"Whats the difference- hey, Phil- difference between a potato and a tomato? I don't care if chicks are fruits! PFFFFF!!!" Firing on all cylinders, he thought, and decided to go in for the kill.
"Hey, Steve, d'ya think you know what you are?" James paused and his eyes popped open a bit, a mad grin churned its way up through the scruff on his idiot face. "Your mother's all those chips in a bag, Frito Lay! HA! Cus thats you, Steve!"
"Haaaha! You're on fire today, Jimmy!"
"Nope. I'm on A Television. A tv, ATV." Do you get it? James thought. "Isn't that funny? Steve!" Grumpily, not wanting to upset his new buddy, the conversation stalled. "This guy doesn't even know when to say... uh... whether its hot enough for a cold drink! PFFFF!!!" Phil acknowledged the set of statements and let the jokes drink their way into the sand. He was smiling, and kind.
The arid heat brought a scaly shimmer to the queasy man's pink-blotted brow. In his youth, he was a navel gazing hobby-noodler, and his parents were disengaged from the boy. He was the day-old hollandaise on their brunch buffet of life. And the lady will have a soft-boiled egg, and a crust of bread, with a dish of fruit. Perhaps her monkey-child will flail some of the fruit toward its mouth and survive a while longer. If not, you can't say I haven't tried to raise a proper young being.
Now, so very grown up, the feckless chunk, draped in the king's robes, angrily flitted his concerns down hill and stamped home his testament whenever questions dared ask themselves. The peyote was taking effect.
Ah but my boy, James, I am the desert, how can I possibly quench your thirst? "I've fired security for less, you big ox sandbox! Somebody get this big ox sandbox outta here! And don't let the big dumb cat doody on your stupid head when you get captured and taken the heck outta here by my friend Flee-or-da-del-zee-za. Naysayer!"
Phil warped time to a slow drip as he began to hum and purr. Easing James deep down into a fugue state. Steve soon followed into the dissociative stupor. Phil began to buzz and ever so slowly broke into speech as the two dolts drooled eternally into their own laps. Visions ablur in James' tawdry mind of violent sexual conquests and the pathetic victims who just want his money. Rockin' good shows at the Beacon, possibly the Wiltern. Noodling with Robert. Sex. Last night's cocaine. Shredding. Threadbare.
Phil's words melted everything around them, and they submitted, wholly. "These are my principles... "
Walt stands in the sands completely hidden in a finely tailored khaki ghillie suit. In that moment, a child was born, a child conceived, a wicked man died and the universe expanded.