This Is the End Read Online Free Page B

I’m sure that if I could find a psychologist—or is it a psychiatrist? Or whichever of the two that would be most qualified to interpret dreams—if I could find one of those people who could explain what it meant, then I’m sure it wouldn’t be a very positive or healthy explanation.
    The dream goes like this: I’m standing on top of the tallest structure in the world. I’m standing there naked, holding my arms out and letting the wind have its way with me, pushing me back and forth, swaying over the edge. Below the building there are thousands of people, maybe millions staring up at me, eying me, making me feel as if I’m the center of the universe. They look as if they’re praying to me or to the heavens or to something else completely different. I was never a very religious guy so I couldn’t tell you, but they’re praying to something. And I couldn’t care less, I’m just there, arms outstretched and I feel the heat of the sun on my body.
    I finally lose my balance and fall. But it’s a graceful fall; it’s like a great, big elegant swan dive into the sea of people, giant people now, as everything comes rushing up, distorted and off perspective. I crash into them and blood and bone and fragments of their bodies collide with my own and I’m drowning in them. But I don’t care—I’m smiling. I’m at peace with myself, with this outcome, the falling, the nakedness, at peace with everything.
    I know; it’s completely fucked up.
    * * *
    I wake up in a small puddle of foul-smelling drool. Ah, the glamorous life of a multi-billion dollar internet mogul; there’s no huffing handfuls of cocaine off of high-priced hooker ass for me. Nope, just stagnant morning breath mixed with the acid from last night’s coffee and a weird metallic taste in my mouth that I attribute to the desktop. My neck feels like it’s been in a vice all night and I move my hand over the screen to see what time it is. My stomach growls and I begin to freak out when I see that it’s nearly noon.
    Carol, my secretary, should be at her desk outside the main office by now. I call out and ask her to patch me through to the kitchen in the cafeteria downstairs.
    I order breakfast and then get up to make some more coffee. But I’m really late in getting some very important things accomplished, so I skip all the formalities and microwave whatever coffee was left over from the night before. I’m going to see my father today.
    Carol wheels in the breakfast shortly after I get out of the shower. I’m still soaking wet when I come down out of the bathroom. She’s used to me being less than discreet in front of her. I mean, it’s not like I’m naked or anything, but it’s not like I’m modest, either. And I know what you’re thinking and let me say that, no , I never cheated on my now ex-wife with Carol.
    Though, now that she’s my ex-wife, I might have sex with Carol just because. I think about it for a few seconds and then realize I probably won’t have time to suggest anything like that. I’m being frozen in less than 48 hours. Besides, I can bang one out tonight by myself if I really need to.
    I eat in what feels like seconds, inhaling the French toast and hash browns. I move back to getting ready. Along with my leftover coffee and breakfast, I have to take a rather substantial regimen of vitamins and pills that will help in the freezing process. After dinner tonight I won’t be able to eat anything solid ever again. I need to have a completely free digestive tract for the freezing process; you can imagine what it would be like if you were frozen with a stomach full of heavy foods for who knows how long. I’ve also been assured that it would not be a pretty picture when or if I thaw out.
    I skip shaving, combing my hair and anything else other than putting on clothing to expedite the process. Halfway through pulling on my undershirt I start in on a coughing fit. I’ve been having these since before I found out that I had cancer.