بخش 02

: باشگاه مشت زنی / فصل 2

باشگاه مشت زنی

10 فصل

بخش 02

توضیح مختصر

  • زمان مطالعه 10 دقیقه
  • سطح خیلی سخت

دانلود اپلیکیشن «زوم»

این فصل را می‌توانید به بهترین شکل و با امکانات عالی در اپلیکیشن «زوم» بخوانید

دانلود اپلیکیشن «زوم»

فایل ویدیویی

متن انگلیسی فصل

Every evening I died. And every evening I was born again. Resurrected. Bob loved me because he thought my testicles were removed too. Being there, pressed against his tits, ready to cry. This was my vacation.

And she ruined everything. This is cancer, right? This chick, Marla Singer, did not have testicular cancer.

She was a liar. She had no diseases at all. I had seen her at Free And Clear, my blood parasites group, Thursdays. Then at Hope, my bimonthly sickle-cell circle. And again, at Seize The Day, my tuberculosis, Friday night. Marla, the big tourist. Her lie reflected my lie. And suddenly, I felt nothing. I couldn’t cry. So once again, I couldn’t sleep. Next group, after guided meditation, after we open our heart chakras, when it’s time to hug, I’m gonna grab that bitch, Marla Singer, and scream. Marla, you liar! You big tourist, I need this! Now, get out!

I hadn’t slept in four days. We’ll just let that dry… When you have insomnia, you’re never really asleep. And you’re never really awake. To begin tonight’s communion, Chloe would like to say a few words. Oh, yeah. Chloe. Chloe looked the way Meryl Streep’s skeleton would look if you made it walk around being extra nice to everybody. Well, I’m still here. But I don’t know for how long. That’s as much certainty as anyone can give me. But I’ve got some good news.

I no longer have any fear of death. But… I am in a pretty lonely place. No-one will have sex with me. I’m so close to the end, and all I want is to get laid for the last time. I have pornographic movies in my apartment,

  • and lubricants and amyl nitrite.
  • Thank you, Chloe.

Everyone, let’s thank Chloe. Thank you, Chloe. Now, let’s ready ourselves for guided meditation. You’re standing at the entrance of your cave. You step inside your cave and you walk… If I did have a tumor, I’d name it Marla.

Marla. The scratch on the roof of your mouth that would heal if you could stop tonguing it. But you can’t.

..deeper into your cave as you walk. You feel a healing energy all around you. Now find your power animal.

Slide. OK. Let’s partner up. Pick someone special to you tonight.Hey.

  • We need to talk.
  • Sure.

  • I’m onto you.
  • What?

Yeah. You’re a faker. You’re not dying.

Sorry?

In the Tibetan-philosophy, Sylvia-Plath sense of the word, I know we’re all dying.

  • But you’re not dying the way Chloe is.
  • So?

So you’re a tourist.

I’ve seen you. I saw you at melanoma, I saw you at tuberculosis. I saw you at testicular cancer! I saw you practising this.

  • Practising what?
  • Telling me off.

Is it going as well as you hoped,… Rupert? I’ll expose you. Go ahead. I’ll expose you. Come together. Let yourselves cry. Oh, God. Why are you doing this? It’s cheaper than a movie and there’s free coffee. Look, this is important. These are my groups. I’ve been coming for over a year.

  • Why do you do it?
  • I don’t know.

When people think you’re dying, they listen to you instead of… Instead of waiting for their turn to speak.

Yeah. Yeah. Share yourself… completely. Look, you don’t want to get into this.

  • It becomes an addiction.
  • Really?

I’m not kidding. I can’t cry if another faker is present, and I need this. You gotta find somewhere else to go. Candystripe a cancer ward.It’s not my problem. No, wait a second. Hold on. We’ll split up the week, OK?

You take lymphoma and tuberculosis.

You take tuberculosis. My smoking doesn’t go over at all. OK. Good. Fine. Testicular cancer should be no contest. Technically, I have more right to be there. You still have your balls.

  • You’re kidding.
  • I dunno. Am I?

No. No.

  • What do you want?
  • I’ll take the parasites.

You can’t have both. Take the blood parasites.

  • I want brain parasites.
  • I’ll take the blood but I want brain dementia.

  • I want that.
  • You can’t have the whole brain.

So far, you have four. I only have two. OK. Take both the parasites. They’re yours. Now we both have three… Hey! You left half your clothes.

  • What, are you selling those?
  • Yes!

I’m selling some clothes! So! We each have three. That’s six. What about the seventh day? I want bowel cancer. The girl had done her homework. No. No. I want bowel cancer. That’s your favorite too?

  • Tried to slip it by me, eh?
  • Look, we’ll split it.

Take the first and third Sunday.Deal. Looks like this is goodbye. Let’s not make a big thing out of it.

How’s this for not making a big thing? Hey, Marla! Marla! Maybe we should exchange numbers. Should we?

  • We might wanna switch nights.
  • OK.

This is how I met Marla Singer. Marla’s philosophy of life was that she might die at any moment. The tragedy, she said, was that she didn’t. It doesn’t have your name! Who are you? Cornelius? Rupert? Travis? Any of the stupid names you give each night? You wake up at SeaTac. SFO. LAX. You wake up at O’Hare.

Dallas Fort Worth.

BWI.

Pacific. Mountain. Central. Lose an hour. Gain an hour. The check-in for that flight isn’t for another two hours, sir. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time. You wake up at Air Harbor International.

If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person? Everywhere I travel, tiny life. Single-serving sugar and cream. Single pat of butter. The microwave cordon bleu hobby kit.

Shampoo-conditioner combos. Sample-package mouthwash. Tiny bars of soap. The people I meet on each flight, they’re single-serving friends. Between takeoff and landing, we have our time together. That’s all we get.

Welcome!

On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. I was a recall coordinator. My job was to apply the formula. The infant went through the windshield. A new car built by my company leaves somewhere traveling at 60mph. The rear differential locks up. The teenager’s braces are stuck to the ashtray.

Might make a good anti-smoking ad. The car crashes and burns with everyone trapped inside. Now, should we initiate a recall? The father must have been huge. See where the fat burned to the seat? The polyester shirt? Very modern art. Take the number of vehicles in the field, A. Multiply it by the probable rate of failure, B. Multiply the result by the average out-of-court settlement, C.

A x B x C

equals X.

If X is less than the cost of a recall, we don’t do one. Are there a lot of these kinds of accidents? You wouldn’t believe. Which car company do you work for? A major one.

Every time the plane banked too sharply on takeoff or landing, I prayed for a crash or a midair collision.

Anything. Life insurance pays off triple if you die on a business trip. “If you are seated in an emergency exit row and would be unable or unwilling to perform the duties listed on the safety card, please ask a flight attendant to reseat you.”

It’s a lot of responsibility.

Wanna switch seats? No. I’m not sure I’m the man for that particularjob. An exit-door procedure at 30,000ft.

The illusion of safety. Yeah. I guess so. You know why they put oxygen masks on planes?

  • So you can breathe.
  • Oxygen gets you high.

In a catastrophic emergency, you take giant panic breaths. Suddenly you become euphoric, docile. You accept your fate. It’s all right here. Emergency water landing, 600mph. Blank faces. Calm as Hindu cows.

That’s…

That’s an interesting theory.

  • What do you do?
  • What do you mean?

What do you do for a living? Why? So you can pretend you’re interested?

OK.

You have a kind of sick desperation in your laugh. We have the exact same briefcase.

Soap.

  • Sorry?
  • I make and I sell soap.

The yardstick of civilization. And this is how I met…Tyler Durden. Did you know if you mix gasoline and frozen orange juice, you can make napalm?

  • No, I did not. Is that true?
  • That’s right.

One can make all kinds of explosives with simple household items.

  • Really?
  • If one was so inclined.

Tyler, you are by far the most interesting single-serving friend I have ever met.

  • Everything on a plane is single-serving…
  • Oh, I get it. Very clever.

Thank you. How’s it working out for you?

  • What?
  • Being clever?

Great.

Keep it up, then. Right up. A question of etiquette. As I pass, do I give you the ass or the crotch?

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