But you know what, bud? I actually feel sorry for you, so I’ll give you your story. I guess that’s the least I can do, considering what a sorry life you’ve got. I can give you an escape. Only do you really want it? Or is it too much for you? I can see you cringing from here. I can smell it. Literally. I can smell your motherfucking fear. So go on. Turn the page. Let’s see what happens to Stanley.
Thing is, bud, this is what you signed up for. For a second there, I started to feel bad for you. I mean, I get it that you work a shit job and you — unlike most Americans — actually read books for entertainment, and not just books but real literature. I should be impressed with that, but you’re the kind of loser who probably jerks off while watching The News Hour with Jim Lehrer because of his stellar reporting skills. Then, you switch channels right before you jizz so you can maybe glimpse a shot of Katie Couric’s cleavage. Yeah, I know what kind of guy you are. So I want to feel bad for you. I really do, but when it comes down to it, Milt can’t feel bad for Stanley and I can’t feel bad for you. It’s the natural order of things, see? There’s a right way and a wrong way. Didn’t you old man ever teach you that one?
And so here’s Milt. He sees someone else’s shit on his desk, and he’s like, “Fuck. Now I’ve got to kick someone’s ass.” And I want you to slow down. Will you do that for me, bud? Slow the fuck down because when it comes down to it, it’s not in anyone’s best interest for you to go wailing like a little bitch about Stanley. He’ll be fine. Eventually. I mean, what’s your problem? Didn’t I just try to explain to you how Milt’s the guy you should be feeling bad for? I mean, sure, Stanley’s the one who’s getting the shit kicked out of him — literally, I think here’s some excrement coming out of his ass right now — but when it comes down to it, why should we always feel bad for the victim? Isn’t Milt just as much of a victim as Stanley? It’s hard work being the bully. It’s also damn hard work to fail the second grade two years in a row. Not to mention all the other times he’s been “held back.” Like really, what do you think that does to a kid’s confidence? Of course Milt’s the bully. He’s got nothing else going for him. Stanley, on the other hand, he’s got prep school and college and law school. You know Stanley’s going Ivy. Or maybe he’ll slum it and go to a top-notch liberal arts college. Guys like Stanley, they’re going to make it in the long run. Sure, life sucks while they’re in elementary school and middle school and high school — high school’s probably the worst — but in the end, by the time he starts his freshman year at Yale or Cornell or Dartmouth, he’s going to be a stud. Well, maybe not a stud, but by then, nerds will be cool. Smart will be cool. He’ll probably even get laid and his girlfriend will be hot. Sure, she’s probably fucking some other guy too, but do you think Stanley really cares? God, you’re an asshole. Don’t you know anything about Stanley? Of course, he’ll care! He’ll love her. She’ll be the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to him, but he’ll get over it. All he has to do is survive this, right now. All he has to do is stand up and let Milt kick his ass. Then, he’ll blink and he’ll be in college.
But Milt, there’s no hope for him. You know what Milt’s got in his future? He’ll probably go work at some local store doing retail — if he’s lucky and doesn’t end up in prison for raping some chick first. Maybe he’ll focus and find something he likes. Maybe electronics. But you know how this story goes, right? Maybe that electronics store will be doing well for a while. Milt will be promoted to store manager. Maybe the owners are pretty cool and want to send Milt to technical school so he can learn more about computers or some shit like that. But then, here it comes. Like you didn’t know it would happen. One day, just as Milt signs up for that first class at community college or technical school or whatever, Wal*Mart announces that it’s going to open a megastore right there in town, and we both know what happens next, right?
The thing is, bud, it all started right here. It all started because you’re a drama queen who wanted Stanley to be cool, because you felt so fucking bad for him that first day when he came in with a bow tie and a cardigan. Because you thought Stanley could be your salvation. Then, you saw Milt, and you knew that Stanley would have to stand up to Milt if he was going to make it in school, if he even wanted a chance to hang with the cool kids, but when it comes down to it, why couldn’t you be kinder to Milt? Why couldn’t you sympathize with the one character who’s doomed to have the same fate as you? Because when it comes down to it, bud, did you really think that you’re the same as Stanley? What do you two even have in common? Sure, you were a loser in school, but you weren’t a nerd, were you?
No, the irony is that you were a kid in the middle. You were the kid you never wanted Stanley to be because you thought if he was a kid in the middle, he’d end up just like you. That’s the funny thing, right, bud? Years from now, long after this story is over, it’s the Stanley’s of the world who’ll be rich. They’ll have the hot wives. They’ll have the kids who are both smart and pretty. That’s the problem with people like you. You never see the big picture. You sit your ass down to read a story, and you just sympathize with whoever the narrator tells you to like. You don’t have any autonomy. You don’t think critically. I mean, sure, Stanley is going to get his ass kicked, no question about it, but does that mean he’s the victim in this whole story? Can you see any further than your own nose?
But you know, I get your point. I really do. The whole point of a story is that you, the reader, ought to be whisked away to some alternate reality where you get to be a passive consumer. You get to live vicariously through the characters. Stories offer people a chance to escape. So ultimately, while reading this story, you actually should have felt sympathy for Stanley. You should have wanted him to sit in the back of the classroom or, at the very least, not sit in the front row. You should have wanted him to stand up to the bully. I’m really not criticizing you for all that. That would be unreasonable of me. After all, I did twist the story to make you feel how you felt. I manipulated you. I mean, you’re not really the emotional type. You work at Wal*Mart for God’s sake. It is what it is. You can’t really have much of a spirit left in you after an eight-hour shift there, can you? And then, you come home to a nice microwave dinner and The News Hour.
The fact of it is, bud, that yes, you should have felt bad for Stanley. Sure. No problem. But you took it to a whole new level. It’s one thing to want something for the character. Right on. It shows how much you care. But it’s a whole different thing once you start taking the characters’ lives and futures into your own hands. You’re not God. You’re not even a writer. You’re just a lonely guy who still lives with his mom because his dad killed himself a decade ago but you’re still worried about your mom being lonely. And again, that’s sweet and shit, but you want to know the truth, bud? Even your mom thinks you’re a loser. I mean, she thinks you’re a nice son, but even nice sons like you should leave the nest every once in a while. What I’m trying to say is that your mom has been seeing someone — I know, it’s pretty repulsive to you and probably a little demeaning that your mom can get action when you can’t — and she’d really like to bring him home sometime except your sorry ass never leaves. You go to work and then you go straight home. I mean, I get it that it’s a shitty little town you live in, but really, can’t you give your mom some space? No, instead, you rush home after work and start reading all these books, and I swear it’s like you’re a five-year-old girl playing house or some shit because rather than reading the story like a normal human being, you start seeing yourself in every character. I don’t want to be a prick or anything — and I get you’ve got “training” in musical theatre — but do you really have to dress up like Stanley while you read this? And again, no offense, but you should know that it’s creepy as shit that you changed your Wal*Mart nametag to read “Stan.” I’ve got to be honest, bud, that shit’s not right. But let me throw you a bone here, give you the benefit of my doubt, even though you obviously don’t deserve it. I mean, really, just take off the clip-on tie. I’m trying to be nice here, ok? Because ultimately, why shouldn’t you want to sympathize with Stanley? Furthermore, why should I, the narrator, criticize you for doing what I’ve actually set you up to do? Am I asking too much of my readers?