It turns out I’m screech, but at least Jesus loves me.

September 6, 2006

 

  I’m low on sleep and high on crazy  folks, so today you get a stream of conscious account of my morning up to this point. If you mind your manners, and keep your arms inside the bus, you might get something a little more arty later in the day.     

  Last night I had one of my bizarre, Christian revelatory dreams. It started with me being a immensely powerful agent of hades working in this upscale mall. As my dream powers fully manifested I began tormenting the shoppers and brawling with this Algerian soccer team. It was an ok time until the Devil called me down to hell to serve as a general in his army. I had second thoughts at that point, so repented all my sins, and called on the love of Jesus Christ. That’s right, I called on the love of Jesus Christ. After that the dream got so absurdly preachy and didactic I won’t bother to relay it. Thing is I’m not Christian, my parents were essentially agnostic, and I always have powers in my dreams, so there is no reason to enter into a dark pact to get them. Strange.  

 I have a dream along those themes about once a month, so I figure I’m either becoming a prophet, or the church is beaming propaganda directly into my brain. Since most churches I’ve been to would have hard time organizing a bake sale I’m leaning towards the prophet theory. I’m going to have to buy some new pants

  I tried to shake off the dream by watching a little TV before work. This led to the realization that Screech, from Saved by the bell, is a television analogue for my twelve year old self. This was not a happy realization. At that point in my life I had giant glasses, a mullet laughable even by the mullet standards, and weighed all of a buck o’ five at 5’9. My behaviour, while entertaining, could best be described as spastic.  Despite these social disadvantages I was fairly popular, I’m a likeable guy, yet totally oblivious to my relative dorkiness. I honestly thought I was a styling, smooth talking, crime fighting, playa. It wasn’t until I saw screech this morning, failing for the thousandth time to win Lisa’s love, that my pre pubescent delusions of grandeur came crashing down around me. So I left.      

 

  On the way to work I occurred to me that I don’t like gay hobos. Either or, I am cool with; they’re both lifestyle choices that primarily affect the chooser, so what do I care. Both together, though, seems perverse and unnatural. I suspect it unsettles me since I associated homosexuality with being well groomed, professional, and having a nice apartment. It’s like a Japanese Homeless person: you are sure there just doing it as some elaborate ruse to make fools of gullible roundeyes.    

   As soon as I got to work I began swearing and spilling things. The swearing was largely a side effect of spilling. In a fool hardy move I used two full creamers to squeeze that hot water from my tea bag. The heat melted the glue on one of them and shot milk into my eye, hard enough I was unable to retrieve it. I was disappointed to find my boss taking the side of the “Bitch bastard Creamer”,asking repeatedly that I desist in stomping it. I then knocked my tea into my lap, becoming so angry I could only utter a invective like “FUhhhhhhhh Fuhhhhhhhhhh”. I then sat down to write this.

 

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3 Responses to “It turns out I’m screech, but at least Jesus loves me.”

  1. jess Says:

    this is why you are my friend.

  2. John Gap Says:

    Hey, I’m Boner from Growing Pains… so I hear ya dude. I hear ya.

  3. Tammy Says:

    Thanks for the laugh!!


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