Mischief. Mayhem. Soap......

My favorite quotes from Fight Club:

"Man, I see in fight club the strongest and smartest men who've ever lived. I see all this potential, and I see squandering. God damn it, an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don't need. We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off."


"Listen up, maggots. You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else."


"Strangers with this kind of honesty make me go a big rubbery one." (The Narrator)


"Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken."

Fight Club was never just about fighting. For Tyler it was a gift. He had given a gift to the men that fought there. The gift was freedom. Freedom from their mundane existence. Freedom from the chains of the corporate world they were bound to. The point of Fight Club was to let go.

Tonight at Fight Club there would be no fighting, tonight Tyler was giving out homework. Small tasks to help free them from their insecurities and inhibitions. I am Jack's smirking revenge.

"Gentleman!" Tyler called out. "There won't be any fights tonight." He chuckled as they groaned and voiced their complaints. Adjusting the shiny aviator glasses, that were way to big and crooked, he smirked. "Sorry fellas, promise you WILL thank me later." He grinned and continued "Homework, you all have homework."

Tyler pointed towards a group of socially challenged men, out in public they would be called geeks, dorks, nerds...you know pocket protector wearing, Star Trek loving fools. But here they were an essential part of the group. "The lot of you are going to Fremont Street. That big digital display that covers the entire walkway..you know shows planes flying, the stars, the moon...well I figure with your talents you might be able to give the crowd a more adult themed show. Call me when you are done, I will be down to see your handy work...make it good boys." They smirked at Tyler and headed off.

"Just so you all know, no on goes alone...we practice the buddy system here at Fight Club...with that said...there is a NASCAR race car parked out in front of Harrah's. I don't like the way it is painted. Do I have some volunteers?" A group of men that resembled the Backstreet Boys, after a night in a WWF wrestling match, raised their hands and one announced that they would like the task. "Good, it's yours...make sure to paint an inspirational message on the hood. Get me pictures. Park it on the sidewalk on the strip."

Tapping his finger against his lips he thought about the next task......

When you have insomnia, you're never really asleep... and you're never really awake. You wake up in a different city, a different time and never really know how you got there. In the cold, damp basement the sound of skin hitting skin filled the room. Looking over his shoulder he grins.

That's Tyler, the one in the middle, grinning like a kid on Christmas. Not really sure how we got to Los Angeles, just woke up and here we were. Tyler spits blood to the floor. Then runs for his opponent tackling him to the ground.

This is Fight Club. To most it appears to be simple, men out of their fucking minds beating the shit out of each other. Not to Tyler. Fight Club is an outlet, a way to discover who we really, truly are. The crowd is quiet for a moment as Tyler calls out. "Give 'em the rules, man." Doubling up his fist Tyler hits the young blonde man as hard as he can. His feet lift from the floor and his body falls to the ground limp and bleeding. Wiping the blood from his face his grin has gotten bigger,if that is possible. It made the broken tooth in the middle of his smile stand out like a homing beacon drawing all attention to his mouth.

"Ok, the first rule of Fight Club is..." Tyler dangles an arm over his shoulder.

"The first rule of Fight Club is...you do not talk about Fight Club." Tyler pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one up. "The second rule of Fight Club is...you DO NOT talk about Fight Club. Third rule of Fight Club, someone yells Stop!, goes limp, taps out, the fight is over. Fourth rule, only two guys to a fight." After taking a long drag he blows the smoke out. Coughing the man dressed in a blood stained suit moves away from the smoke, waving at it in disgust. "Fifth rule, one fight at a time, fellas. Sixth rule, no shirt, no shoes. Seventh rule, fights will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight."

Patting the other man on the shoulder Tyler smirks. Standing in front of him with the cigarette dangling from his lips he straightens his tie and smirks.

"Just a little smoke, man."

Tyler wandered in a circle around the crowd. Looking each of the men up and down. Pointing to the big guy with the tattoo on his shoulder Tyler grins. Tyler always grins. There has yet to be a man that could hit him hard enough to wipe that shit eating, all knowing grin off of his face. Trust me. They have tried. "You..." He smirked "Yeah, your first night right?" Tyler extended his hand, "I am Tyler and that's.." He pointed to the slender, slight looking man that moments before was irritated by his smoking, but then quickly waved him away with his hand. "Well nevermind who that is. Welcome to fight club."

Night after night that was the scene that played out in the basement that once was a speak easy. Tyler was no longer a man with a deranged, over inflated ego. Okay, well that part was still true. The man was a fucking guru to the middle aged, middle class, working man. Tyler would tell you that he is just doing his part to whiddle away at the pharmaceutical companies that are feeding us anti-depressants out of a PEZ dispenser. He would tell you this was his personal jab at psychiatry. Fight Club, the answer to all your problems.....