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Getting to Know Me

Posted by Dr. D , 12 October 2012 · 471 views

People have the wrong image of me.  Some see the romantic.  Others see the philosophical explorer.  Others see the professional, diligently plying his craft.  Few, however, see me for what I am.

I am demented.

What’s more, I am completely dedicated to my dementia.

I like to exercise it to keep it fully dysfunctional.  I like to call companies where I have never worked and call in sick.  The secretary always seems to be shuffling through files before asking, “Are you sure you have the right number?  I don’t find you in our records.”  I tell her no, I don’t work there but I’d like to.  Just not today because I’m sick, remember?

Just curious:  Do any of you work in a hospital?  I always wondered about that.  If you work in a hospital, you can’t fake being sick and call in. “Oh, you’re sick?  Well, come to work and we’ll have a look at it.”  That’s too functional for me.  If I’m faking being sick, I want some chance of getting away with it.

I like to call topless bars and try to sell them a roof.  The other day I called Detroit and spoke with the customer service department at Ford.  “I think my Ford Explorer door is broken. It just won’t close. I think this is because I don’t have the rest of the Explorer, I only have the door.  Can I buy the rest part by part?”

I think you have to be a little demented to write well.  I’m totally demented so I’m tomorrow’s Shakespeare. I like to challenge readers with phrases like: Always and never are two words you should always remember never to use.

I want to write a book about shoes that’s full of footnotes.  I want to write a book so long that it will take the average person their whole life to read. It will be exactly the same length as the Bible.  I will definitely do my biography.  This morning I wrote the first few sentences: If you want to know my story, you have to go back to the beginning. Not the beginning-beginning, but about nine months later. You see, I was born as a poor farm boy. My parents were so poor that they didn’t even own a farm.  Instead, we had to live in a small apartment in Poughkeepsie.

I tell you all this because people on UM are very bookish.  They form threads with questions like If you were stranded on a desert island with one book, what would it be?  Hell, I’d want “How to Build a Boat.”  They ask questions like, What is your favorite movie?  I like the old silent movies and I put the television on mute just for inspiration.

But when people think of me as a romantic, they’re quite right.  I am a legitimate romantic (maybe I’m really an illegitimate romantic, I always had suspicions.)  I think women judge men badly when they say we only want one thing.  We also want food.  Food is related to love.  I envision it like love is the jelly and you’re peanut butter.  “If I tell you I’m sandwich with you, I’m not just saying it to get in your Ziploc bag” and other romantic metaphors like that.

People sometimes ask me what needs to be done to make a relationship last.  The best answer I can give is that it has to be the one right after the next to the last one. Then they tell me the details of their relationship and I quickly deduce that he says she says, but he could be lying to me, and she could be lying to him, so I can’t believe her even if I could believe him. Then I give advice.

People ask me these things because they know I’m an expert.  I always said that I was once a slave to her love.  In reality, however, I was more like an indentured servant.  I even have romantic thoughts like, “I wonder if a woman would give me a second chance to have love at first sight.”  The very idea inspires me to compose the lyrics of enduring love.  “If love were a dolphin with wings and a unicorn’s horn, being ridden by a blind leprechaun dressed like Rasputin, would you believe in second chances for love at first sight?”  I spend hours forming romantic phrases like, “If sex were shoes, I'd wear you out. (But I wouldn't wear you out in public.)”

But I am human.  However demented, I am human and I have my dreams just like everyone.  I want to go to China, find a piano and play chopsticks. Just to show off, I might play chopsticks with chopsticks.  I did go to China once, a long time ago.  I asked an old man what was his secret to old age.  Know what he told me?  Well, you would if you spoke Mandarin and I don’t either.  I dream about getting a nose job and later employment for the rest of my face.  I dream of buying the family size shampoo and having people come and shower with me.

My dreams include, of course, the great American novel.  I don’t live in America but I am American and that’s kinda’ novel.  But I want to present philosophical thoughts that will challenge university students for centuries to come.  I have conceived but one so far: “It is said that moral codes are like the ocean.  Some people live by them, while others, like me, prefer to live by a lake.”  I can envision philosophy students pondering that one for at least a half semester to come.

And so, dear friends, I will continue with the pursuits of seeking the purity of my art.  I have worked long and hard at it.  Upon reflection, however, when I say I’ve worked hard to get where I’m at, I’m lying, because I have no idea where I am right now.

Oct 12 2012 04:11 PM
Hello my demented friend. Remember me?
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Are you any relation to Captain?
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Do you want some of my medication?
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The anti-dementia kind?
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Oct 12 2012 06:39 PM
Yes he's my brother (Marvel comics)

And yes I would love some of your medication Bling....
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Not me.  I enjoy living in this very private world of mine.
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*scatters pills*
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