Бойцовский клуб
Chapter 12
Theguy,Isay,isprobablyathomeeverynightwithalittlerattailfile,filingacrossintothetipofeveryoneofhisrounds. Thisway,whenheshowsuptoworkonemorningandpumpsaroundintohisnagging,ineffectual,petty,whining,butt-sucking,candy-assboss, thatoneroundwillsplitalongthefiledgroovesandspreadopenthewayadumdumbulletflowersinsideyoutoblowabushelloadofyourstinkinggutsoutthroughyourspine. Pictureyourgutchakraopeninginaslow-motionexplosionofsausage-casingsmallintestine.
Mybosstakesthepaperoutfromundermynose.
Goahead,Isay,readsomemore.
Noreally,Isay,itsoundsfascinating. Theworkofatotallydiseasedmind.
AndIsmile. Thelittlebutthole-lookingedgesoftheholeinmycheekarethesameblue-blackasadog’sgums. Theskinstretchedtightacrosstheswellingaroundmyeyesfeelsvarnished.
Mybossjustlooksatme.
Letmehelpyou,Isay.
Isay,thefourthruleoffightclubisonefightatatime.
Mybosslooksattherulesandthenlooksatme.
Isay,thefifthruleisnoshoes,noshirtsinthefight.
Mybosslooksattherulesandlooksatme.
Maybe,Isay,thistotallydiseasedfuckwoulduseanEagleApachecarbinebecauseanApachetakesathirty-shotmagandonlyweighsninepounds. TheArmaliteonlytakesafive-roundmagazine.
