Some people give me a real pain in the bohunkus. But, I guess turn-about is fair play because I'm a bit of a pain myself. My lower-end discomfort is not with those who differ with me as to politics, religion, economics, etc. After all, open dialogue is how we learn. But I've learned other things too. I've learned to draw the line. I've learned that it's important to protect my little circle of peace. I draw the line with those folks who think I have some obligation to stand and listen as they go on the rampage about something I may or may not care about. Generally, I will politely stand and listen unless the gauntlet is thrown at me personally. At that point, I have no obligations.
By example, there was a lady who went on the attack concerning foreign relations and seemed to have some love for our little southern buddy, Hugo Chavez. She obviously considers him Man of the Year.
"I don't listen to what Hugo has to say," I said.
"You don't listen to him?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. Too many I.Q. points? And keep in mind that I didn't say I was smart. I just have too many I.Q. points to listen to a red-shirted, dictatorial little weasel with a Napoleon complex. A strutting, self-loving leech with no more integrity than the fleas in Osama's beard."
Then, I growled, spit and said, "Wow! That last rabies shot must be wearing off."
Conversation over.
I don't know why but, I seem to draw these people like flies to a corpse. Come to think of it, I do draw flies. Maybe it's the smell. Or, maybe I just look easy.
Anyway, I had occasion to be mauled by yet another person who started screaming about the environment. He wasn't talking. Not exchanging ideas. It was a high-pitched screech that left me wishing I hadn't taken off my ruby slippers (They go wonderfully with my camo evening gown). And to make matters worse, he was holding a little dog.
Now, before PETA investigators start rummaging through my trash cans, I should clarify that I love dogs. I love animals in general. I'm extremely soft-hearted in that respect. But this one was snarling and trying to bite me.
The man made mention that I drive a truck. I eat meat. I wear leather. I frivolously drive my gas guzzling ozone-sucking monster for reasons other than saving the fruit fly or attending oak-hugging services. I drive to watch the grandkids play sports. I go to the movies. I have breakfast with friends. I do these and other things because it pleases me.
"Did you know that people like you are destroying the planet?" he said.
"Did you know that if I shove that dog up your colon, you can bark from both ends?"
Conversation over. Circle of peace restored.
Even my Norwegian masseuse, Ming Chow, was surprised by my abruptness. "You one clazy guy," she said.
"I'm not clazy. You clazy."
"No," she countered. "You clazy."
"I love it when you talk dirty. Do all North Korean Norwegians have trouble with the letter "r"?
"You hush, clazy man. I no wub you back no mo."
Well...can't have that.
"But, we can Roll a Red Rubber inneR tube acRoss a Rolling pastuRe neaR a Rippling bRook shoRtly befoRe enjoying a Rousing Round of Rumanian Roulette. Try saying that three times. Or, just say three."
"I kill you," she said. "I do "L" weally good."
"No need," I said. "Let's make peace. Here, take some flies. They're a special breed of Red, Range-Roving, Racing baRn fly with wRinkle-Resistant, Retractable wings."
That's when she pulled the knife on me. I think I'm in love. When I get out of the doctor's office, I'll go over and see if I can't goad her into a game of Red Rover, Red Rover.
Lock and loll, baby!
My psychiatrist, Dr. Demonic, says I'm as irritating as a mace casserole. He says I'm the Yugo of Cadillacs. I'm the bunny slope of Olympic competition, the pee in pea salad and the Quasimodo of George Clooney look-a-likes. That's why I shaved his head and armpits while he was passed out last week.
But, as my mother used to say, "Drat! He found his way home again."
I don't get it.
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