Deserted Island Theory
“Did you hear JFK was assassinated?”
“Of course, I heard that you idiot.” Vince responds.
“Isn’t that weird? Like the way it happened?”
“What’s weird about it. He was shot.”
“Yea, but you watch that video and his secret service guys were running alongside his convertible. How could that stop a bullet? Who were they protecting him from? Samurai? And it’s not like this has never happened before: Lincoln, Teddy, Garfield. I mean, a bunch of presidents were shot. Could you imagine the secret service guy running next to the car as it happened? How much of a worthless piece of shit do you think that guy felt like? He’s running around all panicked, OH FUCK! OH FUCK! OH FUCK! He picks up a chunk of brain and places it back into JFK’s head. Do you think he stayed in the service? Who would hire him after that? Picture him in an interview. The interviewer has his resume and is like, “Ok, let’s see what we got here. President Truman. He did drop The Bomb, not sure how I feel about that, but he wasn’t assassinated and that’s the most important thing right? Next, I see Eisenhower, yes, good. Annnnnd then we have…. Oh. JFK.”
“Yea, I guess you can’t really come back from that.”
“You’d have to leave the bodyguarding game for good. Maybe switch to security at a grocery store.”
“Even then. Letting JFK get shot is hard to shake.”
“You know who put the hit out that killed JFK?”
“Who?” Vince asks.
“JFK.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, he intended the shooter to hit Jackie so he could fuck Marilyn without guilt and get that widower pussy. Why do you think he chose to ride around in that convertible. I mean, what head-of-state would ever think that was a good idea? He hired a marine sniper to seal the deal, but, you know, sometimes even Michael Jordan misses.”
“That’s the worst Lee Harvey Oswald joke I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Jackie Kennedy was a fine-ass woman, but Jack still cheated when Marilyn became an option. Look, I have this theory that I’ve been cultivating for the last few years called Deserted Island Theory.”
“What’s the difference between a Desert Island and a Deserted Island?”
“I don’t know. Shut up. So, one of my big worries about marriage is that you’ll meet a better woman after you’re married. And if you weren’t married, you would easily have left your current girl for the new one. But because of house, money, kids… you stay in the mediocre marriage.”
“That’s everyone’s fear, but go on.”
“So I picture each individual’s social group as an island. Your family is on it, so are your friends. The only reason we are friends is because we were on the same social island in middle school. I had to settle being your friend because you’re such a gigantic piece of shit, but you were there.”
“Fuck you.”
“But when you look solely at romantic pursuits you only have so many options. Like, say I’m single with no prospects, then my romantic island is desolate. If I meet a girl, then that’s a chick that just washed ashore. Right now she’s my only option. I spend time with her, we get along well enough and eventually make something serious out of it. We fuck and soon become boyfriend and girlfriend. But the only reason I'm in this relationship is because she’s the only woman on my island and it beats jacking off. Now say after a year of serious dating and saying I love you, a new woman washes up from a shipwreck. A hotter, funnier, and all-around better woman.”
“Now there are two women on your island.”
“Right, so I don’t immediately jump to the new girl, I’m in a serious relationship. I care about the first girl. But say after some time I get to know the new girl and I’m like, ‘Fuck, I like this chick way more.”
“You think about it, maybe break up with the first girl and date the second.”
“Yes, but what if it happens again to the second girl? Remember my ex Katie?”
“Yea.”
“We dated for two years. I dated her because she was present and had a pulse. If a better-looking woman showed up and said, ‘Leave your girlfriend right now for me.’ I would have. It makes me wonder if I’m just dating girls because they are there. Let’s say a cow washes ashore. I’m not saying I’d go for it the second it righted itself on its hooves. I’d probably milk the cow and get to know it, but after a few months with no other option, I’d probably start fucking the cow. It’s a test of time that I will always lose.”
“Do you mean a fat girl or an actual cow?”
“A cow, I would fuck a cow. I had a buddy named Chris who used to work at an animal park. Chris was a keeper for the rhesus macaques.”
“What’s a rhesus macaque?”
“It’s a goddamn monkey like you. There were these two young males that had to separate from the larger colony of rhesus because they were rapey and violent with the females. So Chris isolated the two in a single enclosure. Guess what happened next?”
“They got gay?”
“Bingo. Chris said he walked in on one sucking the other’s dick. Do you see my point? Those two young males were on a deserted island together and they went gay because of it. You know if they introduced a female they would have gone back to not sucking each other’s dicks.”
“I don’t know. I hear gay men give better blowjobs.”
“It’s environmental gay. Look what happens to human males when we put them in prison.”
“They go gay.”
“Right.”
“So there’s, I’m born this way gay and, prison gay?” Vince asks like a child learning arithmetic.
“I think so. Two independent roads that converge on a man fucking a man.”
“So it is a choice.”
“For prison gay, yes, but I don’t think the prisoners raping other men are truly aware of their actions. It’s more of a power thing. Nature takes over and they kind of go with it.”
“You sure know a lot about gay stuff, Stephen.”
“That’s neither here nor there, Vince. We got derailed. Let’s get back to how do you know if you have the right chick if another better girl comes along at a later point in time.”
Vince slants his head to the side and nods, acknowledging it’s not a completely absurd theory. “But Stephen, you also need to take into account, that you’re ugly as shit, every day you grow uglier and older and don’t have the potential to keep trading up whenever a girl washes ashore your fucking island. You think you’re going to get a swimsuit model at some point?”
“Well---”
“---Look, you’re not James Bond. Do you think you’re going to be bedding models when you’re 50, flying around the world in a jet and fighting Goldfinger? No, you’re going to be eating ramen in your studio and jacking-off seven times a day to internet porn. At some point you have to say to yourself, This is the best I can do. That’s what our parents did, that’s what everyone does. Of course, there’s a risk. For you and the unfortunate woman that ends up with you. And if you marry a chick and her body goes to hell you fuck the maid.”
