Total nutjob

Mik, you’re cracked!

Cracked? My crack is showing, how embarrassing.

No! You’re mad, you’re cracked.

Now that’s a bit harsh, cracked, maybe a bit chipped.

What? No, you’re a few cards short of a full deck.

I always throw the jokers out.

Huh? The lights are on but nobody’s home.

Their home, they forgot to pay their electric bill.

Excuse me, dude you don’t have both oars in the water.

My arms are too short.

Argh, you are exasperating. I’m trying to say you don’t have all your corn flakes in one box.

I was looking for the prize.

Your elevator doesn’t quite make the top floor.

I usually walk.

You’re nuttier than a fruitcake.

Hmm I luvs me some fruitcake.

A few beers short of a six-pack

Who drank some of my beers.

Oh man you are crazy insane.

Why thanks for the diagnosis Doctor, the Serbians in the mail.

What?

Oh sorry, the Yugoslavian, no wait, the Czech, the Czech’s in the mail.

I’m leaving, I give up.

You give up, whoo hoo I won! I’d punched the air in victory if it wasn’t for this strait jacket. Hey where are you going?

To molder and crumble

My Moleskine notebook fills with inane thoughts, words and phrases, silly ideas and stories, eccentric characters, usually as I sit on the light rail or bus as I commute to and from work. Hopefully I won’t start spouting them out loud. On that day, I get off a different stop and check myself in!

Hey!

What?

Shouldn’t you put those crazy thoughts and inane scribblings away somewhere? Maybe filed in a dark corner of your mind to molder and crumble away forgotten?

Can’t do that, that area is overflowing, I have to release them somewhere.

If people see them they might think you’re insane.

That’s what the doctors say.

What doctors?

I don’t know, they never say, they just walk in bedecked in their white coats, scribbling on their clipboards, nodding heads and knowing looks, then leave again. Hey do me a favor?

Sure, what?

Loosen the straps they’re a bit tight.

Dr. Seuss I not

The slim, slam, slap, sloo…

What?

Mind your own it’s nothing to do with you.

Dr. Seuss you’re not.

The glim, glam, glap, glot…

Clever, funny, witty you are not.

See, now you’re doing it!

Ugh!

I be…

I be a poeta; a word slayer, a sooth sayer…

Excuse me?

What?

Are you reciting crap out of your Moleskine notebook again?

Maybe.

A “sooth sayer”, really?

Well, I’m all out of sooth and too shy to say.

I think you’re crazy.

What you’re a doctor now?

No, but come on don’t you think you’re crazy?

I don’t know I’m not a doctor either.

Married to a loon

Carolyn, my beloved wife turns to me on the couch and says out of the blue as we are watching TV:

Carolyn: You know my dear, sometimes you talk a lot of inane stuff, I worry about you sometimes.

Me: You mean my accent?

Carolyn: No, I am used to that, it’s the silly phrases and words and other stuff you come up with, I wonder at times if I am married to a loon.

Me: Let me put you straight, yes.

Carolyn: Yes what?

Me: You did marry a loon, wasn’t that part of my charm?

Carolyn: I don’t know that, that wasn’t mentioned in the specs you came with.

I laughed at that,

Me: You’re just as much of a loon as I am.

Carolyn: Guess we’re just made for each other.

She so gets me!

I hate balloons

“I hate balloons,” I said to no one in particular as I walked down the hill towards the store, I had walked past a house for sale that had balloons tied to the for sale sign, as I went past a gust of wind caught the balloons and they bopped me on the noggin.

In fact, every time I pass a for sale sign or car lot that has balloons strung along the front to attract attention I get assaulted by the latex bar stewards. Makes me feel like pulling out some sharp implement and popping the multi-colored attackers.

After walking past the sign and getting bopped I composed this post in my head prior to noting it down in my Moleskine notebook, then I came upon another for sale sign that had balloons attached. But on this one all the balloons had been deflated and hanging down on their strings.

Ha! take that.

Maybe someone who felt like I did had walked past and defended themselves with a pointy object. maybe there was a latex balloon serial-killer on the loose. Maybe he needed an assistant.

Is it obvious I am operating on little sleep and buckets of caffeine?

Talking to yourself

I got on the bus on my way to work, a guy was sitting at the front in the bench seats muttering away to himself. He was waxing lyrically away having quite an intelligent debate with himself. At one point he probably became aware of people looking at him but he didn’t turn to stare  back he just said;

“I am talking to myself; no matter how poor you are, you have the constitutional right to talk to yourself.”

I am sure he firmly agreed with himself.