I wonder whether anyone’s going to follow him in there. I wonder whether he’s okay. I wonder whether he’s right about all those Russian dolls and why we’re in here in the first place.
And most of all I wonder what Linkletter decided to do about all those Penisiraptors.
CHEAT CODE
It all started with that damned book.
My life was a train wreck before I read it. Forty-five years old and I was still baggin’ groceries down at the Piggly Wiggly. I couldn’t even get a job at one of those upscale chains with the hummus and the hundred kinds of olives and the organic Cola. Nope. Not me. I was at a joke of a grocery store in a joke of a town out in the middle of BFE.
I had dreams. Everybody’s got dreams. Problem is I didn’t do anything about ‘em. Wanted to be a rock star, but never learned the guitar. Wanted to be in the movies, but never took an actin’ class. So how bad did I really want any of that shit anyway?
Not very. What I really wanted was to get shit faced on Natty Lite every weekend down at Colson’s Creek.
It was great when I was in my twenties. Girls, friends, guns, and a whole lot of fire. The parties were off the hook. Truck races, muddin’, jumpin’ down into the creek off the tire swing. Punchin’ the shit out of people at night, passin’ out and wakin’ up as friends in the mornin’.
But then everybody started leavin’ town. All the people my age, anyway. The cake mix factory went to China. The Wal-Mart opened up and all the businesses closed. Young people moved to the city. They were startin’ up families, and they didn’t wanna start ‘em here.
I stayed. Me and all the old folks. The place turned into one big nursin’ home, and I was livin’ in it.
Beep, beep, beep, every day down at the checkout line. Helpin’ Mrs. Dennington out to her car. Smilin’ and being polite. No ma’am, I didn’t go to church this week, but I’ll be there next Sunday, I swear. Listenin’ to Mr. Frederick go on and on about how his knee could predict the fuckin’ weather. Still smilin’ and bein’ polite on the outside, bored outta my damned mind on the inside.
The parties were over. And pretty soon it was just me in my forties, gettin’ drunk alone every night in a rented room in an old lady’s basement.
I knew I had to get my shit together. I saw all the old men down at the corner bar, nothin’ to live for but stories they’d all heard a thousand times already. The good old days, the way things was, before the kidney left and the diabetes came. The old timers were just like me once, and one day I was gonna be just like them. And I didn’t wanna be stuck in that little town when it happened.
I tried all kinda ways to get out. First I wanted to start a business. Didn’t know shit about that, so you can guess how it went. Paid the $300 to take a seminar on flippin’ houses. Paid $1,000 for the Cryptocurrency Starter Course for Dummies. Paid another few grand for a pool cleanin’ franchise. Just scam after scam after scam, and I was the sucker who fell for ‘em.
I still needed hope, though. You always gotta have hope. That’s what dreams are for, right? Somethin’ to wish for. You gotta have somethin’ to wish for.
But you ain’t always supposed to get it.
After the pool cleanin’ fiasco I got real into the self-help stuff. I actually started readin’ some books for the first time in my life, even if I was drunk off my ass when I was doin’ it. How to Be Best Friends With Everyone You Meet. Winning Through Stabbing The Other Guy In The Gut. The Art of Being Rich. There was some good shit in those books. I still think that. But you gotta get up off your ass for it to work. That was always my problem. I was comfortable. I was always too comfortable. I didn’t wanna be a grocery bagger, but it wasn’t like it was a hard job. It was easy as shit. It was easy to stay where I was, do what I wanted, drink what I wanted. Gettin’ anywhere else was gonna take time.
But I didn’t want some business I had to work at for ten years to get goin’. I didn’t want some book to tell me how I could make a million bucks if I worked my ass off for the rest of my life. I wanted shit handed to me, and I wanted it now.
And then I found the book for me.
The Cheat Code.
It was a little book. Maybe a hundred pages, the perfect size for a guy with my kinda attention span. Found it in a box out at a garage sale. The pages all yellow, food stains on the sides. But it had this picture of a guy and a yacht on the cover. He was sittin’ on this island with a coconut drink in his hand, sippin’ on the straw. He even looked a little like me. I picked it outta the box, read the first couple pages, and then I paid the guy my ten cents and took it home.
The shit in this book was weird. I mean off the charts weird. It was like one big metaphor thing. Life’s a game, and you’re playin’ it. It kept talkin’ about code, code, code. Nothin’s real, it’s all in your head. A bunch of crazy sci-fi crap I didn’t believe in.
I was twenty pages in and I was about to put it down. Too borin’ for me, too much nerd shit. And then somethin’ in big bold letters caught my eye.
“You can have anything you want, and all you have to do is truly want it.”
Well hell, that’s the book for me.
I kept readin’. And the sci-fi crap turned into a bunch of Buddhist crap, and pretty soon I didn’t understand any of it. Not what it was sayin’ about the universe, anyway. But I understood what it was sayin’ about me. I understood what it was sayin’ to do.
It was sayin’ there’s a cheat code. Just like in one of those video games, ‘cept for life. In all those games you can just press the buttons a special way and then all the sudden you’re doin’ whatever you want. It said there’s somethin’ like that for life, too. A way to make sure nobody got too sad and miserable in this little video game thing we were livin’ in. And it said I had the cheat code right there in front of me, written out in that book I was readin’.
Ten times a day. That’s what the book said. You just come up with this sentence about what you want, say it to yourself ten times a day, and sooner or later you’ll get it. Say it, imagine it, and really, really want it. Focus everythin’ you got on that one thing, and if you really want it, you’ll get it.
Bullshit, I thought. I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid. And it had all this stuff to give ‘em an out. A constraint, it said. On and on about these constraints. Like trainin’ wheels, they sounded like. You gotta put these constraints on the people livin’ in the video game to keep ‘em from doin’ a faceplant into the pavement. And it kept talkin’ about free will. “Free will is a design problem.” You got these people in their game and you wanna give ‘em free will, but only in between the bumpers. That’s what these constraints is for.
And one of ‘em is you gotta want your wish 100%, really and truly, cross your heart and hope to die. You can’t have even a little bit of yourself that doesn’t really want whatever you think you want. Real convenient, right? If the shit in the book doesn’t work, it’s all on you, and you already paid your ten cents.
But by the time I got that far into the book, I was pretty buzzed. And by buzzed, I mean half a bottle of whiskey and the room spinnin’ around a little. I thought, what the hell? It wasn’t a whole lot of work. Just talkin’ to myself for about a minute a day. And that nerd shit made it sound like it might really be true. If the nerds don’t know how things work, then who the hell does?
So I sat there on my bed, sippin’ Jim Beam, thinking about what I wanted to try. What did I want? I mean really want, so much that they couldn’t say I had even a teeny bit of doubt about it? That one was easy.
Rhonda Shepperd.
I’d always wanted Rhonda Shepperd. Everybody in school did, too. President of the 4-H Club and the Prom Queen all rolled into one. She ended up as a Buckle Bunny for some hotshot bull rider off in Tulsa. Got herself the husband, the house, and the kids. I was friends with her on one of those social websites. Still looked just as good as she did back then, at least in the pictures.
Rhonda Shepperd. If I was gonna waste my time on this, it was gonna be for
a good cause. And this sure as hell qualified.
So I sat there in bed and I made up the sentence. “I’m gonna have a night of fun with Rhonda Shepperd I’ll never forget.” Ten times I said it. And I imagined it. Boy, did I imagine it. And I’ll swear on a stack of Bibles that I really and truly wanted it.
I woke up with a sore head, just like every other morning. Didn’t even remember the night before. Took an aspirin, took another swig of whiskey, and went to work like always. Got home, saw the book, laughed at how much of a dumbass I was to believe in it. Then I got drunk and said the words again, ten times just like I was supposed to.
It went on like that. Every night, every day. The same old life as always, just that when I got drunk I’d start feelin’ sorry for myself, start wishin’ for a way out. And then I’d wanna try that cheat code again.
Nothing happened. Not for three months. Not ‘til the day she showed up at the fuckin’ grocery store.
She was over in the bean aisle, holding up a can of ‘em. But she wasn’t even lookin’ at it. She was just starin’ at me all googly eyed. Like she’d just seen the man of her dreams, and I was it.
“Bobby Resner,” she said, and plopped that can of beans down on the counter in front of me. She batted those eyelashes, worked her body, and flirted up a storm. “I remember you from school. Mrs. Hopper’s math class, right? How could I forget?”
“Rhonda,” I said, my mouth gone dry. “You—” I stuttered for like a minute. Wasn’t just how good she looked, either. It was the whole damned situation. She was there. She was real. It was all real, all that shit from the book. I didn’t know what to think, didn’t know what to do. I was like some teenager tryin’ to figure out what to say on his first date.
Didn’t matter. I didn’t know it, but I couldn’t fuck this one up. Wasn’t even possible. Not after what I’d done with that book. Not after what I’d said and how many times I’d said it.
“Bobby,” said Rhonda, leanin’ over the counter and runnin’ her finger under my chin. “I’ve been thinking about you for weeks. Wondering what you were up to. Wondering what could’ve been. We never talked much back then, did we? Now I wonder why. I was so busy. I never noticed what was right in front of me. My life’s so dull. And I just want a break. I saw you online. I saw you were still here. It’s not so far a drive, is it? And it just popped into my head last night. I thought, what I really need, what’ll make everything better, is if I just drive on back here and take a break.”
She smiled. And boy, so did I.
I got exactly what I asked for. Exactly what I imagined while I was sayin’ those words. A night of fun I’ll never forget. A romp in the hay with the girl of my dreams. We went down to Colson’s Creek, right down to the old make-out spot by the rusted pick-up. It was still there, a little older, a little more broke down, just like the both of us. We drank, we talked about old times, we fucked like rabbits. I passed out, and when I woke up she was gone. My head hurt like hell from the hangover, but it didn’t matter. That cheat code worked. I got my night, just like I’d asked for.
I should’ve asked for a week.
Didn’t go into work the next day. This was big, too damned big, and I needed time to think on it. I could have anythin’ I wanted. That’s what the book said. I just had to want it, to really want it. That wasn’t hard. There were a hell of a lot of things I really wanted.
The money came first. It always does, don’t it? I started sayin’ to myself, “I’m gonna win a million dollars in the scratch-off.” Every damned night. Coulda done the Powerball, and maybe I shoulda, but I wanted to start small. And I could play the scratch-off every single day. I’d buy that ticket right before I clocked outta work, I’d drive on home, and I’d have a few drinks just to get warmed up. I’d stare at the ticket, and I’d say the words.
And then I’d play it.
I got a whole lotta nothin’, every night for about four months. And then it happened again. I got home one night, pulled out my quarter, rubbed all that silver shit off the ticket. And there was my million, just like I’d asked for.
I just about shit myself. Spent the whole night thinkin’ about all the stuff I was gonna buy. And then I went into work the next mornin’, told my boss to go fuck himself, and shoved my apron right in his face.
I collected my prize and bought all kinda shit. A Harley. A trip to Vegas. A new rifle and a new truck. Money went fast, but who gave a shit, right? I had the cheat code. I could get it back just as quick as it went.
“I’ll lose forty pounds and my beer gut’s gonna disappear.” That was next. And that shit was impossible if this wasn’t a video game. I was drinkin’, partyin’, eatin’ whatever the hell I wanted to. And for three or four months I was gainin’ weight. But that code worked like clockwork. Right around that time the pounds started droppin’ off. Took another month or two, but pretty soon I looked just like I did back in high school. A lean one-eighty, and I didn’t break a sweat to do it.
But I was runnin’ outta money by then, so it was time to top off my cash. “I will make ten million dollars in the stock market.” I put twenty grand in there. Bought the shares at random. Little tiny companies so I could make a bunch more when it went up. Didn’t even know what they did. I just liked the letters.
Two months, three months, and I was down five g’s. I was gettin’ pretty desperate. I didn’t plan on it takin’ that long. Had to pawn the Harley, but who gave a fuck? I’d get more, and then I’d buy the thing back. Or buy a brand new one.
And it happened right on time. One of those stocks I picked was a drug company. Got some cancer thing approved and went through the roof. Ten million dollars in my account, just like I’d asked for.
But it got me thinkin’. This stuff was takin’ forever. And I wasn’t gettin’ any younger. Three months here, three months there, and I’d already burned a couple years on a couple’a wishes. Good years, though. I’d come a long way. I was rich, I was ripped, and I was happier than I’d ever been. But it took so long. I’d been damn near broke by the time that stock paid out. If it’d taken any longer, I’d’ve had to go back to baggin’ groceries just to make it through.
What I needed was somethin’ quicker. And I got to thinkin’ about genies and those three wishes they give you. About how the smart thing to do was always to wish for more wishes. Maybe I could do somethin’ like that. Maybe I could speed this shit up and not have to wait so damned long the next time I needed money.
“From now on my cheat code will start workin’ in one week.”
I was on that one for five months. After about the fourth month I started wonderin’, how was I ever gonna know whether it’d worked unless I stopped and tried somethin’ else? But I wanted to be sure. So I kept goin’, kept sayin’ it. Ten times a day for five months. And then I thought, fuck it. Gotta try sometime.
So I started a new one. A real hard one, one that shoulda taken forever.
“I’m gonna be a famous movie star.”
I was flyin’ to Hollywood the next Monday. Some company called me up, said they found my picture online. Said I had the look, and if I could act, well then I had the part. I couldn’t act for shit. Went out to this big-ass studio and read a few lines in front of a room full of people. I bombed. I mean, I bombed the hell out of it. I know I did.
But they didn’t. They clapped. They even stood up. One lady had tears runnin’ down her cheeks. Said I gave her chills. It was a fuckin’ action movie, for Christ’s sake. I was readin’ some line about killin’ ninjas, and she was cryin’ like a little baby. Said it reminded her of her relationship with her daddy.
What the fuck, I thought?
And then I thought, what the hell?
I did a few days on some set, and it was parties and premieres after that. I was all over television. Took a couple weeks before I wanted anything else, but then I thought, why not try bein’ a rock star, too? No reason I couldn’t be both. I always wanted to be up on that stage in front of a million people. And I’d alway
s heard rock stars get the best groupies.
“I’m gonna be the lead singer of the world’s biggest rock band.”
A week later, I was in New York City. Madison Square Garden. The Blazing Baddies lost their lead singer in a plane crash, and their agent thought’a me. I was hollerin’ into that microphone like a drownin’ cat. Nobody cared. They cheered anyway, the whole damned arena. We were rockin’ out like Zeppelin, and I was runnin’ back and forth all over the stage. Girls throwin’ me their panties, guys lookin’ at me like I was their hero. I did three encores, just for the fun of it.
When we was done I went backstage. And what they say about the groupies, it’s all true. There was a room full of girls, all waitin’ for me. I could barely get a word in edgewise. They were fightin’ one another, tryin’ to be mine. Tryin’ to be my girl for the night. We started poundin’ down drinks. I had my own personal bartender, so why the hell not? I was partyin’ it up, tryin’ to decide. And this one girl. This redhead, smokin’ hot, stacked like God intended. She was whisperin’ things into my ear. Things I’d never heard a woman say, least not about me.
She was starin’ at me. She had these green eyes, and when I looked at her I knew. She was in love. I was a rock star now, and a movie star too, and this girl was gaga. She’d do anything for me. And I wanted to do everything. Everything I’d never had, I could sure as hell have it now.
I took her hand, and I walked her back to the tour bus. She giggled, she flirted, and we had a good ole time. I downed a few more shots. And we was goin’ at it. Kissin’, pawin’, real animal stuff. She was into it. So was I. She pulled my pants down, tryin’ to get me goin’. And she kept tryin’, and tryin’, and tryin’. And then it hit me.
My dick was limp.
My motherfuckin’ dick was limp.
I was the king of the world, sittin’ there with the hottest chick on the planet, and I couldn’t do shit with her because I drank so much my dick went limp.
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