realized over the weekend that you shouldn't pick wild mushrooms from your
backyard and put them on a homemade pizza, but these things happen, and no one
is to blame. The hallucinations provided a colorful afternoon and the
opportunity for me to ask myself some of life's tough questions, and document
Big Bang Theory
Me: "How and why did the Universe begin?"
myself: "...well... it's really none of your business, but it was a Friday night, and Heaven had just broken up with Purgatory following a Homecoming game. They had been dating for well over three months, and Purgatory thought things were going well but noticed Heaven was becoming distant towards him. All of the popular alter-existences were going to Red Robin after the game for bottomless fries and soda, so Purgatory asked Heaven if she wanted a ride (because he just washed and detailed his green Acura Legend earlier that afternoon), and Heaven said that she wanted to break-up. Purgatory ended up spending that night, and every Friday night for the rest of eternity, watching his vocally-conservative-republican father inhale gallons of Rocky Road ice cream while picking his toenails and hairy nose with M.A.S.H. blaring at the highest capacity from the broken speakers of a 13" family room television. Later on that night, Heaven was talked into going to a party at the Patterson's... a party that Hell was also at. Hell was a badass. He drove a lifted Chevy Blazer 4x4 with an over-sized glow-in-the-dark swollen nutsack tow-hitch cover that dangled from just below a rear novelty license plate that read: "IMWTSHESD". Heaven was innocent and pure, but her friends talked her into a few mixed-berry wine coolers while at the party to help take her mind off of the recent break-up... Hell was sinisterly leaning-up against a nearby wall soaking up the development. From there, it's the same old tune: Hell approached Heaven, told her that he made $8.25 per hour, plus tips, at the local skating rink and didn't have a curfew. Hell sealed the deal about 15 minutes later on top of a pile of sour football gear in the back of his truck... and the Universe came about nine months later. It was the messiest and most explosive birth known to anything, hence "the big bang"... any other stupid questions?"
Creation vs. Evolution
Me: "Are we descended from apes?"
myself: "...maybe just you. If it smells like an ape, looks like an ape, sounds like an ape... do the math. My mom and dad made me while camping at Mt. St. Helens. My mom was made at a Burlington Northern train station in Kelso, Wa. My dad was made in the supply barn of an onion farm in Redding, Ca.. Similar stories will loop over and over throughout the vast history of human existence, until you reach Adam and Eve. Prior to being given credit as the pilgrims of mankind, Adam and Eve missed a flight and got stuck in Missouri, but even they had a mom and dad... Sheela and Rod... they only had first names because there weren't enough people around to need last names yet. Rod was a mail sorter at the post office, and Sheela ran a dog grooming business out of their finished basement. It's just not documented because their printer was out of toner, and Rod was too lazy to run to Staples. Humans have been around forever. Humans probably invented apes."
Me: "Could a computer have a mind?"
myself: "...that you are considered to have a functional mind brings the only legitimacy to this question. Considering this, I guess it's possible for anything to have a mind. A rusty shovel. A sewer drain lid. Uncooked bacon on a paper plate. Yarn. The very reality that your whoopee cushion for a brain ever fires a single relevant synapse makes it seem possible for inanimate objects to be capable of Pulitzer Prize-winning literature. Long answer to a short question: No. Idiot. It's an effing computer."
Meaning of Life
Me: "What is the point of living? Why are we here?"
myself: "…in November of last year, I attended a safari bachelor party and watched the hammered and dehydrated groom-to-be vigorously dry hump a cactus for seventy dollars and a shot of 100-proof Southern Comfort liquor. It is important for you to understand that you have wasted a larger portion of my brain cells by asking me this question, and forcing me to process it, than that man did when I witnessed him voluntarily mutilating his crotchal region moments prior to marrying a cripplingly attractive Latina woman for seventy dollars and a shot of gasoline. I will be brief on this one: Follow a stray dog as he wanders throughout your neighborhood. Watch him curiously sniff with intrigue. Watch him territorially and deliberately potty. Watch him reactively listen and process. Watch him necessarily and resourcefully eat. Watch him uncontrollably hump. These are the reasons "why" we are here, the only difference is that humans wear clothes from Banana Republic and a dog's hot raw privates are candidly exposed regardless of the circumstance. Regarding "what is the point?": What else are you doing right now? Seriously! Laundry? Are you at Costco? You were born and you are still alive! Start doing the dog stuff I just talked about, but wear Banana Republic apparel while you're doing it! Idiot! You're going to die really soon! Do some dog stuff!"
Until next time: Will there be a next time? Yes. There will.