100 stone of pure, unbridled yammering idjit. It's Friday morning, and my brain has successfully (and once again) blown out it's pilot light and is refusing to let me light it again, no matter how much I poke and prod with the kitchen matches.
As such, I take no responsibility for what gibberish may come.
I was thinking this morning that 'tis a very good thing I'm not more mentally focused. If I were I think I might long ago have collapsed into a 'staring-into-my-mental-navel' sort of breakdown thing, wherein I had tried to overanalyse my place in the world and instead of being distracted by something like sex or a pretty flower or my bike I would instead continue to focus on the issue until, black hole-like, my mind simply continued to fall into itself until it became a super-dense gravity well, sucking all sentient things into it and perhaps out into a white hole singularity in some other universe.
See, I warned you.
Regal Monkey a few days ago mentioned something to me about blog self-censorship, and it got me to thinking. I've read all the posts and lists on Blog Etiquette and the well-meaning lists of how to make your blog more interesting and how to keep readers from falling asleep or taking their own lives from pure, your-blog-induced desperation, and of course in at least one there came the fact that it can be painful to be a blogger. The reason they suggest that it can be painful is that there are times when you want to open wounds to the general public, with the intent of airing them out, to assist in getting some healing happening. What they didn't seem to mention, or perhaps it was implied, was the idea of self-censorship itself.
I wrote a good half of a post several days ago which never made it to the web. This is unusual in itself because I've always been the sort of pachyderm who, if he is going to write or paint or create or do something I'm going to go ahead with it and be damned until I reach the end. In the almost full year of me blogging here I have never heavily re-written a post, and have always posted what I started writing, until a few days ago.
I'm quite good at watching what I say, you see. I have never outed myself here by name, though I have left behind enough small clues that most anyone could find me with a map and a good forward observer. That is, those of you who don't know me. I have never used personal names that I know of, but most of you know who you are. I will never mention the name of my workplace as long as I'm employed there, because there's just too much chance for someone to think I'm giving out trade secrets.* And I'm cool with that. Self-imposed boundaries are not necessarily a bad thing; good fences make good neighbors, and I'm good at applying and living with those boundaries. But that's just because my super-ego (thank you Dr. Freud) is in high gear most of the time, picking and choosing. And honestly, there was just no way I could have made that post work without really endangering myself or my job, or running the risk of getting myself seriously fired. So, the post sits there, waiting to be edited to death or for me to change jobs.
There ARE times when I want to say things here that I know will cause trouble. Those desires come from the same part of me that wants to set the next-door neighbor's trailer on fire just to see how fast it would go up, and the same bit of me that hopes RMB will fall beneath a beer truck this morning. It's the same screaming monkey bit that we all have, that pure, unhinged animal side that wants us to do EVERYTHING that comes to mind, no matter what the cost. And like 99.9% of us, mine is locked away securely way back in the dark recesses of Irrelephant's Natural History Museum And Dirty Movie Emporium, where it will reside until my super-ego finally slips a chain or I die. And granted that monkey gets it's hand outside the bars once in a while, usually while I'm driving a vehicle in heavy traffic, but he never gets out enough to do any real harm, unless you count the danger he leaves me in when he retreats back to that cage and leaves me to deal with the other guy's screaming monkey, the one who WON'T go back to it's cage.
So, enough deep psychobabble. This isn't a Transcendental Meditation class, nor is it Freudian Psychology 101.
So how many Freudians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Two. One to screw it in and one to hold the penis...er, the ladder.
How many lesbians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Five. One to screw it in and four to discuss the violation of the socket.
How many Surrealists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Two. One to hold the burning giraffe and one to fill the bathtub with brightly coloured machine parts.
How many drummers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Two. One to screw it in and one to keep the beat.
How many Buddhist monks does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Two. One to screw it in and one NOT to screw it in.
How many Palistinians does it take to change a lightbulb?
Two. One to negotiate with the old bulb and one to shoot at it while it's distracted.
How many Bush administration officials does it take to screw in a light bulb?
None. There is nothing wrong with the light bulb; it's condition is improving every day. Any reports of it's lack of incandescence are totally unfounded, and the result of delusional "spin" assaults from the fanatic, elitist, liberal media. That light bulb has served honorably, and anything you say undermines the lighting effect and dims it's ego. Why do you hate freedom?
How many liberals does it take to screw in a light bulb?
None. They can't remove the old one since it's already part of the environment.
How many believable, competent, "just right for the job" presidential candidates does it take to change a lightbulb? It's going to be a dark four years, isn't it?
How many Communists does it take to change a lightbulb?
Three. One to change it and two to hand out leaflets.
How many Chinamen does it take to change a lightbulb?
Thousands, because Confucious say 'many hands make light work.'
How many Maoists does it take to change a light bulb?
One to screw in the bulb and a thousand to chant "Fight Darkness!"
How many Polish people does it take to change a lightbulb?
Just one, but you need 6000 Russian troops just in case he decides to go on strike.
How many Polish-Americans does it take to screw in a light bulb?
One hundred and seventy. One to send the Never Fail Novena to the Cheektowaga Times for publication so St. Jude may grant the lightbulb request, one to say the Last Rites for the old lightbulb, ten volunteer firemen to break into the house and smash the old light bulb to bits, fifty to protest the abortion of the old lightbulb, ten to organize a lawn fete and spaghetti dinner at Our Most Holy Precious Blood of the Seventeen Martyred Saints R.C. Church to raise funds to buy a new light bulb (and the Monsignor a new pair of bowling shoes as a gift on St. Stanislaus Day), twenty from Chiavettas Catering to serve the food, twenty to run the Monte Carlo gambling tent, fifty to run everything else, one to go to Koplinskis' Appliances to buy the light bulb, one to screw it in, five to say the Rosary as the bulb is being screwed in, and the Monsignor to bless it.
* The secret is to bang the rocks TOGETHER, guys.