Pete Mandik

Sub Specie Aeternitatis 2. The Five-Second Rule

The very moment Paul and I enter Nikolai's we spot these four hot chicks laughin' it up at the bar. None other than Nikolai himself is tending bar tonight and he's totally got their full attention. He pours four perfect shots without ever taking his eyes off the television. Spills not a drop. Some old movie is on and the sound is turned off so Nikolai can supply, like, his own dialog and sound effects and shit.

The Rule is this: if you see someone you like, or think you might like, or even think you might think you might like, then you must approach them and chat them up in five seconds or less. This prevents you from seeming the wuss. He who hesitates is wussed. The Five-Second Rule has no exceptions. Do not worry about what you are going to talk about. A dumbass on the fly is better than a hung-up genius. The latter's quest for just the perfect thing to say is only going to yield the perfect excuse for not saying anything at all. Of course, a genius on the fly trumps both. Enter the Slaughterhouses.

Slaughterhouse Pete (telepathically, natch): So, like, Marxism and stuff?

Slaughterhouse Paul: Roger that.

Paul jumps in with both feet by just flat-out askin' the chicks ""so, are you like Marxists or what?"" and the chicks are like ""Marxism is an utterly sterile conceptualization of class relations"" (which is pretty hot) and Paul is like ""actually, the whole notion of class relations needs to be transcended"" and a bunch of other shit and they were all like ""oh my God!"" and ""your inferences are totally spurious!"" and ""your strings of non sequitors are egregious beyond all credibility!"" but they were digging on us anyway, or at least, they were digging on Paul.

Paul is real slick. He talks me up to the chicks:

""Gifted in the various DarkArts. Once made time move sideways just by thinking about it. Will twist a knife of pure pleasure right into the guts of your belief system, so watch out if you are not into that sorta thing.""

Though Paul flatters me, his graciousness is ultimately designed to make him appear the better man.

I try to one-up him.

""You could call him a Narco-Transcendentalist or a Super-Luminal Smear Algorithm. You could call him The Uncounted Carb or the Terror that Ravaged a Thousand Alphabets. You might refer to him as the Courage of the Teardrop or the Friend of the Aether. You might describe him as any of these things but what would you have really said? Something really really nice, that's what.""

Slaughterhouse Paul: Nice try. Wuss.

Slaughterhouse Pete: Bah!

(c) 2004 Pete Mandik