Macaulay Culkin Does Nothing
I was at home doing nothing* when my wife called. I mean, my ex-wife. She wanted to know why I hadn’t picked up the kids. “Because we don’t have any,” I said. “Don’t you talk about your children that way. What kind of father are you?” “I’m no kind of father! We were married for a month before you left me for our eye doctor, and you haven’t called me since.” I ended up in the kitchen, fixing the strongest of drinks (Liquid Plumr martini). She scoffed. “So you think just because I left you that you can abandon our children?” I can hear something screaming in the background, and a man’s voice: “Tell that piece of shit to come visit his kids.” I slam the cabinet door below the sink. “No, you tell Mr. Tonetta to stay out of this, Rebecca. No – there’s not even anything to stay out of! I don’t have kids!” My ex whispered something, and I cranked up the volume. “He’s not buying it,” she barked. “Shit, we’re gonna be late. I hate missing the movie trivia before the previews,” Mr. Tonetta moaned. “It’s all commercials now anyway –” “HEY. I can hear you.” “Oh fuck.” She hung up. I took a sip of my martini. “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, then threw up.
* It takes great effort to do nothing. You must work backwards, beginning with what most people do when they “do nothing.” You tap your feet, or rub your legs, or tilt your head back and forth. The recognition of these things shifts them from unconscious tics to conscious motion, so you stop yourself, one by one. Take this further. Think to yourself, I am blinking consciously. I am seeing consciously. I am sitting consciously. I am breathing consciously. I am thinking consciously. I am being consciously. Now, stop.