Intro - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 - Ch. 9 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11 - Ch. 12 - Ch. 13

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This Moron

In the low brown foothills of the Sierra Madres, just a couple days and a few hundred miles into my long journey, a lime green Volkswagen Jetta pulled over for me.  The driver was a beautiful senorita in her early twenties, with long black hair, sun-ripened skin, and two of the most beautiful, mouth-watering melons I'd ever seen.  She caught me staring at them as I climbed into the car.

"Go ahead," she said in perfect English, as she pulled back onto the road.  "Help yourself."

"Thanks," I said, and I began trying to peel one of the canteloupes.  "I'm starving.  I've been on the road forever."  I swallowed a chunk of melon.  It was the most satisfying food I'd ever tasted in a Volkswagen Jetta.  "Your English is great," I said.  "You don't even have an accent."

She glanced at me briefly (but not long enough to wreck the car) and smiled.  "Yeah, I've got it pretty well down," she said.  "It comes in handy where I live."

"Where do you live?"

"Chicago."

"Chicago, Mexico?"

"There's a Chicago, Mexico?"

"I don't know... I was asking you."

"I don't know."

"You're not from there?"

"From where?"

"Chicago."

"I just told you I was."

"You expect me to believe you're from Chicago when you can't even tell me where it is?"

"It's on Lake Michigan."

"You've got a Lake Michigan down here, too?"

She glanced at me quickly and appraisingly.  "Do you just have a stupid sense of humor, or are you some kind of idiot?" she asked.

I was caught so off guard I dropped the melon.  "How could you tell?" I asked.

She shook her head sadly.  "I couldn't tell," she sighed.  "It's just my luck.  It's just my goddam luck."  We drove in silence for a few minutes as I wondered how best to follow up on her opening.   I wanted to draw her out subtly, carefully.  It was possible she was a Mexican agent.  I remembered my cousin Kathy saying having said something about the Mexican government trying to suppress the Manuscript.  It was a delicate moment: I had to let her know I could be trusted without giving away my hand.

"Are you an Idiot?" I finally asked.

"Well," she began, "let's see.  I'm an attractive young single woman driving alone in a fifteen year old car through the Mexican Sierra Madres, and I stopped to pick up a lone male hitch-hiker covered head to toe in filth and reeking of...  of I don't know what...."

"Dirt and sweat," I prompted,  "mostly."

"Right," she said, "dirt and sweat.  Mostly.   If I'm not an idiot, who is?"

"Well," I said, trying to exude some dignity, "whether or not you're an idiot, I know I'm proud to be one, and I know plenty of other people who are just as Idiotic.  In fact, I'll tell you something: I'm on my way to Asininas to meet the Secret Brothers of Los Idiotos, who can help me achieve the last three insights of the Asinine Prophecy."

"Really?"  There was a hint of intrigue in her voice.   Then, abruptly changing character in order to facilitate the forward thrust of the narrative, she added: "It's four hundred miles to Chihuahua.  Why don't you tell me about the insights you've already learned?"

And so I began my tale...

"I hope you didn't take advantage of me during that ellipsis," she said.

"Not at all," I said.

"I mean...  people might infer something that hadn't actually happened."

"Oh, I doubt it."

"Isn't the ellipsis classically employed to suggest sexual content?"

I eyed her nubile young form hungrily.  "Not necessarily..."

"I think you're giving people the wrong impression," she said.

"Not at all," I said.

"I'd just like it clarified for the record that we've driven three-hundred and twenty-seven miles with just one stop for gas and one pee break, and that although I find your account of the Asinine Prophecy interesting and intellectually stimulating in a perverse kind of way--the way, for example, that it was interesting to watch a single-celled creature such as a paramecium melt in the hot light of my microscope in tenth grade--you have yet to run your rough, masculine hands over my cocoa-butter smooth, tanline-free form."

"You must have gone to a good school," I said.   "Where I went to high school we only got one mecium each."

She growled.

"Look," I said. "Up ahead.  The sun's rising."

"It's the dawn of a new day," she said.

"Are you going to join me on my quest for the last three insights?"

"I don't know," she said.  "Let's stop for some breakfast.  I'll think more clearly on a full stomach."

"All right.  Let's stop soon.  I need to recharge with some Universal Energy.  I can show you how to tap it, too.  Then maybe we won't even need your car."

"I like my car."

"Cars get in the way."

"I'm not getting rid of my car."

"I've been through six or seven cars and one truck on my journey toward enlightenment," I said.  "You've got to let go.  You can't let your possessions possess you."

"Is that from the Asinine Prophecy?"

"Calvin and Hobbes."

"That was my favorite comic."

"You got Calvin and Hobbes in Mexico?"

"I told you: I'm from Chicago."

"Right," I said.  "Let's get some breakfast..."

"Cut that out," she said.   "Seriously."

We pulled off at the next exit, followed the ramp down to a little access road that ran through a little gully, followed the access road through some high-rising hills for a couple of miles, turned into a dense and forbidding jungle, and came to a complete stop almost immediately.

"I probably should have stayed on the road," she said.

We got out of the car, followed the crushed undergrowth back out to the access road, and walked for what seemed like hours.  It was a hot morning, and the air was thick with mosquitoes.  At last we saw a welcome sight in the distance: rising out of the jungle less than a quarter mile ahead of us were a pair of gleaming golden arches!

We hurried the rest of the way and let ourselves into the air conditioned luxury of MacDonald's.  The cashier screwed up our order, gave us the wrong change, and wouldn't give me an extra Monopoly Sweepstakes playing piece.

There were no other customers, but the crew was working feverishly.  To tell you the truth, it was kind of eerie.  But it was such a relief to have found a familiar eating establishment in the middle of the Chihuahuan wilds that I didn't mind.  It helped my peace of mind knowing I was with a local.

I answered a few more of her questions about the first seven Insights as we ate, and after our meal the kid who'd been running the fryolator came over and sat down at our table uninvited.

"You want to know the ninth insight?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yes!" we exclaimed in unison.

"Sh!  Quiet.  Listen, I heard you talking, and I want to tell you the ninth insight.  It comes naturally out of the eighth insight."

"I don't know the Eighth Insight yet," I said.

"Sh!  Quiet.  Listen, when you finally master the eighth insight, I mean when you really master it, your inner self will rise out of your body and you will see all the idiocy of the world for what it really is.  This is the highest state of idiocy.  It is called satori by some, nirvana by others, and a thousand other names also.  You will suddenly understand all the eight insights with every fiber of your being, and the world will be like an open book to you.  This I know."

He looked at us significantly, his eyes shining, possibly a symptom of Malaria.

"Wow," said the beautiful young senorita.

"Thanks," I said.

The fryolator kid rose, smiling.  "Now, you want a free refill on those Diet Cokes?"

I looked at the beautiful young senorita, and she looked at me.  We understood each other.

"There's no time for that," I said.  "We've got to get to Asininas for the Eighth Insight."

"Actually, I was thinking I'd like a refill for the road," she said.

So we didn't understand each other.  So what.  We would in time--of that I was certain.

("Macs are up!" someone shouted, "Macs are up...!")

...next chapter...