Stop Talking To Yourself Read online

  Stop Talking To Yourself

  By

  Tim van den Oudenhoven

  © Tim van den Oudenhoven, 2012.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or used without the author’s consent.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ABOUT TIMMY THE TIMTIM

  THE ADVENTURES OF TIMMY THE TIMTIM

  A 21ST CENTURY PROPHET

  CONVICTION

  SUSPICIONS

  PONDERING EXISTENCE

  EMO PLANEMO

  ODE TO SOME DEAD BABIES

  WISDOM – I

  GODOT & I

  THE EXCLAMATORY INVENTOR

  THE CYCLOPS AND LAMP

  YOU NEVER WALK ALONE – CONVERSATIONS WITH MY SPAM FOLDER

  SELLING OF ONE’S SOUL

  SMURF REPAIR

  PET

  WHATEVER HAPPENED TO JIMMY?

  ENGINE START

  I JUST CAN’T WAIT TO BE KING

  WISDOM – II

  A STRANGE MEETING

  MAKING KAFKA PROUD

  TIMMY IN NEW ZEALAND

  TIMMY ON A TRAMMY

  FORESTRY

  CONVINCINGLY

  THE IMPOSTER

  WISDOM – III

  THE BIRD IS THE WORD

  PARALLELS

  THE TEN MILLIONTH MAN IN CHAOS

  URBAN STYLE GUIDE

  TRYING TO BECOME A REPORTAGE PHOTOGRAPHER

  THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD

  TOO MUCH CHOICE

  CUSTOMER SERVICE

  OLD LOVE

  PUNISHMENT BEFORE/AFTER CRIME

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  THE CARNAL CHRISTIAN

  NOW WHAT?

  ANIMAL LOVING?

  FAVOURS

  ABOUT TIMMY THE TIMTIM

  ‘I don't know who this Tim guy is, but he sounds sick to me.’

  ‘What I think is that Tim is such an arrogant piece of shit, thinks he's better than everyone else, just because he rides a blue bicycle! Well, let me tell you something, his hole isn't as deep as he says it is!’

  ‘I don't care what anyone says. I kind of like him. Sure, he's weird, but it's better to be weird than to get raped by a horse that won the Grand National, isn't it?’

  ‘That stupid faggot? You know what I think? I think he's had some work done, if you know what I mean. If he thinks bigger boobs will make him more respected as a woman, then I think he's very much mistaken.’

  ‘Someone should teach that cunt a lesson! He walks around thinking he's Louis the Fucking Fourteenth!’

  ‘You know, I feel sorry for that poor misguided child he is sleeping with. That boy gives his heart to this asswipe, but all that arrogant cock cares about is the amount of times he gets laid per week, complaining and whining like a baby if it's not a six figure number.’

  ‘Timmy? Never heard of him. Is he one of those Eastern European burglars I've been hearing so much about? Castrate him, I say!’

  ‘To me it's like that jerk doesn't know what he wants. I mean, it's like he can't decide to be a man or a woman. GET THE OPERATION AND STOP CONFUSING ME, YOU JACKASS!’

  ‘Seriously, I was at this gang bang and suddenly, people started talking about Timmy and I swear, every erection in the room immediately vanished. Even mine, and I was on 4 Viagra and fistfuls of poppers. So we watched Beauty & the Beast instead.’

  ‘He's okay, I guess. I mean, I wouldn't go out with him or allow for him to babysit my hamsters (you never know what these perverts get off on), but I don't think it's fair for me to judge him from what I know.’

  ‘I think the world would be a better place without him. When he suggested he went to the sperm bank to 'spread his genes', I was really appalled. It's no longer narcissism, it's solipsism!’

  THE ADVENTURES OF TIMMY THE TIMTIM

  I drooled myself awake at 11-ish (since drool has the alarm clock capability of getting cold, thus making one awake), and after my morning yoga (i.e. shit) I pranced around town, harassing all that came my way. A fortune-teller read my fortune, but he was no ordinary fortune-teller, no, you have the kind that reads tealeaves or Nostradamus, but this one was able to berate of my future fortunes with the simple use of my excrement. He proclaimed his gift has been in his family for generations and that he has never gotten famous because toilet manufacturers conspired against him. Luckily, I had forgotten to flush after my morning ‘yoga’, so I hurried home to fetch my babies. As I handed them to our fortune-teller, he released a big gasp, as if he'd never seen anything like it in all his years of faecal occupation.

  ‘AAAAH! Shit!’

  ‘What? You OK?’

  ‘It is enormous!'

  ‘Well, I AM a big boy, you know!’ I winked playfully.

  ‘No, no, I'm talking about the vision I just had while inspecting your product.’

  Curious, I bent over to inspect my excrement more clearly, but I could not make out anything, apart from an undigested Ferrero Rocher wrapper, which was all that was left of the Ferrero Rocher I had devoured the night before, without even taking the time to unwrap the chocolate.

  The man added that if I'd tell anyone the details of our conversation, the future he predicted would forever change, so I'm sure you'll all forgive me if I keep quiet about it. I can just say this: I never thought I'd have it in me to milk a cow. *Nudge-nudge, wink-wink*

  After going to the haberdasher's - a fine shop, it has all the habers you can dash! - I entered a supermarket where a man was arguing with a gay 18-year-old cashier about wanting money from the till. I laughed loudly, interrupting the man's incoherent speech, telling him supermarkets don't hand out free money, Patti Smith allegedly does that (but from the looks of her, you might need to wash the cash first). I added he'd have more luck at a bank, since 18-year-old gay boys (especially dim and ugly ones like that one) just don't hand out cash to random drunks passing by. If what I've learnt from magazines, my Christian prayer club and badly scripted pornography is true, gay boys (especially the dim ones) tend to charge money to other people for all kinds of things they do. Sadly, all my magazines and badly scripted pornography has been censored by said Christian prayer group, so I'm still not quite sure what exactly it is they're talking about, but I bet it's nasty, with like lots of snot or something.

  Superheroic as I was today, I also laughed at my cat for not being able to consider and question her own existence, though my laughter soon turned green when I realised that the situation is actually very unproblematic for her, while for me, it is a major issue, something even the faecal fortune teller could see. Filled with non-directional angst, I poured myself a glass of milk (not really, I just drink from the bottle) and gulped it down in a matter of seconds. When your existence is at stake, you know you have to play it hard.

  And then we slept....

  A 21ST CENTURY PROPHET

  'Hello, this is the Help Line for Those without Anyone to Talk To.'

  'Hi, I was just wondering if you could help me with something.'

  'It's what I'm here for, or at least that's the idea.'

  'So yeah, I just found out I'm this prophet...

  'You what?'

  'Well, I had a vision and the old Norse god Loki came to me, telling me that he was the one who gave me fire, like Prometheus to the Greeks, but that he also rejoiced in seeing myself get burnt by it.'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'Yeah, and then he told me that I am actually a prophet, he contacted me so that I could prepare humanity for Ragnarök.'

  'Ragna-what?'

  'Ragnarök, you know, the end of the world, after which every human on earth will die except for two, a man and a woman, who will then continue to repopulate the earth. He told me that I am going to be that surviving man.'

>   'Sir, I think...'

  'Please! I don't know who else to talk to, I'm really worried, because I know what I saw, I'm not mad!'

  'Nobody's saying that you are, but you need to calm down.'

  'But how can I? Loki asked me to prepare the human race for this epic battle, but I think the Gods are a bit out of touch with reality... I mean, how am I supposed to convince people of what I saw?'

  'I don't really know sir, most people who call here have either lost their keys somewhere or want to jump in front of a train. The amount of prophets we get is really not that high.'

  'You see, I am worried about this vision, because I know deep-down in my heart that it was real. And Loki warned me that if I failed in my divine mission, I would be eternally punished in the afterlife, so you know... I have to do something.'

  'Sir, I'm just looking up Loki on Wikipedia and I don't think you have any reason to believe what he says. He's supposed to be locked up, you know, so there's no chance he could have just left his prison to talk to someone like you.'

  'No, that's the thing see, I knew he was locked up, so I asked him, and he told me that Odin released him to come and talk to me, so that he could restore his sacred position among Gods.'

  'Sure he did...'

  'No, I'm telling you! He even showed me video proof on his iPhone!'

  'Sir, I don't think you're a prophet!'

  'I know! That's the thing. How do I tell people in the twenty-first century that I am actually the real deal? I asked Loki if he had a Facebook so that he could vouch for me as the real thing, but he said Facebook wasn't allowed in eternal life, something about productivity losses or something…'

  'Hmmm, you're a prank caller, aren't you?'

  'NO! I swear I'm not! Listen, I tried to reason with Loki, telling him how impossible it would be without any real proof, but he just wouldn't listen. It's like the Gods are all still stuck in the Dark Ages!'

  'Maybe you should see a psychiatrist...'

  'Oh, Fuck you! I know you don't believe me, but just make an effort, will you!?'

  'Sir, have you considered that you might actually not be a prophet?'

  'Of course I have. I don't want to be a prophet! I mean, I don't look forward to the end of the world and afterwards having to mate with a woman I don't even know!'

  'Didn't he tell you who the woman was going to be?'

  'Well, no, he didn't! And anyway, I'm gay, so it's all going to be bad...'

  'Sir, I wouldn't worry about it too much. Get a good night's sleep and maybe it'll all be over...'

  'That's easy for you to say, you'll be dead soon!'

  *click*

  CONVICTION

  ‘I'm telling you, he's real! It's not because he doesn't happen to be with me now that he doesn't exist! Look, here's a hair of his! And it's quite obviously black, so it couldn't possibly be mine! What? Of course it's not a wig from an alter ego! How dare you? It's like you're looking away from the evidence I'm showing you. All these clothes in our wardrobe, is that fake too then?’

  ‘No, that's just your schizofrenic you who pretends to be your lover. Nobody lives here but you, Mr Timmy The TimTim.’

  ‘But there's a fucking picture, standing on my bedside table? What more proof do you want?’

  ‘I want to see him, that picture could be anyone.’

  ‘Look, come back tomorrow maybe, or some time next week. I can show him to you.

  I am not insane. I talk to him all the time. And he talks to me. Just not right now. Because he's on a mission! He's a really important person, you know!’

  ‘Then why can we find no record of his existence?’

  ‘Well, his job is top secret! Why the fuck are you doing this to me? I know who I'm with, I know he is real, so piss off, will ya?’

  ‘We want you to see this psychiatrist. It's for your own safety.’

  ‘I don't need to see one! Do you want me to call him? Look, I'll call him okay...

  It's ringing...

  Hello? It's his voicemail. Look, would he have this phone number and this voice if he would be me?’

  ‘Mister The TimTim, we are very concerned about your mental state of health. If you do not agree to see a psychiatrist, we might even have to put you away...’

  ‘On what grounds? Listen to me: He. Is. Real.’

  ‘Who are you talking to on this video?’

  ‘That's him. Wait... that can't be. Where is he? That video's a fake... But that's me. Oh my... Oh my...

  I mean... He's real... I know he is... He holds my love.’

  ‘We know... now why don't you come with us and we'll make you better?’

  ‘But I... but.... Okay.’

  SUSPICIONS

  ‘Keep you friends close, but your enemies closer,’ is what they say.

  If my interpretation of this is correct, then my very own boyfriend is in fact my worst enemy, up to gather information about me that might lead to my downfall. You must know that I am cautious ever since I came to this realisation. When he makes dinner for me, I always take a bit of what he's cooked and force-feed it to my cat. If 5 minutes later (‘It's too hot, my dear, I'll wait until it's cooled down’) the cat is still alive, I know that he hasn't been attempting to poison me... Yet! This was actually the main reason why I insisted on having a cat, even though I am allergic to cats (they cause me to expand, which explains my obesity), it is the best life insurance I have now.

  And I cannot just take off. Because I know he will follow me and then I will definitely be dead. First I thought he was actually working for somebody else, one of my old arch nemesises (nemesi?), but I always figured most of them had become professional drug addicts and, after that, organ donors. Maybe his enmity towards me started when my other Self took over and maybe it's this other Self he is trying to destroy, bit by bit.

  Not that I am too worried though. Every time we arm wrestle, I let him win so that he thinks he is stronger than me, but little does he know I have been a member of the local gym and in this gym a key member of the National Alliance for Steroid Inserters (‘NASI’, the abbreviation is an unlucky one, I admit). The key thing here is strategy; I need to find out the reason why he hasn't been putting poison in my food (or not enough anyway). There must be something he is after, to complete his ultimate revenge. It can't be my money, because he knows I've invested it all in bright yellow leg warmers (knitted and with stars and/or skulls on them) and the return on my investment won't be for another 70 years, when the eighties will return to us.

  What I do know, however, is that I must be very careful with what I say. It makes perfect sense that soon after he got what he came here for, he will do the unthinkable and terminate my existence. I know that we are getting closer to that point, because a while back, he told me he was going to look for a job in a funeral home or a morgue, obviously to learn how to dispose of a body properly.

  ‘I love you,’ he says, plotting his next move.

  ‘I love you too,’ I reply, aware of what he's up to.

  PONDERING EXISTENCE

  'Dad, why did they invent wars?'

  He has reached the inquisitive phase of life, in which he will innocently ask all questions great philosophers will try and answer. The child, he looks about 5 years old, has this extremely blond hair that I used to have when I was his age. His question is as innocent as his hair. I am walking behind the boy and his father, smiling at the father for having to answer such a question. His eyes leave mine, acknowledging the innocence and thinking of an answer.

  'Sometimes people think they can't talk things out and then they feel like they have to fight each other,' he looks at his son, hoping he'd leave it at that.

  'But how do all those army-men know who the enemy is, because there are so many?'

  'They wear different clothing, son. And sometimes they look different.'

  'But wouldn't it better than to start wearing the clothes of the other one so that you wouldn't get shot yourself?'

  'Well, no, because then nobody wo
uld know who is on whose side?'

  'But then maybe they could like each other if they started talking wearing the same clothes? And maybe so they can be friends?!'

  'Hmmm, maybe you're right, son. It just won't happen like that. It seems they don't want to be friends.'

  'I will always make friends, dad! I don't want to hurt people. I will not start a war, I promise!'

  'I really hope you don't start one.'

  'I won't, I said I promise!'

  'That's great, boy. Would you like some ice cream?'

  'Yes!!!'

  EMO PLANEMO

  'So, what happened this week then?'

  'Well, there was this thing in the sky, right...'

  'The sun?'

  'No, not the sun! It's this thing called a planemo and there are millions of them scattered about the universe.'

  'And what are they, then?'

  'They're planets whose mother stars didn't want them, the man on National Geographic said in a sad and gloomy voice and they're everywhere, only we can't see them, but we can feel them, in our hearts maybe.'

  'And...'

  'Well, they're all alone without the warmth of their parent star, orphans of the sky, lone travelers among the mystic voids of space, eternal wanderers of the universe, rejected by all and everything.'

  'That's a bit overemotional, isn't it?'

  'Well, no, because there could be life on them, kittens who also get abandoned by their parents because the parents thought ‘well, since our sun didn't want to keep us warm, why should I give my kitten warmth? Why don't I just abandon it?’And then the kitten would die!'

  'But it would be too cold for life on them, so the kitten would be dead anyway, wouldn't it?'

  'No, the man said that there was life possible, because of global warming before the planet got thrown out of its solar system, so there could be microbes and other life, maybe tortoises or Mongolians or something.'

  'Thrown out of its solar system?'