I'll Leave It To You To Decide If It Happened Or Not

Cooking Expertise: Seriously, bro. You rule. Portobello and beef burgers on Italian bread buns with celery/green apple slaw? That's some fancy restaurant shit right there.

Self-Loathing: The burgers fell apart!

Ego: Only a little and that's because the recipe didn't call for draining the mushroom/onion mix before combining with the beef.

Self-Loathing: Still.

Me: You know what? Still nothing. Chalk it up to a learning experience that still tasted amazing.

Libido: Even I'm satisfied.

Me: I...don't want to know how that's possible. At all.

Libido: It was good food!

Me: Good food doesn't relate to libido.

Pervert: Says you, dude.

Me: I don't wanna know! I don't wanna know!

Writer: And hey, you got your article all turned in with money coming your way soon.

Work Ethic: Not to mention having ANOTHER assignment for Thursday which you can spend tomorrow doing.

Writer: Well, and a Dan Eats Cat Food too but you should be fine there.

Work Ethic: Busy busy busy.

Hopeless Optimist: Maybe this is the start of something good!

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Hopeless Optimist: Oh.

Libido: So, you remember what I said earlier?

Me: Yes...

Libido: I was totally lying.

Me: I figured.

Libido: Yeah, no. I'm like a ticking time bomb. And seeing the Braves girls isn't helping.

Sports Freak: You aren't watching the GAME?!

Me: What? I am. They just pop up from time to time.

Libido: Just like...

Me: DON'T say it. Don't. I know what you're going to say and don't.

Libido: Just like...

Me: I'm warning you. I will punch you in the dick if you say it. Don't test me.

Libido: ...

Me: That's better.

Libido: Just like Boba Fett.

Crotch: GODDAMNIT OW!

Self-Loathing: Well. That just happened. Are you happy? Are you happy with what you did?

Me/Libido: No.

Self-Loathing: Well...then I am.

Occasionally I Can Be Awesome

Ego: We rock!

Me: We do!

Culinary Expertise: Chicken breasts stuffed with shiitake mushrooms and provolone cheese! THAT'S HOW YOU COOK, MOTHERFUCKER!

Ego: Woo!

Work Ethic: Woo!

OCD: WE CLEANED THE DISHES VERY WELL! NO SALMONELLA THIS TIME! WOO!

Calmness: Woo.

Me: Woo!

Self-Loathing: I hate you all.

Me: Woo!!!

Because Mental Arguments Are Just Oh So Fun To Transcribe

Self-Preservation: Okay. Can we...just for propriety's sake, can we just run through what you just did again?

Me: Fine.

Self-Preservation: You, and correct me if I'm wrong, just went and retrieved the bottle of vodka from your mini-fridge and a can of cheap-ass orange soda.

Me: Oh what? Like I was going to pour the vodka in the dark in the other room!

Self-Preservation: That's...not the point.

Libido: So at this point, you've basically said to hell with it all, I want my dick to explode, is that it?

Me: Not in so many words, no.

OCD: MMMMM CLEAN UNDERWEAR!

Me: I'm...wait...

Confusion: Aren't you usually screaming in hyperbolic terror?

OCD: I AM MORE THAN JUST A ONE-TRICK PONY, CONFUSION!

Inner Child: Pony!

Me: No.

Inner Child: Pony?

Me: NO.

Inner Child: No pony?

Me: No damn pony.

Pervert: That's probably for the best.

Me: Shut up, you.

Work Ethic: Good work today. You actually did something productive instead of just sitting around and playing with yourself.

Libido: Don't I know it. Hrmph.

Anxiety: Is there something wrong? Are we losing our sex drive?!

Me: God, I hope so.

Libido: Hey!

Work Ethic: To answer your question, Anxiety, no we aren't. We just found something more important and intellectually stimulating to do. Like an article that we are going to get paid for.

Writer: And it was easy too. Seven hundred words is nothing, especially when you have four solid pages of notes to use!

Self-Loathing: Ooh, seven hundred words! Aren't we special?

Ego: Fuck off, dude.

Me: There we go, Ego! Show some balls.

Self-Loathing: Don't encourage him. You remember how swollen he gets sometimes.

Pervert: Woo!

Bad Joke Center: That's my job! You prick! You thoughtless prick!

Me: And with that, it's back to the Voiceover.

Budding Alcoholism: Voiceover?

Me: Vodka and orange soda.

Budding Alcoholism: Yeahhhhhhh!

Probably The First Of Many In This Mold

Me: Can we be funny right now?

Libido: I mean, I can try, but you hurt my feelings yesterday. You don't care about me anymore!

Me: Come on now. That's not true.

Libido: It's not?

Me: Not at all. I NEVER cared about you.

Libido: I don't know if that's better or worse.

Pervert: If you want, I guess I could say something like "Oh hai, butts LOL" but...

Me: That's just kind of awful.

Pedantry: That's kind of awful in many ways.

Inner Child: What's going on over there?

Me: Oh just ignore them. Sports Freak and Budding Alcoholism are drinking and complaining.

Inner Child: What does...um..."fucking flag-happy zebra prick assholes" mean?

Ego: You mean, aside from the fact that we apparently have a very large vocabulary of curses?

Inner Child: Yeah.

Me: It's like this. Sometimes when things you love with all your heart perform poorly...

Libido: Like...um...someone else's dick!

Pervert: That was an odd change of phrase.

Libido: What? I work fine. I'm just...in mint condition is all.

Self-Loathing: You mean "nearly rusted off", I believe.

Me: Can I finish?!

Self-Loathing: Doubtful.

Ego: Hey!

Me: Ugh. As I was saying, even if those things really don't or even count in the long run, the poor performance will affect you the same as if they had counted.

Inner Child: I don't get it.

Me: Okay. You see that third guy drinking with them?

Inner Child: Yes.

Me: That's another part of my mind. His name is Impotent Rage.

Impotent Rage: GAHHHHHH JUST GRAHHHHHH FUCKKKKKKK AAAAARGGHH!

Inner Child: He doesn't sound happy.

Me: He's not.

Inner Child: Why haven't I met him?

Ego: Because you don't need to! That's basically all he does. Fume, yell and drink. He's like a mental native of Philadelphia.

Inner Child: Ohhhh! I get it now. He's a retard!

Me: Well...yeah, kind of.

Self-Loathing: So you're saying that you actively cultivate a part of yourself that's retarded?

Me: I listen to you, don't I?

Probably More Here Than Anyone Wants To Know

Me: That's it. I should not be allowed in public anymore. Simple as that.

Ego: Why now?

Me: Because when I'm at home and sequestered away, I can control Libido.

Realism: Somewhat at least. And when you're in public?

Libido: WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Me: See for yourself.

Pragmatism: ...holy God.

Libido: Pretty tiny redhead! No, brunette with unreal legs! No, pharmacist that looks exactly like Kristen Bell! Too many choices! Blargh!

Confusion: So wait, is he dying?

Me: No. He's just paralyzed with indecision. Kind of like if you have a choice of beers but can only have one.

Budding Alcoholism: ALL is one.

Self-Loathing: But you don't get ANY! It's like having that choice and not having anything.

Ego: Hey, suck one.

Self-Loathing: It's not a mean thing! It's a TRUE thing. You said it yourself many times before. It's not like you are being DENIED a beer. You are actively walking away from the damn table. YOU are spiting Libido. Not anything else.

Me: That's not...

Self-Loathing: It absolutely is! You KILLED your Romanticism. Stone dead iced the fucker.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaargh you did this blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Me: He's still alive...ish.

Self-Loathing: Yes, because the ladies want all up on a dead, rotting thing.

Me: ...some do.

Pervert: Even I don't want in on them, dude. That's a little much.

Self-Loathing: You have to accept that by murdering Romanticism and burning down the internal bridge that could lead to Libido ACTUALLY getting a workout, you are cutting yourself off. Setting aside the fact that you look like Homo Habilus...

Bad Joke Center: YOU'RE a homo, habilus!

Self-Loathing: ...and the fact that you clearly don't care about your weight anymore and the fact that you have basically become a bitchy old curmudgeon, isolated and withdraw from any sort of polite society...

Ego: What's your POINT, mean...head...?!

Self-Loathing: My point is that even if you made yourself hot - a Herculean task as anyone would admit - you would still be emotionally unavailable.

Emotional Unavailability: Yo!

Me: That's not true at all.

Realism: Dude. Yes it is. Completely. I may not like the bastard but that doesn't stop him from being absolutely right.

Inner Child: Why is he right?

Me: He's not. He's a big dumb liar.

Internal Sadism: Hey man. I'm on your side. This is the perfect abuse for your junk.

Pragmatism: Wouldn't you be on the pro-romance side since that one provides so much more potential for both physical damage as well as plenty of expected emotional destruction? Don't you call it something like a...what is it again...a two-fer?

Internal Sadism: Ooh! You're right.

Libido: But wait! This way it is now leaves me struggling for breath and cruising hard towards impotence.

Internal Sadism: That one's good too! Oh, I just can't choose.

Me: How about you just let me do what I'm going to do and stop trying to psychoanalyze me, you bitches?!

Ego: Okay, that's good. That's totally healthy.

Aw This One Ends All Sad

Fashion Sense: It's not a condemnation. Well, maybe it is...of sorts. Look, all I'm saying here is that at this point, you are basically a caveman. You probably now have the ability to communicate with primitive grunts and pointing.

Pervert: And masturbation!

Me: I'm not sure that last one is a form of communication.

Pervert: Sure it is. It says to the ladyfolk "I cherish you and desire the privilege of being introduced to your rockin' bare tits".

Pedantry: It's true.

Me: It is NOT! What did he bribe you with?

Pedantry: ...even psyche parts have needs.

Me: Never mind. I don't want to know. The concept that any part of my mind has its own sexual urges ALONE makes me consider self-committing.

Self-Loathing: I do have one thing for you to consider.

Me: Oh...oh hell no. Nothing from you is ever nice.

Self-Loathing: It's not that big a criticism. Just a thought.

Ego: Ugh. Fine.

Self-Loathing: When you stretch...in the morning...it sounds kinda like a goat having an orgasm.

Me: How in ANY world do you know what that sounds like?

Pervert: Um. I'll take the blame for that.

Inner Child: We have goats now?

Me: No. Never now.

Inner Child: Damn.

Nostalgia: Hey! Remember when you wanted to buy a goat and keep it on the roof of your sophomore dorm and feed it nothing but vodka and chicken wings so it would stay mean?

Me: Yes...

Nostalgia: That was awesome.

Me: Okay. Cool. Good story.

Irrelevance: So...

Me: Oh God no.

Irrelevance: Edith Piaf and Edith Wharton were NOT the same person, no matter how much you want that to be true!

Me: ...okay, I am literally at a loss for words.

Inner Child: Who are those people?

Me: I honest to God do not know. Which is why it's a little surprising that that sort of thing came up.

Writer: You know, I keep coming back to that title that your brother suggested you write.

Me: That being?

Writer: You know. "Broken Odometer 2: Time Stands Still"?

Me: Oh THAT. Probably never doing it but I'm going to claim copyright on it anyways, bitches.

Nostalgia: Hey! Remember when you got so drunk and then smoking a cigar so you threw up for like twenty minutes off a dock at the lake house?

Me: Remember when you SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!

Nostalgia: That is abuse!

Self-Loathing: I saw it! I saw it! Bear witness!

Inner Child: A BEAR SAW THAT?!

Me: No.

Nostalgia: Hey! Remember when your eyes were half-open after you were sort of awake this morning and for a moment, the light hit you just right and you thought and hoped you were back in college?

Me: Yes.

Ego: And?

Me: I closed my eyes again.

In Which I Am A Loser Again

Me: We're not funny today, are we?

Ego: Nope.

Realism: Nope.

Self-Loathing: Never.

Me: Well...shit. What should we do?

Ego: Not do a real entry tonight.

Realism: Probably right there.

Self-Loathing: Kill yourself.

Me: Hmm. I'll go with the former.

*awkward silence*

It's More Fun When Nobody's Home

Me: Sweet. I got the place to myself most of the day. What should I do first?

Libido: Well, you could...

Me: Yeah yeah yeah, that's already taken care of.

Libido: I'm appeased!

Music Lover: Workin' For The Weekend is always good.

Me: Yeah, I suppose we can do that.

Hidden Nudist: Bare-assed of course, right?

Me: It wouldn't be Personal Naked Dance Party Time if I had boxers on, would it?

Hidden Nudist: I suppose not, no.

Me: That sounds good though.Yeah, now that I have a carpeted place to dance, I don't have to risk slipping and breaking my cocyxx.

Internal Sadism: You know you COULD.

Me: But that's not going to happen so...yeah.

Self-Loathing: You can't dance! You're a fat white boy.

Ego: First off, fuck you. Second, remember Show Choir? Third, a good...fourteen years of music has given him more than just a rudimentary grasp of rhythm, you dick. And finally, fuck you again.

Self-Loathing: First, you wish. Second, that was eight years and eighty pounds ago. Third, rhythm doesn't mean he can dance. And finally, no, fuck YOU.

Me: Yeah, let's just not worry about that huh?

Pervert: God, you know what would be nice right now?

Me: Are you just going to say it anyways, regardless of my response?

Pervert: A nice tight butt.

Me: That answers my question.

Pervert: Clad only in a skinny white thong.

Me: Here it comes...

Pervert: Ridin' all up on the LOVEMATIC BRONCO!

Me: That...I mean, that's the gist of what I was expecting but...I mean...what?! Lovematic Bronco?

Pervert: Si, senor.

Me: I...okay. Sure.

Suspicion: Why are you so calm today?

Budding Alcoholism: A little vinogrease to work the pipes over.

Ego: Plus losing three pounds even after drunk last night again. Which is wholly bizarre.

Inner Child: Naked dancing!

Me: That too.

Libido: Naked anything is at least a step in the right direction. If you get my meaning.

Me: We got it, thanks.

Music Lover: This song is catchy!

Ego: Plus it's in our range. Rock it.

Realism: Can't really sing it around the parents though. They might not like a song called "Fuck You!".

Me: Well...yeah. Whatever. Hey, I know I'm risking it but where's...

OCD: NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Me: You know. I'm not asking. Not going to do it. I'm going away. This one's over.

This One May Be More Serious. Damn.

Budding Alcoholism: You know, you have the house to yourself all tomorrow. You could get slamfuck drunk and be hungover and nobody would be the wiser.

Me: I don't like that idea.

Internal Sadism: No, really, it's cool. Your liver only has a few holes in it so far.

Me: That's...a disgusting mental image, thank you.

Libido: So I've been thinking...

Me: No. I don't care what you have been thinking about. It's irrelevant.

Libido: But...

Me: No, seriously, you should just...die. Die like romanticism did.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaargh!

Self-Loathing: Oh please. Get off your damn high horse. You don't buy into any of the shit you've been spewing for the past while. Never dating again? My ass. You're going to fold like a tortilla the first time a pretty girl flashes a grin at you, you bitch.

Ego: Hey now...

Self-Loathing: You know I'm right! You know that every single word I have said is absolutely true.

Realism: Dude, you're the self-loathing part of his psyche. Everything you say is completely WRONG. Seriously, you're about the most wrong thing rattling around up here.

Pervert: Yes!

Realism: Well...except for him.

Latent Psychopathy: Score.

Realism: And him.

Internal Sadism: I win!

Realism: Okay, fine, and him too.

Reckless Endangerment: Sounds good to me.

Realism: Look! The point is that you aren't helpful.

Ego: Hear hear!

Libido: I am!

Self-Loathing: The hell you are. You just complicate things.

Libido: Well...

Me: He's kinda right on that one. At this point in my life, I need you about as much as a kick in the sack.

Internal Sadism: Really?!

Me: It's an expression.

Pedantry: Not a very good one.

Libido: I have every right to be here as all the rest. You killed the romantic side or at least you think you did. And we scream down the optimist every time he shows up...

Hopeless Optimist: ...

Libido: Nothing?

Hopeless Optimist: *shakes head*

Libido: Damn. That was a perfect set up. Anyways,  the fact is, you need me around. You need me to direct your gaze towards breasts and asses. You need me to demand you take care of business. You need me to keep you male otherwise everything below the waist may well just shrivel up and die.

Self-Loathing: How could you tell?

Ego: Oh shut the hell up, you ass!

Libido: What I'm saying is simple...kill me and lose everything that makes you a dude.

Me: I would still love beer and sports and violence.

Libido: What purpose does beer serve but to get you or women drunk so you can sex 'em up? What is sports but male sexual aggression transferred into energy? What is violence but a sex surrogate?

Realism: He has a valid argument.

Me: He...does not.

Pervert: Yeah! And without me, you wouldn't think about what some hot chick would look like tied to your bed and dressed all in black leather!

Libido: Hot. Ahem. But not helping!

Pervert: I'm helping you!

Libido: You are. Damn you.

Me: If I may interrupt.

Everyone but Me: I guess.

Me: This is what I think...I think...

Inner Child: I wanna play!

OCD: PLAYING LEADS TO CUTS LEADS TO GERMS LEADS TO INFECTION LEADS TO GANGRENE LEADS TO AMPUTATION LEADS TO FURTHER INFECTION LEADS TO FURTHER AMPUTATION LEADS TO CRITICAL ORGAN FAILURE LEADS TO DEATH!

Me: Wow. Okay. Fuck that then. Time for booze.

Budding Alcoholism: And the crowd goes wild!

Marriage. This Should Be Fun.

Me: More people getting married. What the hell?

Ego: You don't need to get married.

Me: No, I know. I'm just asking...

Self-Loathing: Seriously man. You need a partner to get married.

Me: I know. I...

Self-Loathing: And Mr. Rotting But Still Mobile over there can't help that part.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh love blaaaaaaaaaaargh.

Me: Well yeah but...

Internal Sadism: No, do it! Go get married!

Reckless Endangerment: Go get married while skateboarding down Niagara Falls!

Me: I can't even begin to tell you what's all wrong with that but the point...

Inner Child: I want to be the ring bear!

Me: What?

Inner Child: You know, the ring bear. The giant walking, talking bear that gives the couple the rings.

Me: You mean ring BEARER. But I'm not...

Anxiety: Marriage? Why is there marriage? Who said anything about marriage? Why are we getting married?

Pragmatism: For love, I suppose.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Me: It's...

Anxiety: Do we really love her? Does she really love us? How can we be sure? Do we know that she doesn't just want to marry us and then kill us for insurance money? Do we have insurance money? And is the love real and not just some elaborate sham? Is love ANYTHING but an elaborate sham? But if it's really real, is that enough to keep us together? Will love be enough to pull us through the dark times? What if the love fails? Then what? Can we really afford to spend money on a doomed enterprise? Can we afford to spend money on any enterprise for that matter? Can we even afford a wedding? Does she want kids? Do WE want kids? Have kids been discussed? Would she move in here? Would we move in with her? And what about sex?! Has sex been discussed? Are we sexually compatible? Have we HAD sex?

Libido: That's a big hell no.

Anxiety: WHATIFSHEDOESN'TLIKETHESAMESORTSOFTHINGSWELIKE?

Realism: I'm pretty sure we've already talked about that.

Anxiety: IMEANSEXWISE!

Me: Will you calm down?

Pervert: If she doesn't like some stuff, it's okay. We'll just bargain away parts of our soul to get them.

Soul: Noooooooooooo!

Paranoia: TUXEDOS ARE GUARANTEED TO DECREASE SPERM COUNT BY 31%!

Me: What?!

OCD: SPERM LEAVES RESIDUE ON EVERYTHING IT TOUCHES! IT IS LIKE A HUMAN SPIDERWEB!

Inner Child: We can shoot webs now?! We can be Spiderman!

Pragmatism: I'm reasonably sure that we can't.

Inner Child: Aw.

Me: Okay, look, as for the marriage thing...

Latent Psychopathy: Statistically speaking, a wedding is the best place to go postal, based on the high concentration of people.

Writers: Weddings are so cliche. Are you really doing this?

Me: No! I'm...

Overreaction: Oh, the poor girl! Did you break it off? Or did she? She must be devastated. Broken hearts litter the ground with the shattered promises of broken dreams!

Writer: NICE!

Me: There WAS no...

Gluttony: Oh my God, will there be cake?

Self-Loathing: The wedding's off, dipshit.

Bad Joke Center: That's what SHE said.

Self-Loathing: Ouch, dude. That was cold.

Music Lover: You're as cold as ice! You're willing to sacrifice our love!

Ego: She was? Why?

Self-Loathing: Probably for the best man's dick.

Me: Shut up, she did not!

Libido: So there IS a she!

Me: No!

Realism: But you just said there was.

Me: I...you...no!

Pedantry: Use your words, friend.

Me: Just...gahhh...

Hopeless Optimist: Maybe she'll love you again.

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Me: I don't...

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaaaargh yes you do want her to love you again blaaaaaaaaaaargh!

Me: EVERYONE. JUST. SHUT. YOUR. DAMN. MOUTHS!

Everyone but Me: *silence*

Me: One, there is no wedding. Two, there is no girl. Three, there never WAS a wedding OR a girl. Four, we are not going to concern ourselves with a hypothetical wedding. Five, I was commenting on how bizarre it is that it seems like everyone in my particular age bracket is getting married and I'm here sitting on my ass at home alone.

Fashion Sense: Ahem. Beard attempt.

Me: AND SIX, ALL OF YOU NEED TO JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP SOMETIMES AND LET ME TALK!

Libido:...fine. Sorry.

Me: Good. Now, how about some wine?

Budding Alcoholism: All....out.

Me: Perfect. Just perfect.

It's Better To Go Cliche Early, I Guess

Work Ethic: This. Is. Torturous.

Me: You're telling me.

Internal Sadism: Look, you know me. I'm always down for a nice rough and tumble torture session...

Pervert: Meeeeeee too!

Internal Sadism: But this is getting ridiculous.

Anxiety: Hi guys! I'm just going to pop up for no reason!

Me: I really wish you wouldn't.

Anxiety: Too late! Time to upset your stomach, twitch your eye and make you question everything.

Internal Sadism: You're actually doing the job better than I ever could. I hate you!

Budding Alcoholism: Come on, buddy. Have a couple beers. That'll relax you.

Me: It's too late. Anxiety has turned all my psyche parts into Dark versions of themselves.

Dark Self-Loathing: There, there, it's okay.

Dark Realism: IT IS NOT, IT IS A MASSIVE PROBLEM!

Dark Bad Joke Center: It is.

Me: No "that's what she said"?

Dark Bad Joke Center: Heavens no!

Dark Libido: You know, being bored with porn is okay. It just means you need to rest me a little.

Dark Pervert: Besides, you need to concern yourself with love, rather than sexuality.

Dark Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaaaaargh fuuuuuuuuuuck blaaaaaaargh.

Dark Fashion Sense: Whar eh rucksayck en uh rope fer uh beylt!

Me: This is a bit uncomfortable...

Dark Hopeless Optimist: DEATH DEATH DEATH BLOOD SEX FIRE 666 DEATH MURDER RAAAAAAAAAAH!

Everyone but Me: Go right ahead and express yourself, Optimism!

Me: Seriously. This is weird.

Dark Inner Child: So, like...got any weed, man?

Dark Internal Sadism: Goodness no! Weed is bad for you. It stunts your growth.

Dark Inner Child: Like...whatever.

Dark Latent Psychopathy: Hiiiiiiiii!

Me: Oh good.

Dark Latent Psychopathy: Don't you just LOVE life? Isn't it WONDERFUL to have a world filled with so many great people with such rich, fulfilling lives?

Dark Work Ethic: So we should play video games instead of doing anything to warrant personal growth.

Me: Come on, really? Now you're not even trying.

Dark Ego: We never do.

Dark Self-Loathing: Tsk, tsk. That sort of thing is never helpful.

Dark OCD: I don't even care that this room is messy! It's how you want it and only moderately filled with filth.

Dark Internal Sadism: And most of that filth isn't even of the kind to cause brain tumors. We surely don't want those.

Dark Pervert: Besides, you don't need a clean room because you don't want to attract ladies to it and be tempted to do something untowards.

Dark Self-Control: Yeah like sticking it up the elevator shaft.

Dark Pervert: Why, that's disgusting!

Dark Hopeless Optimist: HELL EVIL HELL ANAL ANAL ANAL DEATH MURDER VIOLENCE!

Everyone but Me: Good for you, Optimism!

Me: Is nobody else freaked out by this? Anxiety?

Dark Anxiety: Nah, brother. I'm cool as the other side of the pillow.

Dark Paranoia: Give me some of that pillow. I'm feelin' cool too.

Dark Inner Child: So man...got any beer, man?

Me: You already asked about weed. We said no.

Dark Budding Alcoholism: And drinking is simply naughty.

Me: And nobody is going to jump on that? Pervert? Libido?

Dark Pervert/Dark Libido: Jump on what?

Me: Okay, this needs to stop. I'm all weirded out by this whole...debacle...thing.

Dark Anxiety: Don't worry, man. It'll pass. Not for a while though, I bet.

Me: Seriously? Ugh. Fuck.

Pervert: Someone call me?

In Which I Hate Myself For Being Lazy

Libido: Well, it's official. I'm bored of porn.

Inner Child: That means it's time for video games?

Self-Loathing: Wow. Unshaven, overweight AND plays video games instead of indulging in sex. You're a real keeper, that's for sure.

Ego: Fuck you.

*five hours later*

Me: Ah, fuck! It's way too late now. My readers will be pissed!

Writer: It's cool. I'm sure they won't mind. A nice short little cop-the-hell-out entry is just what they want!

Miscommunication and Running Gags

Me: Contract still hasn't come in. Damn it.

Work Ethic: You COULD do work on it regardless.

Pragmatism: Could but shouldn't.

Me: I'm inclined to agree.

Libido: What's that? Why, yes! I DO believe we should crank one in the shower!

Me: What? I never said that!

Libido: Said what?

Me: We should crank one in the shower.

Libido: Ah, so we agree!

Annoyance: Oh fuck you.

Inner Child: What is "crank one"?

Bad Joke Center: It's what you turn when you want to start your engine.

Lack of Subtlety: And by that, he means get you horny.

Inner Child: And horny is...*gasp*! I get to be a rhino?

Me: Ugh. No.

Inner Child: Bastard.

Me: Language!

Pedantry: You mean "Watch your language!" and that is not correct either. What you mean to say is, really, "That language offends me so please cease." although that is not correct EITHER because "that" could imply that English offends you which, realistically, is not the case. What you ACTUALLY mean to say is...

Latent Psychopathy: Can I kill him?

Me: I'm considering it.

Libido: What's that? Why, yes! I DO believe we should experiment with dangerous new forms of self-pleasure!

Me: I didn't say that either!

Libido: Say what?

Me: We should experiment with dangerous new forms of self-pleasure!

Libido: Ah, so we agree!

Internal Sadist: Make that two of us.

Work Ethic: And you got distracted by a body count list for The Expendables. Can you not even focus on a blog entry?

Self-Loathing: Clearly not.

Hopeless Optimist: Well, all you need to do is try harder.

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Hopeless Optimism: That's not nice.

OCD: WHERE IS THE HAND SANITIZER?!

Me: Calm down. We don't need it.

OCD: KEYBOARDS ARE SOME OF THE DIRTIEST PLACES IN THE WORLD AND MOST KEYBOARDS DON'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH WHAT YOURS DOES!

Me: Now that's uncalled for.

Pervert: Not really. He's basically dead on.

Internal Sadism: REALLY?

Ego: Don't sound so damn excited.

Libido: What's that? Why yes! I DO believe we should...

Me: SHUT IT.

Libido: I was going to say love on ladies of all shapes, sizes, personalities, intelligences and political views.

Me: I call bullshit.

Ego: Seconded.

Pervert: Seriously, man. Thirded.

Libido: Hah! Okay, you caught me. I was going to say look into amputee porn.

Anxiety: Viewing or performing in?

Libido: Yes.

Pervert: I'm intrigued.

Me: I'm...not.

Pervert: But if I am that means that you are because I AM you. Or you are me. And we are we together!

Self-Loathing: It's not like we'd be together with anyone else as is.

Me: Will you cut it out?

Latent Psychopathy: Cut what out?!

Me: The self-loathing crap.

Self-Loathing: To do so would violate the very nature of my existing. That would be like asking Libido to decrease himself to a level more befitting a twenty-three year old and less a thirteen-year old or asking Pervert to stop wanting wall sex. It just isn't done.

Me: Wall sex? That's not what I think it is, is it?

Pervert: No, that does not mean glory hole. It just means sex up against a wall.

Me: Oh. Well, that's not too bad.

Pervert: With an ALIEN!

Me: An alien.

Paranoia: Illegal or space?!

Pervert: Surprise me.

Budding Alcoholism: Beer me?

The First Of Sure To Be Many Hungover To Varying Degrees Posts

Me: I think that may have been one too many glasses of wine last night.

Budding Alcoholism: Or one too just right many glasses!

Self-Loathing: And now you're hungover and fatter. Good show.

Ego: Actually, we lost weight. Three pounds worth.

Realism: And we're not all that hungover either.

Relief: To be honest, we're actually feeling pretty good, minor queasy feeling notwithstanding.

Self-Loathing: ...way to ruin my fun, guys. Way to go.

Naivete: Thanks!

Me: Plus, with even the minor effects of the hangover, Libido seems to have waned like an old man.

Libido: You wish. I'm going to make sure you stay harder than astrophysics to a dyslexic.

Inner Child: What does that mean?

Me: Just...never you mind.

Work Ethic: You know, you DO have that article that you need to work on. Like...actually work on since it will be paid.

Pragmatism: That will get top priority as soon as we have the contract signed and turned in. We're not going to work not under contract.

Work Ethic: That is the most...perfectly reasonable thing I've heard in a while, actually.

Me: Wait, what? What just happened?

Paranoia: You said something not using hyperbole! The feds are after us now!

OCD: THEY DON'T EVEN WASH THEIR TORTURE IMPLEMENTS AFTER KILLING! THEY LEAVE THE OLD BLOOD ON! AS A WARNING TO THOSE WHO WILL COME NEXT!

Anxiety: You know, you probably need medication for him.

Me: I probably need medication for a lot of things.

Latent Psychopathy: God, it's been too long since I've taken a bath in blood.

Me: Case in point.

Libido: You don't need medication for me!

Me: If I want to get rid of you, I do.

Pervert: Self-cuckolding. Kinky.

Writer: I suppose that would make you some sort of Shakespearean character. You could do worse, I guess.

Pedantry: Technically he would need to be dating someone and watch her having sex with another to be a cuckold. You're thinking more self-denial which is in fact a sexual fetish.

Inner Child: Feet-ish?

Me: Fet. FETish.

Inner Child: Boba...? Boba! WE CAN BE BOBA FETT?!

Me: What? No. If anything, we'd be more like Dog.

Inner Child: WE CAN BE A DOG TOO?! EXCITED!

Pervert: Well, less actual dog-etry and more dog-style, but probably.

Self-Loathing: Are you delusional?

Self-Delusion: Someone call me?

Zombie Romanticism: Blarrrrrrrgh.

Me: He's a lot more fun to be around now that he's dead.

Anxiety: Until he chomps into your nerve center in your brain that controls emotions.

Me: Hrm. Well...nope. Still more fun to be around.

Kleptomania: You know what we should do?

Me/Anxiety/Paranoia: Oh no.

Kleptomania: We should rob a bank!

Reckless Endangerment/Internal Sadism: YES!

Internal Sadism: This guy! This guy knows the score!

Sports Freak: What score? Which game? Are we missing a game?

Me: We're not robbing a bank.

Pragmatism: Fiscally, it might not be that bad an idea.

Me: Don't you start in on this.

Pragmatism: I'm just sayin'.

Paranoia: Now you've done it. Now you've done it. I bet right now we're getting the attention of every CIA agent in the state of Tennessee.

Me: CIA. In Tennessee. Why don't you just chill for a minute there, Paranoia?

Paranoia: AND BY CHILL YOU MEAN FREEZE IN AN ICE-COLD PRISON CELL IN MARYLAND!

Me: No. By chill I mean lay off the caffeine.

Gluttony: Bro, we haven't had much caf since the OD incident.

Internal Sadism: That was wicked.

Me: *sigh* And so it goes.

Music Lover: And so will you soon, I suppose!

Self-Loathing: Probably.

Prescience Is A Funny Thing

Me: Wow. I really hope nobody bid the over on the "three days" thing or they should be really disappointed. In me and themselves.

Self-Loathing: Not enough people read this literary masturbation to really justify giving a shit.

Ego: You are just about the opposite of helpful.

Motivation: I concur.

Megalomania: I conquer too! Malaysia this time.

Me: You...okay, just no.

Libido: So. How about that little redhead yesterday at your bro's college?

Me: Yeah, she had a ring on. Left hand. That's basically a diamond chastity belt.

Pervert: There are ways around that.

Anxiety: Don't explicate, please. I'm pretty sure suggesting what you want to suggest will set off every sex offender search database in the known world.

Pervert: I was just going to say to go up to her, introduce yourself and ask if you could take her to dinner. Maybe it wasn't an engagement ring. Maybe it was a promise ring and if that's the case, you KNOW you can get around that one.

Anxiety: Stoppit!

Pervert: What? I meant get around in the sense of dating her, getting married and enjoying your wedding night in peace.

Me: Huh...

Pervert: And then? Buttsex sans lube.

Me: THERE we go.

Romanticism: Aw. I thought we had something really sweet going there for a minute.

Me: Go away. I killed you. I dragged you out into the street and made you bite the curb.

Zombie Romanticism: Blaaaaargh! Loooooooooves! Blaaaaargh!

Me: Fuck.

Libido: WHERE?

Self-Loathing: Not in here.

Self-Respect: You know, you're really starting to hurt me.

Immaturity: That's what SHE said!

Self-Loathing/Libido: No she didn't.

Me: WILL YOU GIVE IT A REST?

Inner Child: Shouting means I get presents and ice cream for dinner!

Memory: I don't recall there ever being shouting.

Ego: I know I'm going to regret this, but what about Loud as Shit and Puppy?

Libido: Oh yeah! There was shouting there. Well, more accurately, whimpering. Oh good. Now I'm starting up again.

Me: Son of a bitch.

Fashion Sense: I do hate to sound like a broken record...

Me: Then don't. Offer something productive instead of bitching about the facial hair which, by the way, is going to grow out until I have a beard.

Fashion Sense: ...this is like walking down the Green Mile. I see my death in front of me.

OCD: NOT SHAVING LEADS TO INGROWN HAIRS AND A STEEP RISE IN FACIAL GERMS SUCH AS HERPES OR EBOLA!

Anxiety: Is that true?!

Me: No!

Latent Psychopathy: Ebola, you say? Now there's an intriguing little bugger...

Budding Alcoholism: You can drown us all out with box win!

Anxiety: You could also drown YOURSELF with box wine!

Internal Sadism: Really?!

Me: That wasn't a suggestion!

Internal Sadism/Self-Loathing: Awww.

Writer: I don't really serve any purpose here, do I?

Me: ...probably not, no.

Goals Are Set...And Will Probably Be Abandoned In Favor Of More Sleep

Me: Well, I made it to a second post. I should be proud, I think.

Self-Loathing: Of what? Of not making a one-off blog? How novel! You're the next Faulkner, alright.

Sarcasm: Sorry about that. We got our signals crossed. I mean this.

Me: God, I hate you both.

Self-Loathing: That makes two of us.

Inner Child: Yay! We're just sitting around in our underwear! This is fun!

OCD: ARE YOU NOT AWARE THAT NOT WEARING PROPER GARMENTS WHILE SITTING AT THE COMPUTER IS THE LEADING CAUSE OF ASS COOTIES?!

Me: Ass cooties.

Inner Child: No! No cooties! Avoid the cooties! I am scared of them!

Romanticism: No, you aren't. You never were worried about cooties. You've always loved the female form.

Libido: Not enough loving it, if you ask me.

Me: For the billionth time, I'm working on it.

Work Ethic/Libido/Self-Loathing: Like hell you are!

Fashion Sense: I would say that a good step in the direction of getting some crotch in your face or vice-versa would be to, you know, shave. Seriously. You're not going to grow a beard. You know it. I know it. We all know it. You just look homeless. You look less like someone who could provide for two people, rent an apartment, get a cat together, all that shit, and more like someone who's going to reach out of the shadows, grab a passing schoolgirl on her way home from Catholic school, tie her up, savage her, then let her go, all the time humming softly to yourself to block out her screams of terror.

Me: That was...um...oddly specific.

Pervert: And erotic!

Me: WHAT?!

Pervert: I'm kidding! Come on, man. Lighten up. I know you wouldn't REALLY do that. Just think about it while touching yourself and accidentally hanging yourself from your shower curtain is all.

Anxiety: You can DO that?!

OCD: SHOWERS ARE STASTICALLY THE MOST FILTHY PLACES IN THE HOUSE EVEN MORE THAN TOILETS DUE TO THE PREVAILING ACTIONS OF THEIR NOT BEING CLEANED VERY OFTEN AS WELL AS DUDES PISSING WHILE THEY'RE SHOWERING!

Reckless Endangerment: Look, Brosefsaurus. All you have to do is wear roller skates while you're cleaning your bad self and your feet will stay clean and staph infectionless.

Internal Sadism: Son of a bitch! Why did you tell him that?

Me: Because...you know what, I don't even know.

Self-Loathing: Shocker.

Ego: Will you knock it off? We are a valuable member of society!

Self-Loathing: How so? We live with his parents, don't have a job, don't work out, don't have a girlfriend, don't have more than a friend or two in town, don't maintain any semblance of a motivated schedule and are the clinical example of a graduate who got FUBARed by the system.

Realism: He's...got you there, man.

Hopeless Optimist: Soon we'll...

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Libido: But hey, at least I'm still up and running at maximum capacity. Of course, it's like leaving a Camaro running in the garage as you go on vacation, but it's still working!

Pervert: What year? What year Camaro? I need this.

Libido: Well, obviously a...

Me: I swear to God, if you say '69', I will stab my urethra with a pen cap.

Groinal Region: ...oh merciful Heaven, please let my torment end quickly and without much pain.

Libido: I was GOING to say '58 but I like your idea better.

Internal Sadism: Me too!

Latent Psychopathy: I'm bored.

Me: You better not be.

Budding Alcoholism: You could drink?

Me: That's your answer for everything! Bad day? Drink. Good day? Drink. My psychotic side is bored? Drink.

Budding Alcoholism: Dude. I'm budding alcoholism. What do you expect me to say? 'Gawrsh! Why don't you chomp down on a big ol' head of lettuce?' Because no. That's the stuff of assholes.

Bad Joke Center: Wait...I thought that...

Me: No! You don't get to respond to that one. Can we get back on track?

Work Ethic: First time I've heard you say that one in God knows how long.

Writer: Okay, here's the dill-y-o.

Me: What?

Writer: The...um...deal. Sorry. I was trying to be cool.

Self-Loathing: I just choked.

Libido: Haven't heard THAT one ever.

Me: ...

Writer: Okay! Sorry. My bad. Okay. You need to keep ME in good working order. So from now on, you need to post three times a day. Once here. Once on Dan Eats Cat Food. And once on your LiveJournal. All three, every day.

Motivation: Are you out of your bastard mind?!

Me: I'm talking to myself. No, I'm ARGUING with myself. So yeah, probably.

Work Ethic: You think you can do it?

Me: With YOU on my side, I can't fail.

Sarcasm: Sorry, that was me again.

Me: Readers, the over/under on this plan succeeding is three days. Place your bets now. We'll return tomorrow.

In Which We Begin Our Tale

Me: I'm just going to come right out and say it. I hate introductory posts. I do. They're always these lame as hell entries about something or another. And everyone always is so damn deferential to their audience because they want to make a good first impression or some shit. It's kinda pathetic. Don't worry. I'm not a hypocrite. I've done it too. It's just that...

Self-Loathing: Oh. My. God. Shut the fuck up. Nobody cares what you think.

Ego: I do...

Self-Loathing: And you matter why? That's right. You don't.

Ego: Fuck off!

Inner Child: NO more swears!

Internal Sadism: You're trying this? Really? Why not just snap your nuts in a mousetrap?

Reckless Endangerment: Try it! You might not get sterile!

Internal Sadism: Doubt it.

Libido: Oh, holy shit. Seriously, man. You need pussy. You are officially a serial rapist to paper towels.

Me: Shut up!

Pervert: It's cool, man. We don't judge. Except when it comes to some of your porn. Man. And I thought I had problems.

Me: You're me!

Pervert: No, I am PART of you, thank you. I have my own life.

Me: Being?

Pervert: None yo' biness.

Me: YOU...I mean...I'M not ghetto!

Political Correctness: That's racist.

OCD: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO YOUR ROOM?!

Me: Nothing?

OCD: THEN WHY DOES IT LOOK LIKE AFGHANISTAN?!

Anxiety: Just to remind you, you have no job and are poor.

Ego: Oh thank you for that.

Hopeless Optimist: You'll get a job tomorrow!

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Self-Respect: I'm...still here.

Me: You ARE? Seriously? I thought you were dead a while ago.

Latent Psychopathy: Nope. Slippery little bastard got away.

Me: Oh. Awesome. You're here now. Just what I needed.

Misanthropy: Hey buddy!

Me: Damn it.

Inner Child: Space race! Space race!

Work Ethic: You know, you really could be doing better on...well, just about everything in your life.

Fashion Sense: Like shaving.

Me: Everyone shut up a minute! I need to talk to the nice people.

Misanthropy: Yeah, like THEY exist.

Me: So...welcome. I guess. This will basically be your experience each time you get here. I'm sorry. It wasn't meant to be this way.

Writer: Actually it was.

Me: Or I guess it was. Awesome. Terrific. What now?

Budding Alcoholism: How about a drink?