The Fantastical Adventures of Adamo and David

Introduction continued

Pastors, rabbis and imams close your holy eyes or cover your sacred books with the whitest piece of cloth. Let not these gloriously filthy words of of lust-imagined and lust-fulfilled, of victories of drink and cheer, of the utter vanquishing of the weak-bellied and light-weighted, infect your all-too perfect souls. Elders scoff at the longful mirror of your youth, and watch as the brightest star of the night sky dips his cheeky sword into the lappy lake of love, and charm the Central American isthmus his spring-break lover.

O! What a world of delight and maybe fright awaits you. But my excitement exceeds my storytelling! How did Adamo lose his pants, and some of his nose-lining, in that anonymous, forgettable restaurant? We must begin at the beginning, when the god-lover Adamo was still a crooked-backed, book-bonked Adam, and when his university friend David, intrepid traveller and colleague in the esteemed school of sexual attraction, approached with the trip of several lifetimes. 

Chapter 1: The Birth of a Hero or Villain Depending on Your Utility Function for Men

Adam returned revitalized to his treasured seat in Sterling Memorial Library, Yale University's grandest room for storing books and anxious students. Feeling only moments ago the heavy weight of sleep and an inexplicable premonition of an eerily eccentric lifestyle, he jogged at a brusque, but respectable, pace to the coffee-shop across the street.

There, he politely mumbled his order, one cup of crushed-bean juice, and the waitress politely messed up. Satisfied, he tilted his head exactly twenty degrees from the horizon, closed his eyes (the left before the right, as per usual, according to his perfected internal algorithm) and poured precisely two hundred and thirty-six millilitres of that goodly black gold into his functionally-appropriate mouth.

"It could be argued that this cup is the optimally efficient amount for an academic paper, particularly in a sitting of approximately three-hours," smiled Adam mechanically, gloating internally at such a defensible and particularized claim. "It is of utmost importance that you complete the paper on Kant's Transcendental Aesthetic before you head over to Victoria's place for spontaneous copulation," he mused, gleefully anticipating the long, wild and passionate argumentation he had prepared to defend such a masterful conception of Time and Space. The latter part of the night, however, he dreaded.

Adam was a scholar through and through. His mother's family proudly claimed apocryphal descent from the illustrious Benveniste Jews of the early Spanish republics, counting royal advisors, poets and doctors among the roots of a grand familial forest. Some of his closest friends wagered their lives on the rumour that Adam entirely lacked a subjective existence. His first few words were "a goo blue", whose meaning his parents mistook for the the gooey toy Adam played with, instead of the correct interpretation of a botched attempt at "Arguably".

The other boys climbed trees, he cited great works of poetry. His best friends in youth had once been Karl Marx and Eric Hobsbawm, though he had a terrible falling out with the former when the already century-dead Marx refused, or forgot as Adam's parents consoled him, to reply to his critique of "False Consciousness."

Yet there was an undeniable, hidden rage of charm, goodwill and creativity below the frigid waters of cold objectivity. This secret charm had won over Victoria. She stood no chance that fateful night when Adam dazed and confused, from wearing his daily contacts longer than commonsense would dictate, walked, stumbled into the bar, several blocks away from the library he intended to visit, and gazed penetratingly into her very soul, looking for the bathroom behind her. It was a beauteous gaze Victoria blushedly related to her friends and family as the magnified rays of a host of angels; a gaze Adam introspectively related to his diary as the confusion of a technically, legally blind man.

But O! How they danced that night. She wrapped him around her, spun him and whispered such saucy raucous of what going-ons and throwing-offs would come to be when the horny moon yawned a little louder, that Adam nearly swallowed his tongue instinctively.