Cosmic alignment has it that my morning will be a brilliant concoction of mania, stress and prickliness. In as much as I want to go placidly amidst the noise and haste as Desiderata would put it, I just want to run berserk and stab people at random.
That or probably detonate nuclear reactors at the bathrooms of campaign strategists.
I had my first twilight zone moment today. Aside from the fact that my good buddy MC is frantically sending me warped messages, I also had my fair share of blasted symphony of off-key gongs and cymbals crashing with uneven loud thumps shrieking ‘Deadline! Deadline!’ in my head.
I furiously thumbed messages in reply to my schmuck friend.
The Dweeb: Go away!
Schmuckoo: I can’t! I’m contemplating a profound treatise on how to save the world from strife and hunger, and how I can promote world peace.
The Dweeb: How fucking noble! We should rally to bronze you or probably campaign to have your very own commemorative postage stamp! How about I propose lynching you on Easter Sunday at the Vatican Plaza?
Schmuckoo: Why not the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame instead? Or, or, or how about the induction to Nobel Prize Laureate List?
The Dweeb: Fat fucking chance, smart ass! You can’t spell for shit! And oh, I’m sitting next to a guy unflappably reading ‘How Bad Can I Be And Still Go To Heaven?” Aaaahh, the cosmic signs!
Schmuckoo: Spiritually uplifting! I am so broke I am sick with worry! How can I nurse 500 Iranian refugees?
The Dweeb: How? Easy. Follow my warped philosopher’s stratagem: Bring me your poor, your tired, your oppressed, and let’s club them to death!
He didn’t reply. He’s probably lost in the haze of a delusion. The one where he’s the illicit love child of Nelson Mandela and the pious Mother Teresa.
A few minutes later, my phone beeped.
Schmuckoo: Be gone, cynic!
Oh great, the pleasure of being driven away out of annoyance! Cynic? Me? A caustically warped way at looking at things is also a virtue. Unless of course you’re one of those unspeakably buckled people with no smidgen ironic protein strain in your vein. To which I would be glad to educate you in the sophisticated art of looking at the world through jaundiced eyes. Or club you to death.
Whichever is applicable is determined by whether I had coffee or not.