02/07/01

So Swami starts psychoanalyzing me. I hear him say something like, it appears to me you frequently employ derision as a defense mechanism.

That’s just before I drift off into a daydream. I imagine Swami’s life before he arrived in the USA. I imagine he was born in a poor farming village in India co-joined at the ass with a twin. I imagine Swami’s mother doing everything she can to bring attention to her sons’ plight, finally connecting with a doctor in the USA who agrees to perform ass surgery to separate the boys. I imagine Swami’s mother left with the task of picking which son will have a rectum and which will go without. I imagine a coin flip takes place to settle the matter, with Swami being selected as the asshole getter. I imagine Swami always getting hit up by his twin---that his twin is never shy to put the guilt on him for taking possession of their sphincter. I imagine Swami allowing his twin to pose as him at the Powelton Club time and time again to the point that Swami can hardly ever get his golfing in anymore. . .that is until the colostomy bag accident at tea time causes the ruse to become revealed. . . .

For some reason I find Swami glaring at me, asking me angrily, have you been listening to anything I’ve said?