Self-Titled Debut - Andrew Farkas

Excerpt from Self-Titled Debut

That worthless pothead, your roommate, so the rumor runs, has sent a message to you, the straight-laced student, the tired-of-staying-up-so-late-everynight-because-someone-won’t-let-you-go-to-sleep guy snoozing on the other side of the room, the pothead from his miniature den of iniquity has sent a message to you alone. He has commanded, or at least asked nicely in his confused sort of way, for the messenger, his girlfriend, to lean closer to him as they both recline in bed, and has whispered the message to her; so much store did he lay on it that he repeated the message two or three times. Then, by a nod of the head, the girlfriend confirmed that she had no clue as to which message to deliver because, having repeated the message two or three times, the pothead had, indeed, communicated two or three different messages with nary a similarity between them. And since there was no one else, no one of import anyhow, to hear the message in your cramped, cluttered, claustrophobic dorm room, only the girlfriend knows the words your stoner roommate spoke. Never can the girlfriend deduce the actual meaning of the message because of the disparate communications and because she herself is trashed; hence, she would have had trouble comprehending a clearly stated message that had been repeated verbatim several times. Yet what does get through to this messenger is the fact that something (whatever it is) must be delivered to you. Oh, but the journey is so far! So arduous!