TRENT WAS NO GOOD at solving math problems, even with a calculator.  He was the kind of guy who was easy to rub the wrong way and/or get into a fight with.  Addison was in over his head.  Even though his place in the story was completely out of context with what Pippa had dreamed about the Demo-Rally-Poser-Infestation months ago.  No one really cared about making any sense.  Because people are effortlessly influenced and persuaded to do or talk about anything, the business elite being no exception  There were a variety of factors involved:  How they look, their family life, their relationships over the years, as well as their eating and Drinking habits and sexual track records.  Fenton couldn't stay sober.  He looked and acted like he knew what he was talking about, but the shotgun fire and answer committee really had his mind in a tizzy.  He didn't like the trajectory his life was headed.  He also couldn't grasp the concept of ownership.  How people bought and sold commercial businesses or real-estate.

DREAM SEQUENCE 32

  "Well don't start flipping out," said Pippa pointing to a billboard on the interstate.
  "I ain't," said Harris, bouncing a tennis ball as they walked toward the exit ramp.
  "I hope this snow doesn't get any worse.  And I hope they have some coffee here.  I really need some."
  "Let's walk faster," said Harris picking up the pace.  "Better chance of us making it back to the car before it..."
  "The car?"  said Trent.  "You can just forget that thing."
  "Yeah.  Ok."
  "Any of you have valid ID's?"
  "Nope."
  "Nope."
  "I do," said Pippa.  "Just kidding.  We are, however, a bunch of felons and bandits.  Y'all having fun?  Hang on.  Melody' calling.  HEY BABY GIRL!?  HOW ARE YOU!?"
  "Dude this chick is nuts."
  "I know right?"
  "I'm beginning to feel deathly ill."
  "I can tell."
  "You're not the leader," said Harris sifting through a pile of junk mail from the Sunday paper.
  "Aren't you symbolic," dreamed Pippa.  "We'll see about that.  Do you want seconds guys?  Stew's almost gone."
  "That stuff is so nasty.  Salmon and walnuts?  Are you serious?"
  "Yeah.  Do you know how many Omega-3's there are in there?"
  "What's up with the arts and crafts?"
  "You're so ADD.  Stay on point with our conversation.  Look into my eyes and concentrate."
  "You're insidious."
  "Thank you.  Listen, I'm doing some surveys online right now.  I have to figure out a way to make us all some more money."
  "Why?" said Harris.  "So you can take us all to Disney Land after we puke up this God-awful concoction you call dinner?"
  "Pretty much."
  "You're completely delusional."
  "Thank you.  Get in a good workout and take a shower.  You smell gross."
  "I'm gonna' hitchhike to the library this afternoon.  I'm not going to sit around wasting time playing games online either.  I'm going to fix up my resume and find me a real job.  I'm sick of babysitting you toddlers anyway."
  "That hurts."
  "Why are you so depressed anyway?"
  "I'm broke - on the verge of homelessness if not homeless already.  Dead in the water?  I'm just waiting for the grim reaper to do me a huge favor.  I can't even afford to buy a pack of Ramen noodles.  I'm playing Simon Says and 'remember when' with my family for chicken feed - a roof over my head.  Throw me a bone here.  Come on."
  "Let's brainstorm.  You need to be a little more proactive," said Melody.  "What do you want to do for work?"
  "Uh... play jazz guitar in a Pentecostal church for five hundred a week.  That's my dream job."
  "Come on.  Dis donc Trent.  Let's say money were no object for you - like you won the Powerball.  How would you spend your time?"
  "OK - the guidance counselor approach.  I'm listening."
  "What would you do tomorrow?"
  "Uh, get my license out of hock, buy a one-way ticket to the Philippines, open a hamburger stand, marry a local girl that doesn't speak a lick of English, and whip around dollar bills on fishing line all day to get hungry customers to buy my food and sundries.  What else?"
  "That's kind of creepy.  In all honesty."
  "Well you asked.  I'm the French Tickler - remember?  That's my dream job.  Even millionaires can't sit around the house all day long drinking beer, doing blow, banging hookers, and surf the web.  Just ask Charlie Sheen or Brian Wilson.  It's ALL work.  Friend or foe.  Movie star or bum.  Know what I mean?  Lots of money gets you into a ton of trouble and affords you to get out of tone of trouble if you have the gumption and vitality.  I've been around the block long enough to recognize that.  Sex, drugs, rock and roll - you feel me?  Produce!!  Repent!!"
  "Now YOU'RE depressing ME!"
  "Yeah - I'd be a burger-toting missionary.  Thanks for helping me brainstorm.  I feel a whole lot better.  That would be a nice life I think.  I'm sick of America.  It's all a bunch of dumb rules and laws anyway.  Freedom?  Yeah - ok- sure.  It's all a mirage.  I'll bet if Lady Liberty could open her mouth, she'd tell you her arms are killing her, standing there, holding up that torch all day long, carrying her tablet to the class to nowhere."
  "God you're such a patriot.  How about standup comedy?  Your jokes are awfully morbid though."
  "I can't get health insurance in that line of work."
  "Excuses, excuses, excuses."
  "I deserve it.  I've provided this sad world with solutions for free for waaaay too long."
  "So why aren't you getting paid?"
  "Beats the hell out of me.  I may one day, but I highly doubt it.  Life is completely abstract.  It's good to set goals in a world that continually interrupts your every move.  I've developed a strange way of interpreting productivity and fulfillment.  For instance:  Both the warden and the inmate spend most of the waking day in prison.  The only difference is that the warden gets to go home at night for steak dinner and out to the movies with his family, whereas the inmate doesn't.  If you've been homeless for a long period of time, someone might call a life in prison a permanent vacation.  If you've been accustomed to a life of privilege and one day end up behind bars, suicide might seem like a tempting alternative."
  "I'm tired of sex."
  "Me too."
  "It's over-rated.  There is such a wide spectrum of human sexuality.  People accuse me of being an isolationist, but with the internet and my right hand, getting off is virtually free - pardon the pun.  Dating a marriage seem like a trap.  Having kids is productive I guess, but only if they're compliant.  I was a pretty compliant boy growing up.  I pretty much did what I was told."
  "Tell me more about that."
  "Well everything was predetermined what I was going to do.  Everything.  It's funny - I can remember waking up one Saturday morning, walking into the kitchen and asking my mom why I didn't have to go to school.  You know what she said?"
  "What?"
  "Free day!!"
  "Time off."
  "A break.  Sure"
  "There are no breaks in life."
  "Tell me more about it.  Give ME a break."
  "Stop it.  Well, I think you live in the past.  It seems like you have a lot of dusty memories that your'e trying to share with me."
  "I don't believe in the concept of time anymore."
  "How so?"
  "What is it time for us to do?"
  "For you and I to try and sift through some of your personal struggles.  Let's talk about your alcoholism.  Why do you drink?"
  "Boy that's a million dollar question - isn't it?  I have a tendency to over-analyze everything.  Alcohol simplifies my mind.  Less syllables - less run on sentences.  Da Da Da."
  "It dumbs you down?"
  "Exactly."
  "How much have you had to drink tonight?"
  "Why do you sound so clinical? like I just got pulled over by the county sheriff?"
  "Let me rephrase that - how many beers have you had in the last twelve hours?"
  "Two.  In three six ounce paper cups."
  "Step out of the car."
  "Aren't you cute."
  "No I take that back - it was wine.  Yeah.  Cabernet Sauvignon.  I can't remember the year though.  Vintage - I'm sure about that - definitely European.  I hate California wine."
  "Three bottles of wine."
  "Sure.  Hey - you mind if I grab a couple pieces of chocolate?  I normally don't eat sweets but..."
  "Go for it."
  "I've read some of your work - although I find it a little on the boring side.  It's technically perfect, but it puts me right to sleep."
  "That's the whole point.  Reading is technically boring.  It requires a lot of focus and a lot of work and dedication.  You're supposed to find my prose boring and engaging.  You like music?"
  "Sure.  Who doesn't?"
  "How 'bout John Updike?  I watched this three and a half hour interview online today that I found more engaging than..."
  "Roger's Version?"
  "Yeah.  You have read him.  That guy is good.  Although he smiles all the time.  I don't think I've ever seen that guy when he's not smiling.  Can't trust a guy like that.  Creative as shit though."

::Satch-y-Daddy-Cake-Syndrome::

PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  I can't give you any more money.
JORDY:  How long have you been playing basketball sir?
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Forever and a day man.  Let's run some suicide drills guys.
JORDY:  I'm gonna sit this one out.
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Nope.  Let's go!  CLAP CLAP CLAP LET'S GO LET'S GO LET'S GO!!
JORDY:  No.  I don't want to.  Besides, I'm better at wrestling anyway.  I don't have the eye-hand coordination for this.
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Nope.  Get up.  You need to be well rounded.  Your shoes are untied by the way.
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Let's see some hustle guys!  Jordy - set a pick.  Time.  Three-second violation
JORDY:  What's that?
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Don't you know anything about basketball?
(... Jordy sucks... yeah... he's only here because his mommy made him come.. ha ha... no shit... fuckin' faggot... ha ha...)
JORDY:  I hate this sport
(you don't like any sport... ha ha... he likes balls alright... just not sports... ha ha ha!)
PEP-TALK PRESIDENT:  Guys!  Enough!  Everyone huddle up.  Conner.  Brett.  Come on.  Not too close - I don't want you guys sweating on my dry-erase.  Look - you guys need to focus - need you guys to be team-players.  Does everyone here know what it means to set a screen?  Don't everyone raise your hands all at once.

//Revenge of the All Too Clean Writer's Toilet//
(and the TP to Back it Up With)

  We could have baked a birthday cake in porcelain this surgically and steril-ee pure - not so much as a hint of bacteria.  Melody got on April for her lackluster performance in her interview/hiring approach.  It was clearly time to put that department on freeze.  She was just on-boarding anyone and everyone.  "Look at you," she'd say shaking her head in revulsion, April sitting Indian style, tapping away on her My Little Pony Bluetooth Keyboard - sifting through a crinkly plastic Keebler Fudge Striped Shortbread Cookie tray full of cigarillo butts, trying to find the longest one.  Mmmm.  Cherry flavored.  Very dusty, but so full of existential flavor.  "Tays-tee!!" she'd say, the smoke billowing from her lips.  Her status was at an all-time low.  It was amazing she even found the time in her busy smoking schedule to accomplish anything else.  Dinged up pretty badly, but still quasi-functional.  The Tenmauray Stimulation Mech™ would still turn to titanium microseconds before the orcan fledge took place.  A few more tests would be required per request of three delegates from the Mercenaries of Padelle.  A real assembly line  Hard to describe.  Because of all of this, Addison started to make a list of the things in life that he needed to stop doing and activities he needed to start taking part in.

BEHAVIORS TO STOP COMPLETELY (AKA - "Bad Habits")

1.  Womanizing
2.  Spending money frivolously
3.  Drinking alcohol/using tobacco
4.  Eating unhealthy foods
5.  Wasting time on social media
6.  Pornography
7.  Jerking off
8.  Womanizing
9.  Abusing caffeine
10.  Rationalizing poor decisions

BEHAVIORS TO START/CONTINUE (AKA - "Good Habits")

1.  Maintain Financial Independence
2.  Exercise, workout, and play sports consistently
3.  Get married and have kids
4.  Eat healthy foods
5.  Serve more and become less self-serving
6.  Become a better friend and family member
7.  Set and achieve short term, mid term, and long term goals
8.  Improve personal hygiene
9.  Write more intelligently
10.  Prioritize

  Sometimes one just needs a good laugh though.  Even though it doesn't solve your problems.  I do know this:  There are no guarantees in life.  It's good to learn, because if you're blessed enough, you can use that information later on down the road.  I'm also having a difficult time in determining what home is.  What is it?  Planet earth?  A state of mind?  Feeling at ease with one's self?  I'm not really sure, but I feel like it has something to do with comforting others in an otherwise cruel and very matter-of-fact existence.  What is a job well done?  A heist?  A moral and ethical heist?  It's very important to have goals - to set and achieve them.  Otherwise, the world will just come crashing down on top of you and leave you senseless and without reason or purpose.  I rarely turn down a good meal.  Hunger is a gift.  Just having the desire to eat is a blessing in my opinion.  I also enjoy a good story - because every story is an extrapolation of the Truth.  Everyone has something to say or communicate.  I don't think anyone 'owns' anything.  That's magic.  To say:  "I own this or that."  It's the power of suggestion wrapped in a pretty little bow sitting under a Christmas tree.  I do know this:  Life is short, and we have more of an impact on others than we realize - not just in our actions, but in our thoughts as well.  Is there a purpose to this?  Not this document.  Everything.  Existence.  Probably not.  Once you hit a certain age and level of fatigue, you stop caring and start reminiscing.  Memory and fantasy and regret are tied together - and are more true than reality itself.  I'm not trying to be profound either, because I'm a sales machine - not an academic.  Even the people who had all the answers for humanity - take Christ for example - he had questions and struggles with his own existence on this planet, yet he sold answers to the most profound of human questions.  But when he was dying on the cross, I'll be he was straight begging the Lord for a ride home.  No?  More than anything else in life, Trent had lost direction.  Mostly because nothing brought pleasure anymore.  In his last position, he had found himself being admired and ridiculed by his colleagues, and he really didn't know what to make of it.  All this meal buying, tear shedding, accusation throwing, and funny people who show up from seemingly out of nowhere to 'keep-him-around' because his life was running off the railroad tracks.  Where did all of this come from?  This money and hunger?  These high-rise conglomerates?  Was he really just keeping himself alive?  It was mostly a matter of productivity.  Dreamscape vs the Hunger Corp.  How were these gaskets and pistons not firing on all cylinders and where were they all headed?  Had anyone even bothered to ask?  Yes sir, thought Harris.  Seven peanuts for that sector of commercial real estate thank you very much.  Quite a spin on that.  Intrepid.  So much was at stake at the Mental Health Expo & Fundraiser gala.  The sales/action dialogue didn't really occur to anyone.  Some of these bearded hipsters were generating a ton of pay-per-click ad revenue by conducting campy reviews in their parent's basement with obsolete web-cams and peripherals.  Edutainment in antiquity.  April, Harris, and Trent found it funny that some of these vlogs qualified as actual work - a source of income.  Addison no longer had any sense of normality or stability - come to think of it - he was depressed and unmotivated.  Even just his usual mode of survival that entailed being good looking and sarcastic since day one had given out on him.  What he thought was bringing him satisfaction all along was nothing more than an exercise in how to end the pain and impecuniousness that now consumed every fiber of his being.  Either way, he just kept on writing, knowing hell and high water were right around the corner.  Most of everyone's friends in that collective circle had forgotten to remember the smiles and laughter that rarely had anything to do with what the curious mind might associate with happiness or even just being content, but social cues and responses associated with internal fear and embarrassment were still very much alive and kicking - a sort of smoke screen.  There was a ten year old kid the other day who went viral online.  He stole his father's Chevy Impala, only to drive ten miles to the nearest grocery store because he wanted a bottle of Mountain Dew that his parents wouldn't buy him.  That's mischievous?  Irrational?  Nah - and it's not Right vs Wrong or Moral vs Amoral - but Risk vs Consequence Assessment.  That kid will be a winner one day - a multi-millionaire of the one percent.  He doesn't understand rules or laws in society - he understands impulse and takes what he wants, when he wants.  Like a wild animal that speaks.  GOP = That's mine... I'll take that.  DEMS  = Gimme Gimme!!  It's really that simple.  Campy?  Are you trying to understand my logic?  It's called taking what you want out of life - as opposed to waiting for someone to give you what you want (or need for that matter) - but we'll save a political discussion for a later time.  For one, this kid will most likely never blame himself or anyone else for his own personal torment when he approaches adult-hood, or become dependent on the federal government, or take 'no' for an answer.  There are the traits of the Republican mindset - and again - it IS a mindset - whether you live in a cardboard box or in an Italian Villa.  Pippa pulled out her notebook and stared outlining a new novel, or what she believed to be her masterpiece that encompassed the future of literary fiction.  Melody and Joe had prepared a large crock pot of salmon stew with walnuts, kale, and cream of mushroom soup with a TON of turmeric powder.  She could tell the doo doo gooders™ were suffering from a bout of collective depression and decided to throw it together in the kitchen after reading several articles online that talked about foods that were scientifically proven to combat depression and promote a healthy state of mind.  Addison didn't believe in the concept of celebrity, but did believe in the notion of delusions of grandeur.  The world, after all, is a planet with an incalculable amount of people who were, are, and are to come.  To the individual, opportunity trumped survival.  Fun is relative.  Chopin is/was to some a real eye opener, inspiring.  To others, a real composer of 'put-me-to-sleep.'  He also found it funny how the King of Pop became to be known as a child molester, and how the King of Rock 'N Roll died a fat slob on the toilet from a pill overdose, and how Hemingway ended up drinking himself into a noose.  There was no right or wrong answer to any of life's questions; just finding the common thread in human existence was perfectly fine.  Everyone was an artist, musician, collaborator, director, producer, manager, writer, businessman, janitor, politician, athlete, sprinter, model, theologian, a "who's in charge  of the vomit round these parts right cheer?  Yeah ok... let's get that moved quickly  Fast now.  Don't flush that.  Non-flushable. enter laKavna imratish to meck ronowins.?  We Are At War/Memory My Beloved Merston?  Tiny Vision, Tiny Results:  alas Efforopolis Word Porn Word Porn Big Eyes Yesteryear/Contemporary w/Big Garbage band Insipid.  You pissed in my arms as I held you.  And your hole is jealous from camp/.  Towels.  And really salty entrees with pleanty 'o gristle in 'em.  STOP IT WITH THE SAL T     LARRY BIRDNESS!!!No more parchment or pewter for cleaning.  For they have been replaced with toothpick and Elmer and funny fire hydrant with safety pup videos.  Seems funny, but fun traveling; spinning.  left off: salesman, reporter, doctor, comedian, consultant, cartoonist, animal, typist, machinist, inventor, dishwasher, art curator, teacher, student, video-gamer, lawn-mower, fitness instructor, motivational speaker, go-getter, strawberry-picking-snow-shoveler, builder, driver, pastor, con artist, counselor, con arteest. tits!! boobs!! shrink, clerk, back-slider, killer, hater, lover, philosopher, caretaker, friend, mogul, renter, owner, pain management specialist, banker, baker, warden, slob, interior decorator, painter, MC DJ, or host, mechanic, pharmacist, fortune-teller, journalist, rollerblader, IT specialist, youth group leader, surfer, skateboarder, debt collector, sleeper, dreamer, accountant, judge, outlaw, roadie, mechanic, server, airline attendant, ticket-taker, thrill-ride enthusiast, smoker, eater, breather, drinker, critic, public speaker, babysitter, dog-walker, bike-rider, editor, massage therapist, pimp, prostitute, prophet, house-keeper, tutor, human resources associate, attorney, swindler, dietitian, secretary, brand ambassador, addiction specialist, travel agent, entrepreneur, historian, biochemist, sculptor, barista, house-keeper, chef, and lumber jack.  And now that it was time for breakfast, [DING DING DING!!!]  the aroma/odor from the organic sausage that Pippa was frying up only compounded Fenton's nausea.  It was that portion of the cycle in a week long drinking bender where the booze turns its back on you and completely deactivates the appetite.  He sure had one hell of a hangover.  He kept drinking water and puking it up in a small plastic trash can - five times over.  Then came the dry heaving.  He couldn't understand why his body would be rejecting water, knowing the largest component of a hangover was dehydration, and that the human body was composed of 78.000000126% or more water.  Pure logic.  He also noticed that his nasty alcohol-related rash was making another unscheduled appearance, so he began to slather LouAna Coconut Oil all over the infected areas - having an understand that his unbridled/suicidal alcohol consumption eventually would lead to dermatological madness and itchiness, he applied it liberally for treatment and preventative measures.  Fenton could also understand that if his liver could no longer metabolize the 'socially-acceptable-and-legal-poison,' the next mode of involuntary action would be to expel the evil stuff through the skin - the largest human organ.  This was useful news, however, the side effects were rearing their hasty head again.  The voyeuristic nature of social media he also found hypnotic.  The groggy morning, laughing at random photos from middle school classmates.  Women hated the term 'moist,' probably more than the 'c' or 'sk' word.  He knew it was important to stay nourished, even though he was tired of eating, but usually only when he was sober.  Drunkenness would inevitably lead to verbose eating, so he knew he had to keep the fridge stocked full of chicken, bacon, potatoes, eggs, filtered water, sausage, VINEGAR!! and onion, and any other comfort food he could conceive.  To him the only way to maintain any kind of appetite was to consume gas station brew-skies, or attend the church/cult with his brother.  He was always hungry after church/cult, even if he hadn't had a drop that day.  The Definition of Productivity would be to: wake up, loathe his existence, brew coffee, drink said coffee, smoke cheap Cheyenne Cigars - $1.49 (he couldn't afford cigarettes), take a stab at writing some stuff, saute freshly mandolin sliced potatoes to be transferred to the refrigerator, head back out to the Shell Station for for some more cheap brew-skies, check the oil, and before leaving, peruse around said Shell Station only to snag handfuls of black pepper, mustard, relish, mayo, and Texas Pete's Hot Sauce - because they were just giving that stuff away with any purchase over five dollars...