c. Declines and returns home to eat more oatmeal
The man tells the driver that there is no possible way he will end up in his car, and promptly attempts to slither like a slug all the way back home.
INT. SHITTY LIVING ROOM – MORNING
The man sits on his couch, smoking a hit of hijikum, which is a drug that helps you believe that life is actually made of a substance called “julius”, which results in constant orgasm. The man has gotten so much julius that he’s completely tired from orgasming, and he lies down on his couch with his mind away from the world, from his oatmeal-weighted body. He stares at the ceiling, and watches as it melts into a film of all of the sex he never had (even with his ex-girlfriend Toni, whom he dated for a week), of all of the life he never lived, and all of the friends he never had. He finds happiness there, and comes to the conclusion that there is nothing better for him. He has been unable to feel anything even approaching the kind of pleasure he feels now, and vows never to eat oatmeal again. Never again will he slave himself to his job as “oatmeal man”, which forces him to eat nothing but oatmeal over and over until he dies from oatmeal poisoning or something similar.
The depressing existence that awaits is something he cannot accept, and he winds up smoking so much hijikum that his mind literally floats outside of his head. His brain manages to squeeze out of his mouth, flying toward the ceiling as if attempting to reach heaven. The brain turns toward the head, connecting with his eyes through a telepathic link. The eyes peer up, and the man sees himself, his mind, for the very first time. He sees the grey mass that makes up his thoughts, personality, emotions and perception. He watches himself float up, this thing that cannot feel any physical sensation but everything else, and he begins to sob. His eyes drip, and the pain that he once felt gives way to tears of victory. His mind is able to fly free, bumping against the ceiling.
To help free his mind further, the man slugs his way upstairs and grabs his scissors from his bedside drawer, and goes back downstairs. He tosses the scissors at the ceiling with all his might, and the scissors pierce it enough to allow the brain to hit the hole it creates and widen it. Unfortunately, the man forgot that there was an upstairs part of the house beyond that particular ceiling, and the brain is left trapped in the upstairs bathroom. The brain tries to go through the bathroom window, but is stopped by thick glass that is much too tough for the sensitive membrane.
There is no hope, the man determines. There is nothing, nowhere left to go. No flight for the brain. His body dragged down by the very oatmeal that has enslaved him, and constricted by the glass that houses his pain, the man relents and loses the fight. His brain falls to the upstairs bathroom floor, crawling toward the toilet like a slug. It gets to the edge of the bowl before giving up in defeat. There is nothing. There is nothing. Let alone something called Day Four or Five.
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