A Giant Floating Ball of Dicks


It’s late. I watch my friends argue. It is a cool night, a bit wet; windows wide. I consider killing myself in the morning.

“He’s a Dick,” L insists, lighting a joint.

B shrugs, “Everyone is a dick in one way or another”

L nods taking a long hit. He looks up at the ceiling, blows. The smoke pools, listens a moment, rolls it’s eyes and leaves.

L watches it go. He frowns. “Do you think that means if Buddhism is right and we are all god that god is just a giant floating ball of dicks?” He passes me the joint, aggressively.

B is glaring at L. “Where the hell did you learn about Buddhism?” he cries.

“In philosophy class,” L shrugs.

I take a hit of the joint. I cough and gag.

“Oh! philosophy is bullshit,” B snaps.

L hits his hand on the table. “Philosophy is the study of life!” he proclaims.

“That’s damn absurd, absurd, absurd,” B insists.

I watch L settle his hand on the table. He taps with two fingers, calming himself. “Life is absurd,” he decides, looking a bit sad.

“No, life has meaning,” B points out, finding his way back to the joint.

L frowns, “being absurd doesn’t mean something is meaningless, just silly.”

“Right,” B nods, “philosophy is silly, life is silly, it’s all silly. A giant floating ball of dicks.”

That settles it; they are silent. B closes his eyes, bobbing his head to the smell of tires tearing through wet asphalt outside.

L is nodding, “a giant floating ball of dicks,” he whispers, then smiles, knowingly.

I look from B, to L. They are perfectly at peace. I look to the joint burning a hole in the placemat. I pick it up, take a hit.

I cough and gag.

“I’m going to bed.”