Bathroom Monologue: Possible Origins for Him. 10.

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Okay, so there was this guy. Had the genius to program microchips that emitted electromagnetic radiation, which disturbed key connections in the brain. It didn’t cause mere migraines – it brainwashed people, made them drones, made them believe they were entirely new people. His chips were so small he could hide them in the stud of an earring or the band of a hat. And he made these things as an intern at a low-end tech company with very little college education. He had no means or help, and he could have turned half the city into his gangs just by donating some baseball caps to Goodwill.

There was this guy. He had a fistful of mind control, and the world’s worst Lewis Carroll fetish. He took his technology and forced the first dumb blonde he met into an Alice costume. Frumpy blue skirt and doe eyes, everything. When he started a gang, they were Tea Party-themed, all wearing hats. He never thought that somebody might knock them off and free his army. He only pulled robberies to support the hatter habit, trying to run away with this girl he’d brainwashed into being his. He never planned ahead and so got caught. When he escaped? He did the same thing to the same girl and got caught by the same detective. He never brainwashed enough goons, never refined the technology any further, never even looked up a chick on Craigslist who might consent to his cosplay. He was a world-eating genius and it was a miracle the guy could do his own tie.

There was this guy – not that guy. This time, I mean me. Sitting at a lunch counter, watching pundits complain about the rise of monster criminals. A terrorist who left crossword puzzles. A giant crocodile in the sewer. And this Lewis Carroll fetish guy. He didn’t have to drop an electric hat on my noggin to screw up my brain. I dashed into the bathroom and locked it, hoped nobody could hear me hollering. Because I’m unemployed, I’m going nowhere, I can’t get my act booked anywhere in the city while this guy is on TV for squandering his talent. I’m hollering that I can do better than that, and I was going to come up with something before I left this bathroom, or before the owner kicked down the door.

There was this guy – not me. The owner. He made the mistake of kicking down the door too soon. All the inspiration I had was Juicy Fruit in my pocket and obscene jokes on the wall. I blame any shortcomings in my act on his lack of patience. I left him incapable of ever wearing a hat.