Rollie Fingers has gazed into the abyss and emerged unchanged.
Consider the act of approaching a single door at the end of a tight, bare hallway, and opening the door to find only another, and then but another, and so on until there are no more doors, but also no fool left to open them. There is only a monstrous nothingness that has, suddenly and without notice, swallowed you, the doors, and every other known thing into a void so deep that you and they are rendered unrecognizable, then one-by-one spat out (read: born again, perhaps) as new monstrous nothingnesses.
Rollie Fingers has considered such a thing, and in response only laughed and reached for more mustache wax.
There is a plague which affects each and every living person and persons who have lived, and which takes the initial form of a simple question such as, “Did I forget to turn the lights out?” or “Did I remember to pay the August rent?” Such a question then, inevitably and aggressively, retreats into a tiny ball – black and ghastly, far more dense than our puny universe – which teases with latency before expanding into a terrified rumination of “What if nothing happens when we die?”
Rollie Fingers has faced the most intense of afflictions with this plague, and hocked it right out of himself along with a loogie.
The abyss and nasty contents therein contained, to Roland Glen Fingers, are the punchline to a damn good dick joke. For the remainder of us, weaker and less impressive in nearly every way, they (the abyss and nasty contents therein contained) are a bit more troublesome.