tics, phos, and so's...

I try to avoid politics on this blog.  I just don't feel it a worthy cause.  Don't get me wrong, I still try to keep an eye on the latest antics in D.C..  This is no easy feat either.  As many of you know, Corporate America works hard to keep me out of politics.  Right now my mind is so wrapped around the genius behind Mr. Clean that I can't focus on anything else.  I just don't get how he created Magic Erasers.  I'm not completely ignorant, nor am I a skeptic.  I'm fully aware that there is a microfiber-like sponge.  What I don't get is if he filled the sponge with magic potion, or just cast a spell on the sponge.  You judge this thought, but I bet you couldn't explain it.  To have that kind of power to remove unwanted markings, while keeping all other physical items constant--that's magic!  I just didn't know that the authority of witchcraft was going to allow magic to be used commercially for a profit.  Doesn't that kinda cheapen their powers?  If you have that kind of power, why not just create money.  Maybe, it's the slow economy and they don't want their riches to be too obvious.  I guess that's when you know times are rough.  Even the wizards and sorcerers have to set aside their lavish lifestyle, and participate in the free market.  It's all mind boggling...Image via Wikipedia

As for the group with the bad ideas--you seriously think dropping all government activity except for the defense fund is a great idea?  Am I the only one who feels like a character in a George Orwell book?  I'm not talking about the Stalin figure, I'm talking about the rest of the population that buys the crap.  I'm talking about the ones who get crapped on.

To certain cable programs who think this is a sophisticated idea, I salute you--with my middle finger.  This isn't even phisticated, so how could it be so-phisticated?  This just tics me of.  It's ticated.  It's so below logic that I feel like all those congressman aren't even debating.  I think they just go laugh behind doors.  "Oh man, wait til we pitch this crap to the public.  It's gonna be a good laugh", Bohner can barely speak with out rolling on the floor laughing.

Image via Wikipedia

Then some dude with a small conscious (he's really more concerened about what might happen to him) asks, "do you think they'll buy it."

Bohner is still laughing, "they'll believe anything we put on Fox News.  All we have to do is play the audio while we show footage of spring break in Mexico."

Yeah, I said it!  I don't know if I'm more pissed about these morons, or the fact that I allowed such vile nonsense to inhabit space on my blog.

I said it alright...

I hear them, I hear them...

Cover of Survival Story

What could be better than running from voices, all through the night?  It's rare that I ask questions that aren't rhetorical, unless I'm challenging someone, but seriously I don't have an answer for this.  I've tried everything, but sometimes it gets overwhelming.  The key is to man up, face the mirror, and say there is a dialogue in my head, and things are getting really out of control.  That's the sliver of humility required to overcome.  It's kind of like a twelve step program.  You mock me for it, but my ego is what's saved me from these voices.  If it is just your voice, spewing a never ending monologue in your head, you probably feel OK.  I'm here to tell you: You probably aren't  However, if there is more than one voice, you definitely have a problem.  The difference between me and the poor haunted individuals in the psych unit, is that I claim the voices.  No one notices you're crazy, until you honestly have no other excuse but the truth: the voices made me do it.   You're thrown out, or sent to the corner indefinitely. That's when authoritative figures say, "Really..? hmmm... ok then... follow me please (let me speak louder than all voices in your head: IT'S A TRAP! [my now current english teacher says: more than one exclamation point is obnoxious]).

Image via Wikipedia

So I made a bold and brave decision.  I called the bluff, declaring that all these different voices were really my inner-acting talent producing foreign accents (mostly European, because lets just face it the only socio-rebellion that they encourage anymore, is for teenage boys to wear tight girl pants and use their hands to iron their hair perfectly to the left and slightly down.  If only the emo world could be understood!).  Where was I?  Oh yeah... I don't have the blessing of hallucinations, so I have to imagine that I talk trash to 5 different cobras every morning in the mirror.  This is actually quite more effective than flexing muscles to feel tough.  One of them sounds like Austin Powers, one like Ron Burgandy, one like Richard (from Tommy Boy), one like Eric Cartman, and the most intimidating sounds like Chuck Norris.
Image via Wikipedia
It's OK, because I've conquered here, I'm in control, and those voices are really my inner-self running out of energy to fully exercise the daily demons.  So occansionally, the fight becomes so exhausting, that I have to run from it.  I wear noise isolation earbuds to silence the chatter.  After 2 hours of Tool, Rage, Flobots,  Eminem, or some other star with mommy and daddy issues, I'm free.  Not only that, but I return home with a Ph. D in marketing, emphasis on political propaganda.

And that's why I have a leg up, 5 associates, and a cutting edge understanding of mind control.  People click away from this blog so disoriented, that they don't know which way is up.

I guess you can add Martyr to my mainy titles.  How many of you would take on the voices in your head for me?

Chew it 50 times before you swallow...

oh for sure...

I didn't get my usual Sunday dinner material last night, because I didn't go over to the crackheads' house.  "Crackheads" is the nickname I give to in-law's residence.  It sounds harsh, but it's actually sugar coated quite heavily.  On any given Sunday evening, there's enough mental disorders in that home to keep a dozen psycho-therapists busy for a year (that doesn't including sleeping, bathroom breaks, and mealtime).  Surely any therapist would appreciate the value, but would inevitably leave the place dizzy and disoriented.  Unfortunately, the English language does not provide a means whereby I could properly describe the fray.  I would need a stage (at least 600 sqft), a microphone (with about 20 different distortion modes), 200mg of adderall and 10 interpreters to give it mediocre small town type of justice.  Don't harp on me, this isn't me on a soap box pointing a finger.  I have contemplated the possibility that I may be a contributor to the brain stew, but I prefer to think of myself as a mediator.  I try to maintain order and encourage bad behavior, in order to help the wandering sheep see their mistakes before they make them.  It almost always results in encouragement to actually live the mistake.  Either way it serves as priceless entertainment and valuable conversational points when my wife and I argue why our children act the way they do.  Let me some it up- if they do something awesome, it's because of me; if they do something that makes you cringe, pick a crackhead (any crackhead).

Instead, this week, we went to my family's house for din din.  This not only gave me little to no material, but it led to talks of censorship.  This is opportunity time for wifey, sure is.  I'm out searching for material and I'm sitting on one side of the table with my eyeballs rolling in a steady constant circle.  You can't censor this.  All I can do is try hard to convince my Mom that she somehow blew it with me, and that's why I'm so messed up.  Even then, she doesn't get defensive, she just turns her brain to auto-pilot and starts repeating- "sure Lee, we messed you up".  That women is certainly vulnerable to guilt, but she's too smart to take credit for any of my lack of accomplishments.  She also stands a little taller, with wifey by her side, egging her on.

So here you have it, not much new material.