Noah Cicero - Best Behavior

“Criminal justice.”

“Oh, that's a good one. You can become a detective. You can be like those people on Law and Order .”

“I don't know, I'm not a very dominant person.”

“You can shoot people. That would be awesome. You can scream at them things like, 'I know you did it, you child-fucking bastard!' And then punch them in the cock. Imagine it. That would be so fucking sweet. And you have the certificate that allows a person to do that.”

“I know. That does sound fucking awesome.”

“Seriously. You could be out there shooting the bad guys, sticking them in jail. All kinds of crazy fun adventures a person with a criminal justice degree can have.”

“I was thinking of working for Homeland Security. I would protect us from terrorists.”

The word “terrorists” flashed through my drunken brain. It sent Dick Cheney and Bush's face to the forefront of my brain. I could see Dick Cheney and Bush's face saying things about evil, danger, horror, mass-murder, chemical, biological, Hitler, Saddam, all of that shit flashed through my mind. All that crazy shit that crazy bastard said to this crazy country. All those beautiful Platonic Noble Lies that fucker told us to get Iraqi oil so we could drive our cars, make cell phones, computers and garbage cans out of petroleum.

I said, “You're going to catch terrorists?”

“Yeah, terrorists. Doesn't that sound exciting. I wouldn't personally. I would work in intelligence helping to track them down. Maybe working for the Pentagon.”

More images flew through my head, of Abbie Hoffman and Norman Mailer circling the Pentagon trying to elevate it. Then of the thing on fire, burning. I had seriously never met anyone in my life that wanted to work in the Pentagon.

“Obama is president now. He's going to make friends with the terrorists and we are all going to be in love and have sex and cake.”

“No, Obama hates the terrorists. He always says we are going to 'defeat you.'” She said “defeat you” in a very serious tone while pointing her index finger at my chest.

“You're right. He does want to attack Pakistan.”

“Yeah, he's going to need intelligence for that. And I want it to be me.”

“Does that job pay well?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Does it offer good health care and a 401K?”

“I'm sure they offer health care, but I think the government supplies a pension. Which is better than a 401k. My mom's 401k is gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yeah, she came home yesterday after work crying and said it was all gone.”

“What's her plan?”

“She doesn't have one. She just sat in the kitchen and cried.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything. It made me feel confused. Like what is the point? A person works for years and sees their retirement disappear. She's like 55. She doesn't have enough working years left to make it back.”

“Your parents are divorced?”

“Yeah, my dad left when I was nine. He just moved across town though. I did that two-weekends-a-month thing.”

Monica came running over and yelled at us, “Monopoly at my house after.”

Marissa screamed, “FUCK YEAH! MONOPOLY!”

I was terrified of Monopoly and said, “Fuck yeah,” in a sad pathetic drunken voice.

Monica continued, “Yeah, everyone is excited. Joseph is pumped. He wants to be the shoe.”

Marissa yelled with a high degree of madness, “I want the hat. I always win with the hat.”

Monica looked at me and said, “What piece are you gonna play with?”

“Hmm, the dog.”

Marissa yelled, “Oh my god, you want to be the dog. Nobody ever wins with the dog.”

“I feel that this is the dog's lucky night,” I said.

Monica yelled, “No, the dog is never lucky. You're doomed with the dog. You should be the hat.”

“I don't wanna be a hat. A hat isn't even alive. I want to be an organism.”

“You need to take this seriously, Monopoly isn't a joke,” said Marissa.

Monica said, “Yeah, how you play Monopoly shows what kind of man you are. Like if you can take control in bed and show a woman what it means to be a woman.”

“Are you serious?” I said.

“Oh yeah, it's all about competition. About how you can take down your fellow humans, destroy them in front of their friends and lovers. They are so embarrassed when they have been destroyed. I love to destroy my opponents. I want them to cry themselves to sleep after I have annihilated them. I know when I see a man work hard to beat out his friends playing Monopoly I know that guy is good in bed. Because he wants to win that orgasm. He strives to make that woman have the best orgasm she ever had. So she'll never forget it. She will hate all men that cannot give her that orgasm,” said Marissa.

“I've never thought it about like that,” I said.

Marissa continued, “You should. It's the same for women. Women who want to win at monopoly want to give their boyfriends huge orgasms. That's what Monopoly is about.”

“Sex?”

“Oh yeah. It is like an orgy of sexual tension,” said Marissa.

Monica started to have a funny look on her because she was also confused about what drunken Marissa was talking about. Monica said, “I'm gonna go talk to Amanda.”

Marissa said, “That's why I voted for Barack Obama. He's all competition all the time. You can tell that Obama fucks with determination to be the best fuck that woman ever had. That man competes constantly. He is truly American. He loves to destroy his opponents. Did you see him destroy Hillary? I mean, I'm a woman, but I don't really like them. But I do like men that seem like they have sex like they mean it. He seems like he would have sex with a sense of charity too. Like if Barack Obama was going down on me, and he didn't want to anymore, maybe because his jaw hurt or something. Barack Obama would suffer through it and keep eating that pussy until an orgasm blossomed.”

“Blossomed?”

“Oh yeah, the female orgasm blossoms, it arises from the earth like flowers on the apple trees in the spring.”

“I thought it blew up like a grenade.”

“No, blossom. But listen, Barack Obama destroys. He went up to McCain at those debates and annihilated him. I didn't know who to vote for, but when I saw him just wreak havoc upon John McCain in those debates and McCain walking creeping around the stage at that town hall meeting, saying all that crazy shit about the KGB. I knew he loved to destroy his opponents. And that's what makes a great president. He wants to be the best president. He looks at paintings of Abe Lincoln and says, 'Bitch, you know who I am. I'm gonna take your ass down.' Then he flicks off the painting and swaggers down the hallways the White House.”

“That sounds like really weird behavior,” I said.

“No, it isn't. That's totally normal for competitive people.”

“John Kennedy was competitive and he almost caused a nuclear war.”

“Hmm, America is about competition. It is about the individual expression of destroying your opponent. We can't all be writers. Some of us express ourselves through games.”

“Okay, I get it.”

Marissa screamed, “Obama will beat them all.”

Then the lights came on and the bar was closed. It always sucked when the lights came on. You knew it was over then. No more drinks. No more bar fun. The music was over. Everyone would disperse like nothing ever happened. Everyone put on their coats. Their stocking caps and gloves. The night was over. People went to the bar and paid their tabs with credit cards. Why people thought it would be prudent to buy alcohol with credit cards I never figured out. But they did and didn't care what the consequences were.

For some reason Tom was crying. Amanda and I went over. Tom was washing glasses and said, “My dad died two years ago and Christmas season is driving me crazy. I don't know what is wrong with me. I've been thinking about it all night.”