Upon the advice of a friend, I'm going to start posting some of the notes I've been sitting on for the last year, in relationship to other works in progress. They total about 40,000 words. I wasn't going to post them initially because they don't make a complete cohesive story and I'm kind of OCD like that. But I figure there's no harm in it and someone might read them.
A discussion about House's taste in porn turns into something deeper -dialogue only (Cuddy House)
"What is this?"
"What does it look like?"
"Then that's what it is."
"I found it with your porn."
"That's because it is porn. If you found under the sink with the cleaning supplies, then I'd say you might have a problem."
"Why were you looking through my porn?"
"I was curious."
"And with all the material available to you, that was what elicited your concern?"
"You've actually watched this?"
"Uh…I haven't in a long time. But yes, I've actually watched it."
"This turns you on?"
"I'm going to assume that's a rhetorical question."
"You get turned on by the idea of a woman being gang raped by four men in a dark alley?"
"It's a movie."
"Your point being?"
"It's not real."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"You think I'm secretly harboring a desire to participate in violent, group sexual assault? If so, you'd have to admit that I've hid it pretty well..."
"I don't know what to think."
"Would you believe me if I told you Wilson bought it?"
"No. Wilson's taste in porn is substantially less sophisticated."
"You think this is sophisticated?"
"Well...I just meant compared to most generic guy on girl skin flicks."
"So let me get this straight. At some point in the not so distant past, you actually enjoyed watching this?"
"I also enjoyed watching Bruce Willis blow up an asteroid...after which I successfully suppressed the urge to acquire a nuclear warhead and a space shuttle."
"Look, she's an actress. Everything she participated in while filming that movie was consented to in advance. It probably even says so in the credits."
"Frankly I'm appalled that a movie like this even exists."
"Yeah well...I feel the same way about the Police Academy films. But you don't see me pitching a fit over it."
"I can't believe you're trivializing this."
"I'm trivializing it because, in the grand scheme of things, it's trivial."
"You mean there's something worse than this?"
"I take it you've never seen snuff porn."
"I don't think I know what that is."
"Seriously? Are you sure you went to medical school?"
"It's basically where a person, usually a female, is raped by one or more persons, usually male, and then executed in some fashion."
"Killed, murdered, snuffed out as it were...hence the name."
"You've actually seen this?"
"In the Philippines, over twenty-five years ago, in a projection movie theater. Not completely sure about the authenticity."
"But not here in America."
"Well I'm not on top of federal law. But from what I understand, in the United States at least, it's illegal to even be in possession of it...or to be in the company of someone who's in possession of it, or to even know someone who knows someone who..."
"But there are people who are actually turned on by that?"
"A couple of years ago, some guy made a movie of himself having sex with a horse, during the process of which he inadvertently perforated his colon. He later died of sepsis."
"Are you trying to make this seem less disgusting by comparison?"
"No...I'm just trying to remind you that human beings are sick mother fuckers."
"Including all of us."
"Look, if it will make you feel better, just throw it away."
"And you wouldn't care?"
"That you disposed of something that I've had for fifteen years and didn't even remember owning until you waved it in my face two minutes ago? Gee, I think I'll get over it."
"Seriously? You're just going to let it go?"
"Do I have any other choice?"
"You could mope about it for a few days, withhold sex and passive aggressively guilt me into doing something menial or unpleasant, like cleaning the garage or sitting through a meal with your mother."
"I couldn't guilt you into anything."
"That's probably true. But you could still mope and withhold sex."
"I think I'll just put this in the trash."
"You do that."
"So why were you really looking at my porn?"
"I already told you. I was curious."
"Yeah, I got that. About what?"
"You don't talk to me, House."
"I talk to you all the time. Just yesterday we had a very stimulating conversation about Kanye West's coffee table."
"You don't talk about what you want."
"Ah...and you were hoping to gain some deeper insight into my desires by investigating my taste in pornography?"
"Instead of just coming out and asking me."
"Like that would make a difference."
"Never know until you try."
"I ask you things, House."
"You beat around the bush."
"Oh, look who's talking."
"I'm evasive. If you want something from me, you have to be direct. You know this."
"Yes, I do. And this was me being direct."
"You know...I used to think there were two categories of people in the world."
"I can't wait to hear this."
"I thought there were the people who liked porn and approved of it and the ones who didn't like it and disapproved of it. But I eventually discovered that there's a third and much more interesting category altogether."
"Which is what?"
"People who like porn, but disapprove of it."
"In case you were wondering, that's the category you're in."
"I don't disapprove of porn, House. I disapprove of some woman being raped and beaten for theatrical purposes."
"You do realize there are hundreds of thousands of women who actually enjoy the idea of being beaten and raped."
"And you think that makes it okay? Obviously there's something wrong with them."
"I'm not saying it's okay. I'm not even saying it's normal or healthy. I'm saying that you're lacking in perspective."
"You look at this movie and assume the woman on the cover is a victim."
"She is a victim."
"Okay...that's the role she's playing in this particular movie. But it's scripted, and she's also played the same role in dozens of other similarly themed movies."
"What's your point?"
"That she actively chose to produce movies of a specific genre."
"You're not serious."
"She had a great body. She could have made any kind of porn. She probably could have made donkey porn. But she chose to make that particular kind."
"You're picturing some battered, tiny woman with post traumatic stress disorder, sporting a perpetual body cast. I'm telling you...she's probably retired in a beach house in Pensacola."
"Well good for her."
"And that really messes with your head, doesn't it?"
"People wanting things that they shouldn't want."
"Why do you turn everything into a philosophical debate?"
"You're the one who was hoping to discover some deeper insight into my character by examining my taste in porn."
"You're saying I shouldn't read anything into this?"
"Like that would stop you."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"It doesn't mean anything."
"I wish I could believe that."
"Oh for God's sake..."
"What else are you hiding from me?"
"Nothing. I'm not hiding anything. It doesn't mean anything. It's just a movie."
"Look, it's like...Vicodin."
"Porn. I mean, it's not, but it is."
"When I first started taking Vicodin, I was taking the recommended dosage. And it was effective, for the most part. But in order to reap any benefits, I eventually needed more...a lot more."
"I don't follow."
"It's not something I'm proud of. But I'm sure it wouldn't take a genius to deduce that I was exposed to porn at a very young age, probably younger than I should have been. By the time I was eighteen I'd pretty seen everything there was to see. After a while the conventional stuff just wasn't enough. I was watching anything I could get my hands on, no matter how...ridiculous."
"And this movie?"
"I watched it once. I honestly didn't even know I still had it."
"Then why defend it? Why...trivialize my concerns?"
"Because I don't like feeling judged."
"I'm not...judging you."
"Oh, the hell you're not."
"I've done a lot of things in my life that you don't know about, some of them very, very bad."
"I kind of figured."
"Yeah, and I kind of figured that you figured. But I don't want that to be who you see when you look at me."
"Right. Did you watch the movie?"
"What do you think?"
"So you didn't even watch it. But you think you know all about it, just by looking at a two by two inch image on the cover."
"There is a brief description, and of course the title. Doesn't really leave much to the imagination."
"Well you think you know all about me by examining my taste in porn. Tell me what you've managed to extrapolate from the title, tiny picture and brief description on the cover of my box."
"I think I know you a little better than that."
"If that were true, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"You're going to try to make this about me?"
"It is about you."
"I've had that video for fifteen years. And for the majority of that time, it's been sitting in a cardboard box in my closet. When I moved in here, you went through that box, because you wanted to make sure that any x-rated material was properly stored, so Rachel wouldn't accidentally find it."
"So you can't just come right out and ask me how I feel or what I want. You chose to go digging through my old crap, pull out something I barely remember owning, and assign meaning to it."
"I ask you how you feel all the time. You give me vague answers. Sometimes you don't give me answers at all."
"That's because you usually have an agenda."
"What does that mean?"
"If we're going to your mom's for dinner, you ask me how I feel. But what you really mean is are you in a decent enough mood that you're not going to be easily agitated, thus increasing the chances that you're going to say something to embarass me?"
"When you're hoping to get laid, you ask me how I feel. But what you really mean is are you so distracted by whatever case you happen to be working on that you won't be able to devote sufficient attention to getting it on with me?"
"House, everyone does that. Everything we do and say is based on some agenda. How the hell is that wrong?"
"It's not wrong. I'm just saying if you're dissatisfied with the results, you may want to consider changing your agenda."
"Stop making assumptions."
"What assumptions am I making?"
"I don't want to argue with you."
"You're the one who brought it up."
"Yes, but if I answer that question honestly, it will lead to an argument."
"Is that why you don't tell me how you really feel or what you really want, because it will lead to an argument?"
"That's...part of it."
"Well after seeing this, I'm not so sure I want to know what you really want."
"Right, another assumption. Perfect way to end this conversation."
"It's not over."
"It is if I say it is."
"It's not...fine. You want to end it? End it."
"Have I ever hit you?"
"Have I ever assaulted you, forced myself on you, restrained you and had my way with you?"
"Aside from that one incident with the bunjee cords, which I don't think really counts."
"And I could, right? I mean, you're in good shape. But I easily outweigh you by ninety pounds. And if by some chance I were really desperate, I've got enough cash to find a hooker who'd be willing to let me beat and violate her. I might even be able to find one who would enjoy it."
"But I haven't."
"Is that supposed to be some kind of grand accomplishment or sign of restraint on your part?"
"You know what? I give up. It doesn't matter what I say anyway. Think whatever you want."
"No, House...look, I'm sorry. This threw me, okay? This really threw me. Finding this was...weird."
"It's only weird if you make it weird."
"You don't think it's weird?"
"Of course it's weird. It's sick. Lot's of things I've bought are weird and sick, some a lot weirder and sicker than that. But they're not relevant to my life right now."
"They're only relevant if you make them relevant."
"So you're saying I should just throw this away and forget I ever saw it."
"If you don't mind."
"What do you want?"
"See? You can't even tell me."
"Because I don't know how to answer that."
"Are you happy?"
"I don't know how to answer that either."
"It's not complicated."
"It is complicated."
"It's a yes or no question."
"But not happy."
"Why can't you say?"
"Because I'm not entirely sure I know what that means."
"Well, what do you think it means?"
"I think...happiness is a fleeting, temporary state that's not designed to exist for an extended period of time."
"Because if life were one, continuous orgasm we wouldn't get anything done."
"I like where I'm at, Cuddy. Is that good enough for you?"
"I guess it'll have to be."