A Bad Impression

As I was driving home from the grocery store, I played one of the noise albums by one of the brains from my phone's Bluetooth to my car's stereo, but then quickly remembered that my car's front left speaker was erratic. I turned it down.

Crystalbrain was sitting in the front passenger seat taking a hit of crack while changing colors in the pattern of the lights mounted on police cars.

"Yeah, you don't have to worry about getting busted by the cops because you're an immaterial being and only I can see you," I said.

"Fuck the police! Fuck the police!" he said, imitating Ice-T's voice on Body Count's song "Cop Killer".

"You're kidding, right? I mean, you worked for Reagan and the CIA for crying out loud," I said.

"Naw, remember, I worked for Reagan and the CIA smuggling crack into Los Angeles," he said.

I stopped for a second, then shook my head and said, "Crackhead."

Crystalbrain laughed and said, "You know what? No one likes you."

"I don't even know anyone, how could no one like me?" I said.

"Nah, what I'm saying is, that when you go out in public like you just did, people get a bad impression of you. You look like a deranged homeless person," said Crystalbrain.

"OK," I said.

"If you weren't so privileged, you would actually be a deranged homeless person," said Crystalbrain.

"And if you weren't an immaterial being, you would die from overdosing on crack cocaine," I said.

I glanced over at Crystalbrain, and he had the words "Fuck You" written on his forehead for a moment.

Then he said, "OK, so if you're so privileged, why don't you get a life? You can always do your little brain cult thing in stealth mode, when people aren't looking. Hell, you could even run this little operation of yours from a cell-phone. You know all the tricks to stay anonymous. Hell, you even know how to keep your ISP from knowing you're using TOR at all. That's some impressive knowledge. Why don't you use it to get some kind of fuckin' job or something?" he said.

He wove his hand and an ethereal vapor came out of it and turned into a gigantic hand making the "loser" gesture.

"Because that's not the kind of life--" I started but was interrupted.

"Loser!" he said.

"Would you stop it? Just shut the fuck up already?" I asked.

"Loo-hoo...suh-her," said Crystalbrain, imitating Jim Carrey's voice from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.

"Uhhh....and you're a crackhead. So what?" I asked.

"I don't know, it just seems like you're using this whole brain cult thing as an excuse not to do anything with your life. Like you just want to take the system down because you think you couldn't suck-seed in the system, or it would make you not such a badass in your own mind. Face it, you're just afraid of the world and you're lashing out at it," Crystalbrain said.

"Afraid of the world, huh?" I said.

"Yeah, wasn't there that cool-ass book by Issac Asimov called Foundation or something where he said, 'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent'," he said.

"OK, now you've backed yourself into a corner where I could tear you a new asshole for saying that. I have never advocated or committed any acts of violence," I said.

"You're using this music to do violence to yourself," said Crystalbrain.

"And why would I want to do that?" I asked.

"I don't know, maybe because deep down you feel like a loser and hate yourself?" Crystalbrain replied.

"OK, maybe I do. But enough of this psychoanalysis," I said.

"Loser!" laughed Crystalbrain.

"Crackhead," I replied, giving him the middle finger.