Scotty added, “And poop on a plate with a big spoon in it.”
“And guts.” Said Charles.
“With poop all over them.” Charles again.
I was driving back from Hercules on Ice. The three of them were in the back seat, wired on sugar, demented. I had not been listening; I did not know where this conversation came from. But clearly they were discussing something of importance back there in the back seat, perhaps it was politics or religion. They were passionate on the subject. I tried to understand what had led to the poor gentlemen who had diarrhea coming out of his nose – that was a nasty problem for sure – but the boys had moved on.
“How about, you are a monster and I am flying around in the blaster and then there’s a big rock flying that goes SMASH….”
“How about you are flying on a delta blaster …
“No how bout the sun is exploding and then I come smashing down
“How about I am the master of the world and then you get …”
“How about there is no master of the world anymore…”
It was different than when they were five. Now their fantasies had to compete with each other’s fantasies. The volume escalated. It was hard work impressing your fantasies on others.