Tyler Durden

I want you to do me a favor. I want you to hit me as hard as you can. Let me tell you about myself: My name's Tyler Durden. I am the leader of a club called “Fight Club” that my friend and I started in the basement of a bar called "Lou's Tavern." We meet every night and fist fight each other and when the fight is over, nothing’s solved, but nothing matters. Fight Club was the beginning. But now, it's moved out of the basement and it's called Project Mayhem. I also make soap, my friend and I make soap and sell it to retail stores for twenty dollars a bar, God knows what they charge. It's beautiful; we're selling rich women their own fat asses back to them. I live in a big shitty house a half a mile away from anything else so at night I can do whatever I want. I live in a big shitty house because I prefer it that way. Fuck all that fancy shit! Fuck off with your sofa units and strine green stripe patterns, I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let... lets evolve, let the chips fall where they may. Fuck damnation, man! Fuck redemption! We are God's unwanted children? So be it! Did you know that if you mixed equal parts of gasoline with frozen orange juice concentrate, you can make napalm? That's right; one can make all kinds of explosives using simple household items... If one were so inclined. 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 waking up to that fact, people. And we're very, very pissed off. I, Tyler Durden, am good looking, awesome in bed, smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free. So, like I said: I want you to hit me as hard as you can...
If you are reading this, then this warning is for you. Every word you read of this useless fine print is another second of your life. Don't you have other things to do? Is your life so empty that you honestly can't think of a better way to spend these moments? Or are you so impressed by authority that you give respect and credence to all who demand it? Do you read everything you're supposed to read? Do you think everything you're supposed to think? And buy what you're told you should want? Get out of your apartment. Meet a member of the opposite sex. Stop the excessive shopping and masturbation. Quit your job, start a fight, prove you're alive. If you don't claim your humanity, you will become a statistic. You have been warned.
-Tyler
Listen up maggots! You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You are the same decaying organic matter as everything else. We are the all singing, all dancing crap of the world. Your life is ending one second at a time and there’s nothing you can do about it. Worker bees can leave, even drones can fly away; the Queen is there slave. You have to except this. You have to know, not fear, but know that one day you are going to be dead and nothing will matter anymore. Quit working that job you hate so that you can buy shit that don’t need. We’ve all been raised on television to thing that one day we’re all going to be rock stars and movie gods. But we’re not, and we’re slowly starting to realize that fact, and we’re very, very pissed off! You have to let go. You have to be able to let that that does not matter truly slide. FIGHT CLUB is not a god damn seminar, it's not a weekend retreat. This is the way we live our lives. We have no great war, no great depression. Our great war’s a spiritual war, and our great depression is our lives. We could die at any moment, the tragedy is that we don't.
The Rules of FIGHT CLUB
1st RULE: You do not talk about FIGHT CLUB.
2nd RULE: YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT FIGHT CLUB.
3rd RULE: If someone says "stop" or goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.
4th RULE: Only two guys to a fight.
5th RULE: One fight at a time, Fellas.
6th RULE: No shirts, no shoes.
7th RULE: Fights will go on as long as they have to.
8th RULE: If this is your first night at FIGHT CLUB, you have to fight.
background-repeat:repeat; } Table, Td{ background-color:transparent; } table table table{ border-color:000000; border-style:solid; border-width:6px; } table table table table, table table table td{ border-style:none; } body, div, p, strong, td, .text, .blacktext10, .blacktext12, a.searchlinkSmall, a.searchlinkSmall:link, a.searchlinkSmall:visited{ color:ffffff; font-weight:bold; font-style:normal; } .orangetext15, .lightbluetext8, .whitetext12, .nametext, .btext, .redtext, .redbtext{ color:FFFF00; font-size:12pt; font-weight:bold; text-decoration:underline ; font-style:normal; } a, a:link, a:visited, a.navbar, a.navbar:link, a.navbar:visited, a.man, a.man:link, a.man:visited, a.redlink, a.redlink:visited{ color:FFFFFF; font-size:10pt; font-weight:bold; font-style:normal; } a:hover, a:active, a.navbar:hover, a.navbar:active, a.man:hover, a.man:active, a.searchlinkSmall:hover, a.searchlinkSmall:active, a.redlink:hover, a.redlink:hover{ color:FF6600; font-size:10pt; font-weight:bold; text-decoration:underline ; font-style:normal; }