As I’ve said many times before: I am a pretty crazy person, and I have a lot of pretty crazy thoughts.
I’m not purely a “Hey, want to hear my zany thoughts?” crazy person, but more like a “I need to seriously reconsider the way I live my life and interact with people, and take appropriate precautions” crazy person. For this reason, I almost never try to have a conversation with someone I do not know, do my best to avoid one on one interaction, and I never ever tell anyone what I’m really thinking about when I start to giggle to myself.
So, disclaimers now fully disclaimed, here’s a thought I had when I began to answer e-mail and then had to get up to go to the bathroom. I’m sure you’ll be happy to know that I started to laugh uproariously, by myself, in the bathroom to the point I had to stop because I was creeping myself out.
Scenario:
You’re in a dingy bathroom at about two o’clock in the morning. You’re just stopping in to take a leak at a urinal because you’ve been on a road trip for the last six hours and you can’t hold it any longer. The florescent bulbs are dim, the porcelain is dirty, but you don’t care because your eyes are filled with rheum and you’ve been dead tired since you first got behind the wheel. You unzip your pants, aim, and let loose. While you’re leaning your head back, groaning at the pure relief of urination, a man dressed in full Shakespearean garb (complete with that really big circle thing that goes around your neck) comes in and stands next to you.
Before you can do anything, this misplaced 17th century actor takes one knee next to you, reaches out while you are just finishing your business, grabs hold of your nutsack, turns you by the cojones to face him and begins to serenade your penis with the Yorick speech from “Hamlet.”
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now?
After he is done he begins to recite the Hamlet’s soliloquy, Marc Antony’s speech from Julius Caesar, and just a bunch of shit from “King Lear.” Every now and again he slips in one of the sonnets.
So, my friends, what would you even do? How the fuck would you even react to something like that? Because I thought about this for quite a while, and I couldn’t come up with anything close to a satisfying answer.
I will do my best to write a real update this week. Blurgh.
