So I go, "What's up Pete?" while he collapses down by the fridge and gasps: "They stole my painting, man! They screwed me all the way." "You wanna beer?" I ask. "No Slice, give me some shit or a joint to cool down a little."

I am determined to lie. Who in their right mind would think I am the idiot who stole Pete's piece. Not Pete, that's for sure. Or at least I hope so. I begin to beat around the bush...

"Remember Pete, way back, when we stopped at that outdoor bar in Lockport, the one south of the Joliet jail, we were kinda young and my companion was as beautiful inside as disgusting in flesh, remember? I blatantly mortified by the magnitude of her disbelief in my love for her, she instinctively knowing I did not quite enjoy her physical appearance, just her brilliant brains attracted me like a gigantic magnet, remember man? Or you're out of it, or what?"

"I don't know Slice, hand me the pump and bullshit me about when you wanted to get a real job..."

...............................................................................................

"Your first name, please."
"Slice."
"Middle name?"
"None."
"As in none?"
"None Ma'm, none, as in none."
"Your last?"
"Nod."
"Nod?"
"Yes Madam, Nod as in Eden."
"So, Mr. Slice None Nod your D.O.B. is?"
"None."
"As in none?"
"Yes Ma'm, none as in none, as in D.O.A."
"Qualifications?"
"None."
"As in none?"
"Aha, just like it."
"And what are you prepared to do for us?"
"I don't know Ma'm, whatever..."
"Very well Sir, then you're hired."
"So, when do I start?"
"You'll start don't you worry, but not before you meet Dr. Nistri."
"Dr. Nistri?"
"Yes, he's waiting for you in his office, just walk in there, first door to your right."

"Hello, young man!"
"Hi Sir, Slice's my name."
"Nistri, Dr. Nistri. Have a seat."
"Thanks."
"Well then, I understand Slice you're not Caucasian at all. This alone qualifies you, but tell me one thing, how can anyone be a non-Caucasoid descendant? Forgive me, but do you feel more like a chaeropithecus, do you have bare calluses on your buttocks? For instance, can you wink?"
"I don't know Doc, quit drilling me. Do I have the job or what?"
"You sure do Slice, you're nearly overqualified, but you're hired for sure."
"Alright. What do I have to do then?"
"First of all, let me tell you what we're talking about here. The grand scheme behind The Great Makarios Envelope Factory is based on the assumption that any data concealed inside a white plain envelope, sooner or latter, develops into encouraging information. Such matter, once not readily visible, might help us redeem the Universe and lend a hand to this crestfallen humanity of ours so it should grow to be a better place, a space of wonder love and beauty."
"So, where do I come in this chart?"
"In order for our plan to work Slice, we need you to apply traces of your pointless presence on Earth on all envelopes we produce. This undetectable substance will make it impossible for anyone to leave any written matter on them. With your help all our envelopes will forever be aimlessly delivered between sender and recipient, in a pristine state of pure outer surface blankness, yet enclosing the most precious and non-catastrophic message of all."
"And what could that be?"
"You see Slice, this Universe is poised against itself from T zero. Or better yet, ever since, and previous to, the existence of any dimension such as this T, or S, E, c you can think of. Our world is also at odds with itself since time immemorial. Even we, are at odds with ourselves since something called bipedalism had come around. Imagine a clumsy six-footer who for the past two million years is trying to negotiate an unstable balance against an insidious and undeviating gravity. A guy, a somewhat bulky creature that paws and claws its path... perpetually crushed perpendicularly to the nature of one's life direction. Envisage Slice, everything you cannot feel multiplied by
seven 7 trillion times. Just picture a realm where your life is a subversion of somebody else's death, a place of abstruse inconsistence, a factory of fractions of fractions of..."
"Ok, ok, but who's this guy, Doc?"
"It is you Slice. You!"
"Who, me? Me? Perpendicular paws? Come on Doc, I ain't no Chupacabra!"

No wild laughter from Pete this time. My Pete; he now really accomplished something... spread eagle on my kitchen floor.

OD-ed, disentangled at last, a tumbleweed on fire, some place...