When I was a kid, one of my favorite short stories was "Obstinate Uncle Otis," about a guy who simply refused to acknowledge anything he didn't agree with. Someone would complain about that new building spoiling the view of the mountains, for example, and the always laconic and ornery Otis would respond, "What building? I can see the mountains just fine."
I think of this story during most conversations I have with TwoBert, who is right right right all the time. Whereas Robert might sit and ponder the riddle of the Sphinx, TwoBert would shake the Sphinx by the lapels until its nose fell off.
A classic example of this is the Word Game, where each person says a word that begins with the last letter of the previous one. T and I have just started playing on long subway rides while R buries his nose in a book with disgust. One of our latest rounds went like this:
Me: Down.
TwoBert: Town.
Me: No. What does "down" end with?
T: N.
Me: And what sound does N make?
T: NNNNNNNNNNN.
Me: Good. So does "town" begin" with NNNNNN?
T: Yes.
Me: No it doesn't.
T: Yes is does.
Me: No, it begins with the "tuh" sound. What letter makes the "tuh" sound?
T: T! For TwoBert!
Me: Right! TwoBert and town. So it doesn't begin with N.
T: Yes it does.
Me: No it doesn't.
T: YES!
Me: Nnnnnope.
T: YYYYEEEESSSSSSS!
And so on. And it takes every fiber of Robert's self restraint to keep from getting up into TwoBert's grille and calling him a "hapless oaf"--the current epithet on the hardscrabble streets of NYC.
The cool thing about Otis's story is that one day he is struck by lightning, and the things he disbelieves in--like that building--start to disappear. Then Otis has a bout of amnesia, forgets who he is, and disbelieves himself out of existence.
A fate that Robert increasingly wishes would befall TwoBert with each passing day.
