From: mar@physics.su.OZ.AU (David Mar)
Subject: Talking to yourself?
Summary: a bit long, inconsequential, hopefully humorous
Organization: School of Physics, University of Sydney, Australia
Date: Tue, 18 Aug 1992 23:55:08 GMT

Danger Mouse wanders up to the bar.

Danger Mouse wanders up to the bar.

Hang on, he thinks to himself, didn't I just do that?

"No," says the other DM, "That was me."

"Er..." says the first DM, turning around slowly to see himself standing
at the bar behind him. His mouth drops open like a drawbridge just out of
warranty. "But, but... you're me!"

"No, no, no. I'm _me_. _You're_ you."

"Whoah. That's bizarre. So," DM throws a hand out blindly and picks up the
glass of soda water placed on the bar mere seconds ago by Mike, "what are
you doing here? Or should that be 'what am _I_ doing here'?"

"'You' will do fine. Ever noticed how the English language is singularly
unequipped with appropriate personal pronouns to deal with situations like
this?" DM smiles.

"Comes from never having them happen," DM furrows his brow, "Except in
Places like this, of course." He takes an absent-minded sip from his glass.

"Yes, well. But to get back to your question, I'm here quite naturally
because you are."

"Huh?"

"We're the same person, silly."

"But... I've been here hundreds of times. I've never seen you... er, me...
here before."

"Have you ever looked?"

"Well... no, but..."

"There you are then." DM smiles smugly. It's not often you get to outsmart
yourself with your own logic. He calls to Mike, "Say, Mike, could I have
another one of those, please?" He places a dollar on the bar.

"Sure, DM," Mike takes the coin and pours the glass nonchalantly.

"Um... Mike?"

"Yes, DM?" Mike looks to the first DM as he serves the second one.

"You haven't got another one of those dimension travelling mirrors hidden
away somewhere, have you?" (* see footnote)

"Not that I know of."

"Ah. Good. Just checking."

The second DM finishes a long sip of his drink and looks up at the first
DM. "Okay, now that we're comfortable, tell me what's on your mind."

"Um..." DM's eyes open wide, "if you're me, don't you already know that?"

"Don't be silly. How could I know what you're thinking? You're standing
there, and I'm standing here. Different brains, see? Different thoughts."

"Ah," DM raises a finger, ready to use it to drive home his next point
like a thumbtack, if not, indeed, a nail (gruesome imagery, huh?), "then
how did you know what I was thinking at the top of the post?"

"Because I'm writing this post, and besides, it was a useful plot device."

"You mean I wouldn't have noticed you if you hadn't spoken then?"

"Something like that. You'd just put it down to deja-vu or something."

"But, hang on a minute, I thought I was the one writing this post."

"Just goes to show you, doesn't it." The second DM takes another sip from
his drink. His eye sparkles in a way which probably requires Stephen King
to describe adequately. In the background, Radio Free Colorado breaks into
the Twilight Zone theme...

DM freezes. His eyes, the only part of him that moves, do a credible
impersonation of a chameleon's eyes as he scans the room and decides that
it looks quite normal, apart from the other him standing there. Everyone
else is carrying on as normal, apparently oblivious to the paradox
inherent in two copies of DM being present.

At times like this, there are certain pieces of dialogue which could be
inserted to chill the bones even further. They range from the ever-popular
"I am the personification of your evil side," right through to the more
subtle "Did you ever wonder why people you don't know seem to think
they've met you before?'."

"They can't help you."

That's not a bad one either.

Taking a deep breath and a sip of soda water to wet his lips, DM sinks on
to a handy chair. "So, are you the personification of my evil side, or
something like that?"

"Don't be ridiculous," answers the other DM, also collapsing into a chair,
"I wouldn't write something that cliched into a post like this. Besides,
I'm not sure you have an evil side worth terribly much in a fight."

"Why, thank you," says DM nonchalantly, although somewhat embarrassed at
receiving a compliment from someone who is basically himself.

The other DM smiles. Stephen King time again. Or maybe H. P. Lovecraft.
It's hard to tell if the description isn't actually written down. "Oh,
don't thank me. I'm much worse than your evil side."

"My chocoholic side?" (There are certain times in one's life when, no
matter how life-threatening the situation, the opportunity to be facetious
simply cannot be passed up.)

"I suppose you think that's funny?" says the other DM mildly as he extends
a finger and blows a huge hole in the side of the bar with some form of
occult power which shan't be explained further.

"Erm..." gurgles DM. (Okay, maybe that wasn't such a good idea. How does
James Bond get away with it?)

"Hey!" Mike's voice cuts through the air, "That's enough of that, DM. If
you want to raise some hell, do it in the Danger Room."

"Sorry, Mike," says the other DM, waving an arm in a conciliatory fashion,
"I'll fix it." He gestures in the general direction of the bar and the
hole mends itself. Then he focuses on DM again. "Now, are you going to
cooperate, or do I have to get nasty?"

"Cooperate? But I don't even know what you want!"

"All in good time." (ie. I'm making this up as I go along, and don't
really know myself, but it's pretty darn nasty, whatever it is.)

"Hey, wait a minute," says DM, realising that this is the point where he
should point out some apparent flaw in the villain's argument, "if you're
writing this post, then how come you need my cooperation to get what you
want?"

The smile falls from the other DM's face like George Bush's popularity
from the graces of the American public. "Er. You seem to have caught me in
an entanglement of narrative ingredients from which I am incapable of
extricating myself satisfactorily. And I'm using too many big words."

"The death of many a writer," comments DM, feeling a strange sense of pity
for the wretched creature now helpless before him.

"Okay," it pleads, gasping with its last breaths, "You got me. You were in
charge the whole time. But tell me, if you were the one doing the writing,
why am I here at all? I mean, why did you create me?"

"Easy," answers DM, "I was bored. I couldn't have much fun by myself, so
I just thought what would happen if I started a Callahans post with the
same line repeated twice. And now, here we are. Time for me to go to bed.
So say goodbye, whatever you are."

The other DM sneers as it fades away into nothingness. "I'll be back, DM!
One day, when you least expect it, I'll come back to haunt you! You created
me, but you can't destroy me!"

DM smiles benignly. "Watch me..."

- Danger Mouse.

*footnote: see "Mirror/rorriM, off the Wall", from "Time Travellers
           Strictly Cash" by Spider Robinson, Ace Books, 1987.
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