Trojan Maximus

When I was a wee bit younger and every bit sexier according to a few polls conducted by yours truly, I told a young lady I was incurably in love with that though the words didn’t come easily, keeping quiet about how I felt for another minute, much less 10 more years was simply downright impossible. The woman made me feel like such a bomb, and not a homemade one either, I was more the sort it would take a team of engineers and complicated mathematics to build or at least that was how I felt. And to put it in a way sayable to respectable company, I wanted nothing more than to show her just how big my “explosion” was. But if I’m not mistaken, even though I tried to subdue myself on that blessed day in the carnival parking lot, it showed slightly in my trousers that my “fuse” was a couple inches short of average (as was so eloquently put by my love herself). Of this, it seemed, I was the only one comically unaware. And if I’m again not mistaken, she didn’t find me particularly cringey, I was only something to giggle and laugh uncontrollably at, which I took as  invitation enough to walk back across the lot to the other young woman I was actually on a date with and push my tongue as far down her throat as was allowed in public. I won’t lie, in hindsight, that was perhaps a little too far. So much so that the one I loved immediately stopped giggling about my short “fuse.” But at the time I felt I could save this and perhaps any other situation involving a woman, I had a near perfect excuse: I was young and my “fuse” and I had, in many ways, room to grow.

 

All this happened exactly two days ago, which is to say that I’m older now, much, much older. You might not believe me but that’s your business. Let’s be clear, though: you’d, of course, be ridiculous to doubt me but I know the world is an all around silly and slimy place so I dare not take any cautious reaction to what I’m saying personally. But yes, yes indeed, I’m older, it’s easy to see. I know that for a perfect fact. What makes me so sure? Well, I’m glad you asked. I found a herbal store—the closest thing to Heaven I’d say—that sells pills that will help my little fuse grow and reach its full potential. I’ve already taken 48 of such natural supplements if you were wondering—48 pills in 48 hours. And they seem to be working wondrously, I can tell because I’m dizzy. Oh yes, oh yes! I’m dizzy, dizzy and growing. What a pill! What a beautiful invention, what a miracle—a pill that stretches me to the maximum, a pill that will make sure that I’m never again the theme of a damn, spiteful joke.

What a miracle indeed; a pill that can make an atheist like me believe in God. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away is the Bible verse which applies here I think. But maybe only partially, the Lord is much more of a giver in this instance. I’d fall on my knees and lift my eyes and hands to the sky if I weren’t so much of a hypocrite. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of being a hypocrite or anything, I just don’t want to waste my time, that’s all. I think the Lord will certainly remember the fine spring afternoon I set fire to the sign of the Old Dominion Baptist Church. I was, of course as you know, much less grown up then. Still, I reckon he’s still upset about it because I didn’t ask for forgiveness and probably never will. One must, as a rule, never apologize for the things done when one is less than fully grown, not even to God. But that, I suppose, when the whole matter is considered, is neither here nor there.

 

Truly, unreservedly, unabashedly, I’m thankful in every crevice of body for these pills, these pills of pills. My fuse grows and my heart grows merrier along with it. I know you know that by now, but I can’t—I just simply can not—say it enough.

Now that I’ve seen how wonderful pills can be I’ve been thinking a bit more about the world and its relationship to pills in general. I’ve been coming up with some dangerous ideas, thinking is of course always dangerous. Don’t believe me? If it wasn’t they’d teach people to do it in schools. But I digress. So yes, I’ve been thinking: what if the Lord invented another wonderful pill (because no pill like the one above can possibly be man-made), but this time it wouldn’t simply allow things to get better or grow, this blessed pill would only cause the pill taker to hear the most pleasing things no matter what, regardless of each and every circumstance. So for example, if the pill taker’s mother died, the pill taker would be told, she’s not dead, she’s only gone on a long journey and one day you will see her again in more glory than any mortal can imagine. And if the pill taker has a fuse as short as mine was, he’d hear “wow, wow, it’s too massive” when he was romantically engaged. And let’s say the pill taker was what you’d normally call an ugly woman, she’d hear after she’s taken the pill that eyes have never seen a more beautiful creature nor have ears heard of one.

 

Oh what a blessing that would be. Never having to hear a word you didn’t want to hear again. Even when people were praising you too much, the pill would come in handy, it would make you hear nothing in such cases. Yes, there would be nothing but the necessary amount of praise and silence, pristine, beautiful silence. Can you imagine a pill like that? What a pill it would be!

 

Of course, you’d never have to grow if you took a pill like that. For example, if my love never said anything about my fuse, I’d have never ventured to take the necessary 48 tablets to make it grow. But would it even matter had I heard what I wanted to? I have to ask which is better: to be inadequate and praised as adequate or to be told you’re not big enough as yet? I suppose it all comes down to whether one wants to grow to fulfill one’s potential or live in a safe space. Oh boy! Believe me, I know as well as you do that these are annoying choices to have!

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