Calling Bullshit

I take offense at A Hamburger Today's lamenting how sad it is that Dennis Lee ate at a White Castle all by himself. I did it many, many, MANY times while in Brooklyn. And I don't care that it as on Valentine's Day; if you saw ho I've spent the last two decades of Valentine's Days you'd gouge your eyeballs out. I only ever had company at a White Castle once.
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I felt bad about having to pull Chuck from the playground, so we swung by White Castle.  It’s difficult to think of a worse place to bring a two year-old than one covered in bullet-proof glass and toxic grease, but I’d just watched a retarded guy drop his pants and was having an “I need a real career” crisis, so I felt like some goddam White Castle.  And God bless Chuck; after getting our order and sitting down at a table, he still wanted to talk about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

“Rats!”

I gave him a cup filled with Goldfish and dug into one of my many, many cheeseburgers.

“That’s right, lil’ buddy.  Rats needs a job.  A career, even.  Everyone else I know has one.”

“More gofish, Rats!”

“You got it, lil’ buddy.”  I dumped another handful into his cup.  “I’m telling you, I should’ve latched onto some stupid corporate job the second I graduated college, right?  Some faceless, whatever corporation with six weeks paid vacation, free coffee and Super Bowl pools.  How the heck did I not do that?”

“Whayou doing, Rats?”

“That’s the whole point - I had no idea what the heck I was doing.  Did I do it on purpose, lil’ buddy?  I mean, it’s not like I consciously decided ‘eff the man!’ and came here to be some sort of bohemian, cool guy artist that refused to make money or be a part of society, right?  No, I came to New York City, and have been wandering around in a fog ever since, doing nothing that means anything to anybody.”

“Rats!  Meful, Rats!”

“No no, you’re right,” I corrected myself, “all this time with you has meant something.  You’re right.  Everything else, though, it’s been a big fog of nothingness.”

“Nuffin rats!”

“You said it, lil’ buddy,” I agreed.  “A big, fat nothing.  I can’t even sell out right; I’m like the starving artist, but without bothering with the pesky part of being an artist.  Or, obviously, starving.”