This the time of the year when Were-Wolf-Loonies such as myself secretly go nuts. (Peace on Earth, Good Will Towards Men … My ass … I want to kill something! Might tackle that one tomorrow) A friend of mine when describing me to someone, will always say that “I am a somewhat sick, twisted, perverted and evil individual. But I kind of like that in a person.”
Which brings me to today’s post.
“Have you ever wanted to, but just did not do it?”
Okay, here it is.
I am in a Fast Food joint and after paying in advance, for what I anticipate is going to be a “healthy, scrumptious, feast of hairballs and grease, delivered to me at less than the speed of light, and at a greatly reduced price because I am older than time in a bottle.” The girl smiles and politely asks for a name on the ticket.
This is where it always gets sticky for me, you see, I always want to say ….
“Good Looking Handsome Man”
Deep down we all know that they are NEVER going to shout out … “Good Looking Handsome Man your order is ready.”
Kind of like an elevator in an Out-House … It just aint gonna happen. But dog-gone it, I always secretly wish that they would … Just once.
At this point, I am sure you are realizing this one bare fact of life. Being sick, twisted, perverted and evil is not a job for the faint hearted nor is it to be taken lightly. It takes skill, verve, direction, and outright courage in order to pull it off. And your thought processes have to be somewhat different than the rest of society. You should also be able to wonder out loud about anything on the planet.
“Were the Cartwright boys on Bonanza Gay
or was it just Hop Sing?”
“Would sleeping in the bottom bunk mess you up
later on in your adult life?”
“If I wore black shoes and white sox to the zoo,
would a penguin fall in love with me?”
“If you cut a fart in a barometric chamber session
will it mess up your test results on Dr. Phil?”
“Do Orientals go out for “American Food?”
“Why are women’s bikini tops and bottoms sold separately?”
And finally … the one that has been with me all of my life.
That one cryptic note from the sub-basement of time:
“Why is it that the word prodigy
was never applied to me one time in my entire life?”
How come I never got to grow up as a prodigy on the piano, giving concert performances in front of sold-out crowds by the age of 12?
Oh no … Not me. I got a paper route instead.
It just isn’t fair … How come Barry Manilow got all the good gigs. Only so much room in this old world for prodigies I suppose, and now, you know what part of the bunk beds I slept on as a kid … Don’tcha?
Photo Credit Perley Jay Benson