Lucky Number Sleven Eleven

Josh Hartnet's hard cock was up to the hilt in some chick's pussy when the phone rang.
"Baby..."
"Hang on," Josh grunted, " it might be my agent."
With the deft skill of staying hard mid coital, Josh picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Hi, is this Josh Hartnett?"
"Yeah, who's calling?"
"Dude. You fucking suck."
Josh's confusion was masked by the stupid shit-eating stupor that is and always will be his star-made face. He shifted his weight, plowing slightly deeper into his girlfriend.
"Harrison? Harrison Ford, is this you?"
"The fuck you care. "
"I'm sorry," Josh said, trying his best to remain erect, "but you've called at a bad time."
"You ruined Lucky Number Slevin, You bit it in that fucking Ben Afleck Plane movie, and I'm still seeking reparations for enduring you in 'Hollywood Hold-up'."
Josh's Hard-on throbbed.
"You mean 'Hollywood Homicide'".
"Whatever. The point is, the universe is about to implode upon you becuase you suck so much. You are a black hole of Hollywood. You need to be taken out."
Josh's prick remained firm, though it began to slowly ebb, just ever so slightly.
"Yeah," Josh breathed, "well, you've made your point. What more do you want?"
"Your citizenship."
"Excuse me?"
"You say you're from Minnesota. Mendota Heights. Okay. Sure, it's no Golden Valley, but it still sucks, and not in an obvious Edina-cake-eating suck... Its an evil, subversive suckage, like black mold. The kind that causes cancer. You're a fucking Mendota Heights Preppy piece of suckage, and you make me almost want to declare myself a Wisconsinite."
Josh's penis went flaccid, a pitch-perfect impression of his career.
"So, you want me to renounce my Minnesota Citizenship, right bro?"
"Word."
"Well," Josh felt his penis jump slightly, "I may be one step ahead of you. Have you looked me up on IMDB.com?"
"No."
Josh's penis slowly nodded upward.
"If you go to my site, you'll discover that my D.O.B and Location list me not as a Minnesotan, but a Californian. Go on, look it up."
The other end of the line went quiet, the soft clickety-clack of computer keys being the only sound.
"Josh Hartnett, " the voice read, "Born July 21st , 1978, San Francisco, California...."
Josh flexed his fully erect cock and nestled himself in between his girlfriend's legs.
"That's right!" He said, " Who sucks now, huh, mothafuckah?"
"....I'm sorry." The voice on the phone was numb.
Josh's shit-eating stupor became even more emotionless as his excitement grew,
"Yeah," he yelled, "Crawl for my forgiveness, you fat fucking piece of non-me! Ohh!! Ohh!!"
The ropes of Josh's semen cascaded down his girlfriend's inner thigh. She sighed.
"Oh well, " she sighed, "I guess I'll just carry this one over."
"No!" Josh cried, "No! Dammit! We'll try again...please... oh god, why? Why?"
From somewhere deep in the heart of Minnesota, a raspy laugh filled the cold plastic reciever, travelling miles upon miles over the line, bursting from Josh's phone, burrowing straight into his head and feasting on his ego.
"No!!! No!!!! No!!!!"
I'd like to say that I hung up. I'd like to, but I'm still on the other line.


______________________________________

I may have trouble believing in organized religion, but I do believe whole-heartedly in alternate universes. More specifically, alternate lives.
Have you seen Sliding Doors , (Gwenyth Paltrow)?
The flick is about this chick who gets fired and heads home. She's late for her train and it shows her running toward its sliding doors. At this part the film splits in two. It shows one instance where she makes the train and gets home to find her husband cheating on her. It then shows another instance where she misses the train, gets mugged on her walk home and, ultimately arrives home none the wiser that her husband is cheating on her. Anyway, the whole movie shows this woman in split versions. Throughout the movie her two lives cross paths with each other at several landmarks. Its very cool.
Anyway, I was driving home late from Woodbury tonight, recovering from my second job, when I was suddenly filled with this wierd sappy sense of nostalgic happiness. It may have been my fatigue, but I'd like to believe that I had just crossed paths with another version of myself, a version that works the late shift at the Woodbury Cub Foods, a version that still lives with his parents in Wisconsin, all angry that he isn't living in Minneapolis. I spent the whole ride home imagining what my alternate self was up to at the moment. I don't think he's any happier than I am right now, but then again, the grass is always greener.... blah, blah, blah..

Does anyone else out there have alternate lives? I know my alternate self just called Brian Kennedy's alternate self on the phone yesterday, and they are both planning on assembling their MN State Fair Cheese Curd booth this weekend. They're having a heck of a time trying to get Kate Kennedy's alternate self to participate in the decorations. Oh Kate.

So. To all the alternate selves out there, good night, and good luck.
love, noah.