Sometimes I don’t think.
I just do.
Not in the inspirational way, not in the ‘Let’s go get ’em boys! Today’s our day!’ way, just the instinctual do.
It’s a strange thought, no more stranger than anything else I’ve tried to accomplish, but at the very same time, you have to wonder about the intellectual clockwork that might be missing from whatever thought processes weren’t there.
For instance, I decided to make a sandwich, and before I knew it, I had already eaten the sandwich.
Where did the time go?
Did it disappear into a vase only to be pushed off the ledge in a time space event known only to Dan Aykroyd and the security footage of my left nostril?
And suddenly this supposedly intellectual take on not thinking just took the metaphor, and released into the cruel world in reality, where bitches be crazy and The Bachelor and Bachelorette are shows about truly indecisive fuckwads where clearly the producer is crotch stabbing them with a cattle prod in order to the the results the Networks desire.
Or is it?
for within these truly inspired works of total genius lay the one truth that has both pressed its meaty sausage against the peephole of life and hidden it’s Donald Trump sized shame in a fourteen year investigation about whether potatoes can ACTUALLY see from their, and I quote, “eyes.”
Before the very mental speaker, of which you are NO doubt mentally verbalizing a slightly drunk Ghost bosters era Dan Akroyd, lies a genie.
A Game Genie. and you, like thel ittle psychotic game hacker you are back in them id 90’s decided to put in a random code, only to watch as you NES went sailing to the cieling like a fireworks display, inside a mobile fireworks shop, being made currently, inside a fireworks factory. surrounded by fireworks.
truly, the width and breadth of humanity is on full display before your very eyes in plain black and white.
And this is why i should neverb e allowed ot have coffee at 2:33am, for this very reason.
Because the longer I make this blog post, the more insane and incomprehensible it becomes, and like every crack addicted actor in a rendition of MacBeth ever using only the power of screaming, boiling lobsters, clown puppets, and surprise punches to the crotch of every man woman, and child in that very theater, I will continue to fill your head with such vivid imagery that your brain never wanted.
Enjoy the night terrors of little Timmy Traumatized as the organ music blasts “Send in the clowns” but they are sent in the exact wrong way, and little Timmy Traumatized now spends the majority of his paychecks on Therapy and vicodin, knowing only the blind fury of the fact that now, you’re imagining Morgan Freeman narrating this, or Jerry Seinfeld, but most likely Alex Trebek as played by Stone Cold Steve Austin, POWER BOMBING THE UNDERTAKER IN WCW XIIIL!
I should post this, but I won’t, but eventually, I will, fully edited to the peak of literary evolution, and made to shine like a gold plated pile of shit, andp owered by screaming nun gerbils. their little squeaks of terror bring the demon robot joy, in an ever evolving effort to turn their little adorable fur coats in the a blanket of snow white madness.
My god, the humanity would have been appropriate, but since these are currently misspelled words on a screen, humanity nor God, has anything to do with this.
And oh shit, it’s sunday, and I should get to sleep, but I refuse to, on the principle, that sometimes (you’re now reading this in Clint Eastwoods “Dirty Harry” era voice.) a man’s got to do with several jars of nondescript glow in the dark playdough, what a man’s got to do. And what that mans has to do?
Is build such a version of Frosty the Snowman that wanders the streets at night, screaming into the kitchen windows just as someones about to pour hot noodles into a strainer, and wreak his oddly specific vengeance upon the world roughly around dinner time each AND EVERY NIGHT!
This blog took a WTF turn, didn’t it?
This… could be interesting.
Sometimes I don’t think.