate, ala "Flowers for Algernon," when these primitive thoughts flitted across the surface of his mind like developmentally challenged fruit-bats suffering from radar deficiency...When in truth (and only the Cat in the Hat knew) it was all those psilocybin mushrooms he'd taken in college, the psychoactive molecules of which lodge in the fatty tissues of the body, and in times of stress and sweating, when circumstances had him working off those love-handles he'd grown during the soft three years in New York City with Anita, that these hidden molecules of mild hallucinatory potential were released, passing through his brain one final time and taking great special pleasure in slightly discombobulating it before being flushed out of his body for good (or until the next time...)
Yet still he fretted. Poor lad. Once ANita had read an article in Cosmopolitan entitled "Are You a Worrier?" and she'd clucked her tongue and giggled and said to herself, "I'm not, but I know who is," looking lovingly across the living room at Roger that afternoon so long ago and cackling to herself again. Philip

Meanwhile, in the dim drear of the underground cavern, Roger searched his memory for a face or a scrap of information to connect with the name "Arnie Sachnusem," but came up empty-handed every time.
He sat on a stone, lifted the basket of his hands for his face to fall into, and wept. Great sobs wracked him; he was lost; he hadn't eaten in three days; he was following a series of cyphers and clues left, apparently, by an insane cryptologist, for all the sense he could make out of them...
As if by magic, there in that hour of his darkness, Thing One and Thing Two appeared with the graceful mercy and timing of two seraphim sent by God himself. They had been asleep, it seems; they were still cluthcing their pillows, and it was with these that they began to bang him on the head (boff!), in the face (zammo!), and across the chest (thwack!, knocking him off his rock and onto the cold hard cavern floor as the two Things raised up their voices in unison:
"Each time you lust or get depressed
We'll come and thwack you on the chest!
You might think twice before you pause,
It breaks our feline master's laws,
And only serves to cause you pain,
Meawhile your sacred task delaying!
So get up off your lazy ass
Before disaster comes to pass!
(We do not want it in a box!
We do not want it with a fox!)"
Philip Hears a Hoo

And with those words, Roger remembered something from his past, which up until this moment had eluded him. He remembered being a very small lad, sitting in his bed, dressed in warm pajamas, while a fair maiden, perhaps his mother, read to him the wonderful tale of Sam I am and the green eggs and ham. He had so loved that story, of the odd little man, Sam, and his insistence that everyone should try and love green eggs and ham. As he remembered this warm and fuzzy memory, Thing One and Thing Two majically disappeared, just as suddenly as they had appeared, and Roger found himself ready for the next steps of his journey. Momx3

It was after-all a journey of only twelve steps, but what large steps they were, almost as if they were made for a giant or some other large creature. none

For the voices began to come from the very walls:
"Rah-jer!"
"This is the voice of your Sub-conscious, lad!"
"Think you've got a little problem, buddy..."
"One that requires the perspective of a Higher Power..."
"Because you, my good man —"
"— are an unrepentant Orgasm Addict!"
And then that song came churtling in over the P.A.:
So you tried it just a-once, found it alright for kicks
Now you find out it's a habit that sticks
And you're an orgasm addict!
Orgasm addict!
Sneaking in the bathroom with dirty magazines
And your mother wants to know bout all the stains on your jeans
And you're an orgasm addict!
Orgasm addict!

Philip

The Story	The Authors
At times like these Roger tended to fret that he was going prematurely senile or some even worse fate, ala "Flowers for Algernon," when these primitive thoughts flitted across the surface of his mind like developmentally challenged fruit-bats suffering from radar deficiency...When in truth (and only the Cat in the Hat knew) it was all those psilocybin mushrooms he'd taken in college, the psychoactive molecules of which lodge in the fatty tissues of the body, and in times of stress and sweating, when circumstances had him working off those love-handles he'd grown during the soft three years in New York City with Anita, that these hidden molecules of mild hallucinatory potential were released, passing through his brain one final time and taking great special pleasure in slightly discombobulating it before being flushed out of his body for good (or until the next time...) Yet still he fretted. Poor lad. Once ANita had read an article in Cosmopolitan entitled "Are You a Worrier?" and she'd clucked her tongue and giggled and said to herself, "I'm not, but I know who is," looking lovingly across the living room at Roger that afternoon so long ago and cackling to herself again.	Philip
Meanwhile, in the dim drear of the underground cavern, Roger searched his memory for a face or a scrap of information to connect with the name "Arnie Sachnusem," but came up empty-handed every time. He sat on a stone, lifted the basket of his hands for his face to fall into, and wept. Great sobs wracked him; he was lost; he hadn't eaten in three days; he was following a series of cyphers and clues left, apparently, by an insane cryptologist, for all the sense he could make out of them... As if by magic, there in that hour of his darkness, Thing One and Thing Two appeared with the graceful mercy and timing of two seraphim sent by God himself. They had been asleep, it seems; they were still cluthcing their pillows, and it was with these that they began to bang him on the head (boff!), in the face (zammo!), and across the chest (thwack!, knocking him off his rock and onto the cold hard cavern floor as the two Things raised up their voices in unison: "Each time you lust or get depressed We'll come and thwack you on the chest! You might think twice before you pause, It breaks our feline master's laws, And only serves to cause you pain, Meawhile your sacred task delaying! So get up off your lazy ass Before disaster comes to pass! (We do not want it in a box! We do not want it with a fox!)"	Philip Hears a Hoo
And with those words, Roger remembered something from his past, which up until this moment had eluded him. He remembered being a very small lad, sitting in his bed, dressed in warm pajamas, while a fair maiden, perhaps his mother, read to him the wonderful tale of Sam I am and the green eggs and ham. He had so loved that story, of the odd little man, Sam, and his insistence that everyone should try and love green eggs and ham. As he remembered this warm and fuzzy memory, Thing One and Thing Two majically disappeared, just as suddenly as they had appeared, and Roger found himself ready for the next steps of his journey.	Momx3
It was after-all a journey of only twelve steps, but what large steps they were, almost as if they were made for a giant or some other large creature.	none
For the voices began to come from the very walls: "Rah-jer!" "This is the voice of your Sub-conscious, lad!" "Think you've got a little problem, buddy..." "One that requires the perspective of a Higher Power..." "Because you, my good man —" "— are an unrepentant Orgasm Addict!" And then that song came churtling in over the P.A.: So you tried it just a-once, found it alright for kicks Now you find out it's a habit that sticks And you're an orgasm addict! Orgasm addict! Sneaking in the bathroom with dirty magazines And your mother wants to know bout all the stains on your jeans And you're an orgasm addict! Orgasm addict!	Philip

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