Rummys and Readers, this is a special blog since yesterday I noted that the next blog would look at the wondrous Lord Buckley, possibly the spiritual father of all things Beat.
Today we present an example of how the obese brain can cause people to do things that are not logical. Many recent studies have likened the affects of obesity to brain tissue to those of crack addiction on the same cranial areas. Sometimes it takes the actions of a dimwit to bear out the theory.
First, we need to look at why abused people have the tendency to make assholes of themselves. It is not their fault. They are told from an early age that they are worthless, or made to feel that way, and so it dogs them through life. I share this problem with a friend of mine who is also plagued by an abuserino. He was nice to some idiot and helped the guy with his writing, often re-writing whole stories so the bumbling fool looked good. The numb-nut in question, in this case, reacted wrongly instead of being grateful for the help he was given. He carries on like a child (since the abused brain gets stuck at the age of abuse) and rants and stamps his feet and is still heard to be making a fuss to those who have not deleted him from their web accounts). He insults, chides, even created a website on which to do it, but the most stupid thing is that he does it all in a failed attempt to garnish the attention of my friend, Patrick, who he has turned into a perverse form of father-figure.
Patrick and I have a lot in common. I am a father figure, too.
When a teen, I fell in with a crowd of kids who were not too smart but had all the right materials to make things fun. We knew each other for about a year and a half until things started to wear thin. Punk rock had a lot to do with it. When I was 17, it was the cutting edge of rock and roll and I welcomed it. Disco had been a dominant force and my plan was to try to subvert the disco machine with country-swing music when Punk stuck it’s ugly head out of a manhole cover and let it rip! I still like both of these musical forms.
This occurred in Pennsylvania which, with the exceptions of Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, is about as far away from being a hotbed of intellectual activity as you can get. By the times these guys liked Punk, it was almost over but there were a number of poseurs who claimed to be hip to it all along. Dumb people are not so bad, in fact they make nice housepets. The annoying bit about this State is the number of psuedo-intellectuals. They are a little smarter than the rest but they are still incapable of original thought. Still, they see themselves as superior but it is all psuedo.
A good example is a guy named Slik Dick. Dick is, by the way, just that. Dick is one of those people you know for a year and a half and lose track of. Then he finds you on Facebook and it is all ‘buddy-buddy’ but in a matter of weeks, the reason why you have not chatted for some 38 odd years is quite apparent. Slik Dick, like a lot of crackheads and fatheads, has a big mouth and is always right. We were very good friends until my opinions on world trade upset his sexually-ambiguous sister and she insulted me, which opened the door to an onslaught of low insults.
Hey, we should all get along but if you are going to insult me, expect a little something in return.
So, because of a verbal dispute about a subject he has no working knowledge of, Dick got mad at me. When I become angry with somebody, I do not even want to look at them but since he became riled, the Big Dick has tried to annoy me via various means. He wants my attention. I am a father figure to the obstreperous obeser. He just cannot allow things to pass and spends time and money thinking of ways to ‘get to me’, all of which are laughable and childish but are the hallmarks of the classic victim of abuse. Still, I do not feel sorry for him.
The latest example of the ‘little kid crying daddy at the top of his lungs in the empty market’ came yesterday, when Dick sent me an anonymous letter. It was so anonymous that I knew it was from him before I opened it, even though he went through the trouble of sending it from St Louis to Pennsylvania, where one of his intellectual equals put it in a local mailbox so I would think it came from nearby. At least the post office sold some stamps.
What the fool did not realise is that I had handwriting samples. Another sign of the failing brain is inattention to details. While Big Dick barely changed the basic form of his printing by making it big and squared when he wrote my address (this is done by grasping the pen in closed fist and writing like a caveman, as opposed to holding the pen in the usual way), he was so damned stupid that he forgot to change his writing on the return address.
When examining handwriting, there are certain things that are dead give-aways so let us review a few of them now, Gentle Readers. First, the way a person crosses the ‘t’ and dots the ‘i’ can be telling. Look how the ‘t’ is always crossed down near the center. See how the dot on the ‘i’ drifts to the right every time. The ‘r’ is much more significant, since it not only is always made with a straight line to the right at the top, but that top line most often drops at the end. Or how about those ‘m’s? They always look like a ‘v’ on stilts. This is the most pathetic coverup job since the Florida elections that Gore won but Bush was credited with winning. Even moreso, look at the address and how the ‘s’ on sutters always begins just below the cross on the ‘4’ in ‘904’…what a cowfaced maroon he is!!! And look how the word always goes downhill after the numbers…elementary, Dear Watson.
Ah, Slik Dick, does a secret love for me burn in your hungry heart of flabby flesh? Is it really so hard to get on without me, now that you have found me after 38 years?
See, Dick is one of the few people I considered a friend who ended up stealing from me because I allowed him in my home. I may have stolen from schools, employers and done my childhood shoplifting but never once did I pinch anything from someone who trusted me. That is low. Stupid people do not know low from normal, so it is best to avoid them. I would not even be mentioning him now, if not for his silly attempts and the cash he wastes on stamps to get my attention. If you know him, count the silverware and snack cakes next time he is in town.
On the back of the envelope is the ominous date of 11.12.10. This may be ominous because anyplace I go that day, I will carry a few rolls of quarters in my fist and if anything weird happens, somebody will be wearing his nose on his ear. OOOhhhh, sppoky 11.12.10…shall I sit inside and peer out the window in fear? Why bother? I have a security system and haven’t had to break a nose for a good many years. It may be fun to have a tape of it to post. I really am non-violent but provocation always leads to a bad end.
Slik Dick, with your filthy, unflushed home and your alwats right fat brain…when will you ever learn?