The world’s foremost random number artisan shares influences, process, and an orange cat

Sam buzzed me in. I descended to the basement apartment and was greeted with a sleepy smile and a whirling cloud of blueberry vape smoke.

We shook hands, exchanged names, crossed the threshold, turned right, and walked into the living room. It was full of stuff stacked in wobbly pillars. A bed, a couch, mountains of marked boxes, folded wooden chairs, fake flowers, books, piled plates, old electronics, large blue plastic bags and many empty orange Dorito bags.

Sam pointed me to one corner of the couch. On top sat three full bags of Doritos. I picked them up. Underneath was a giant blue and yellow nerf gun. Sam grasped it, pulled back the cocking mechanism and set it carefully down on top of a coffee table covered in layers of paper. I placed the full bags at my feet, and started the recorder.

Kyle: Thank you Sam for taking the time to speak with me today about your work as a random number artisan. Your employer wants to showcase their best artisans. Yesterday I interviewed Jo Yportne, a fascinating character. I understand you are the highest grossing entrepreneur and my goal is to describe exactly how you do it.

Sam: My dude, chiiiiillll. Let’s set the vibes and go with the flow.

Uhm, OK, how can we do that?

First of all, can I offer you some Doritos?

Yes… please.

Open one of those bags by your feet. And throw me one.

[I threw a bag to Sam. Sam opened the bag, crunched a chip and savoured it.]

Can you start by telling me a bit about your influences? What traditions do you draw on to inform your craft?

My influences are these collected objects, my dreams, mother nature, Arendt, Doritos, Grotowski, my visitors, and of course Dr. Fluffbutt. In fact, Dr. Fluffbutt is an influence, a friend and a collaborator.

[Laughs] Who is Dr. Fluff…

[At this moment, a large orange cat entered the room from the hallway].

“Right there, the maestro.”

[The cat crunched a path through the carpet of empty orange bags and sat at Sam’s side]

“Bravo F B, bravo.”

I see. Can you tell me more about these objects you’ve collected?

I inherited them. This house belonged to my friend's grandparents. These were their belongings. We all leave this stuff behind. For what? Anyway, I do my best work in the ruins of an ancient civilization. It reminds me of the possible and the inevitable.

Interesting. Can you tell me how these influences come together in your process?

My process. So I sit on this bed, eat Doritos, play with Dr. Fluffbutt, take a short video of the scene, feel the vibes and write the corresponding random number in my notepad. Then I sell them.

Fascinating. That is so much different than what I learned from Jo.

Well yeah, I don’t need to go out and gather hundreds of rare, high-brow variables and then get all mathy about it. That’s counterproductive. Chaos is a fucking vibe, not an equation. And I don’t need to go anywhere to find it. The disorder of my room is a fractal of the disorder of the universe. It’s all right here, right now.

Why do you do this work?

I felt I was being fucked by chaos. I saw people trying to fight it. I tried too. It wore me down. Order is a delusion. When I hit the bottom, I realised that my life was a comedy, not a tragedy. So I decided to embrace the inexorable decay of everything I know and love. I decided to make sweet love to chaos, to make chaos babies with diapers full of chaos shits. Ya feel me? Do you get it now?

I hear what you’re saying. I have some sense of what the individual words mean. I’m not sure I get it.

How about a demonstration?

I would love that.

You are part of the scene. Are you ready?

For what? What would you like me to do?

Play your part.

[Sam sat up in the chair, carefully selected a Dorito from the bag, crunched it loudly, pet F B from head to tail, looked intently at the coffee table and then up at me. Sam then took a video with a phone, pulled out a pocket notebook and wrote down a number]

This is a good one. I’m going to sell it for 50 euros.

That’s it? You’ve done it?

What is wrong with that? Is that not enough?

I mean I’m just trying to understand.

You want a more tangible performance? Jo gave you a performance. Jo showed you enough parts and operations for you to feel like the work was worth the price, and printed you a shiny certificate with the recipe. More variables and more math equals more good? You think you want math. You don’t. Folks will pay 20 euros for an interesting piece of math. They pay 200 euros for someone to give chaos a wet willy.

So would you say that your process is purposefully simple?

Simple, complex, high, low. No thank you. You want more. I can see that.

I’m not sure I understand.

Ok, I want you to start eating your Doritos. Not too fast. Savour each one for as long as possible. After one dissolves, eat the next.

Why?

Why not?

[I started eating Doritos, crunching. I ate about 15]

Do you feel it?

Feel what?

Satisfaction.

From what?

I guess not.

I must ask — what’s up with all the Doritos? And the empty bags? Why do you keep them?

First of all, Doritos are delicious. Salt. Fat. Carbs. Secondly, they make great sounds. Thirdly, they come in orange, reflective bags that also make great sounds. What’s not to like?

So…

So you’re not satisfied with this experience.

I haven’t yet made sense of it.

You think making sense will satisfy you? You must be sick. You clearly need the Doctor.

[Sam stood up, walked to the coffee table, picked up the nerf gun, rested it against his shoulder, and started pacing through the stacks, kicking channels in the crinkly Dorito bags and knocking over boxes. Sam then stopped, aimed the nerf gun at Dr. Fluffbutt, who immediately bolted around the room and bounded over and around the boxes in a mad dash. Sam took a video with the other hand]

Oh that’s a good one. Can you do me a favour? Can you take my notebook and write down a number for me? Never mind, I’ll text it to myself and write it down later.

What are you doing? This is ridiculous. I’m here to interview you and you’re clearly messing with me.

We are clearly messing with each other. You are being paid a few euros to interrogate a person who gets paid a few euros to craft random numbers from disordered moments like this. We are spending the time of our lives in this room, stuffed with dead people’s leftovers, each other, Doritos, a nerf gun and Dr. Fluffbutt. Are you satisfied?

No.

[F B settled back onto the bed]

Would adding higher quality variables or math make this experience more satisfactory for you?

Maybe. The interview with Jo made more sense. Adding good ingredients in good proportions makes a good meal.

Good ingredients? Good meal? We are selling entropy bruh. We are increasing the void in an effort to fill the void. You think adding random information from another top rated song and another top rated painting is going to be enough? It’s doom scrolling, pulling the lever on a slot machine. The house always wins. You’ll make yourself sick. At least if I eat three bags of Doritos, my body takes over, I vomit and feel better. And I don’t do that anymore. I use them responsibly, for my art.

Give me the gun.

Now we are talking.

[Sam placed the gun in my outstretched hands]

All you have to do is point it at F B and the zoomies will start again. But if you manage to hit F B in the butt, you will unlock the Avatar state.

Challenge accepted.

[I aimed the gun at Dr. Fluffbutt, who started the zoomies, toppled plates and tore papers. I fired the first shot, missed, re-cocked the gun, fired again and missed again. I ran after Dr. Fluffbutt to get a closer shot. As the scene evolved, Sam took videos and wrote numbers]

Don’t aim at that Doctor, aim where the Doctor will go.

How many more shots do I have?

Three.

[I fired ahead of F B, who lept over the projectile and into a lamp, which crashed to the floor. Sam stood on the bed to get a higher vantage point for the videos. I cocked the gun, fired the next shot, and hit the Doctor’s front left paw. As I chambered the final bullet, F B’s claws got caught on the curtain. I kneeled down, lined up the shot, and fired. The dart arced across the room and struck Dr. Fluffbutt directly in the butt. This chonky orange cat turned towards me, roared like a lion and sprung directly onto my chest. I fell backwards onto the ground and F B began punching me in the face with his cute little paws. Sam took a video.]

Bravo, what a performance! I’m going to sell this one for 60 euros. Dr. Fluffbutt, that’s enough, we got the shot.

[F B stopped punching and returned to Sam’s side. We all sat silently. I caught my breath]

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

Do you want to go out for some fresh air?

Why not?

Great. Do we need to bring anything?

Leave the gun, take the Doritos.