Humor - Arrgh!

What follows is a re-enactment. Parent's are strongly cautioned as to content. Make sure that, if you don't want your children to grow up to be twisted and homicidal, you should probably not let them read the following article.

Far too many people who have read this are homicidal. Of course, most of them were that way when they started, so I guess it's not a very good sample pool from which to draw. I mean, seriously, why do so many crazy people read my stuff?

I can understand that people want to stay in practice. I'm sure homicidal mania can't come easily. It probably takes quite a bit of practice.

I'm not even sure how one gets into that line of work. Does it pay enough to have the huge influx that we've been seeing recently? Are there benefits? Holiday pay? Good base?

I know someone that had a good job once. Oh, wait! That was me. Yeah, it was nice! In two months, I made $50,000. Problem was, I had to share half with my broker and half with my creditors. I'm still not sure where it all went. I certainly didn't get anything out of it.

Everything kind of went down hill at about that time. I never should have parked there. You know, on the hill. How else could I be going down it?

Wow. I have been on some steep hills before, but this was ridiculous!

Okay, how did we get on the hill? I was introducing a dangerous page.

This page is rated TV-YQJWR3W6X. No. That's a warning about intense drooling by a lead character. This isn't Beethoven.

Okay. Adapt, adopt, and improve.

What I'm trying to warn parents about is the fact that the following piece is actually quite dangerous to young minds. Young minds are fragile and stupid. Why else would kids stick hairpins into electrical sockets?

I know kids are dumb! I was a kid once, and I was dumb! I stuck a hairpin in an electrical outlet! I know I'm not the only one. I hope to God I wasn't the only one. PLEASE tell me I wasn't the only one!

I think I need my mommy.

Okay, deep breath! Breathe, RG! Breathe! (Sigh.)

Some kids may not understand what the following article is trying to get across. For that matter, some, if not most, adults won't understand the following article. I don't even understand the following article. For all I know, it's written in some weird alien language like Canadian, or British!

I don't even know what I was thinking when I wrote this. I have this sneaking feeling that I was being controlled by some alien force, like Canada or the British! I can't even honestly say that I know what the following article says--AND i JUST FINISHED EDITING THE DEAD LINKS IN IT!!!

Seriously, I'm completely confused at this point. I know that someday I'll be able to look back at this introduction and realize that, just like everything else, it is a memory I have forgotten.

It's starting to fade a bit already. What was I talking about?

Oh, yes! Briton. Third largest exporter of royalty themed snow globes, first largest exporter of British people.

A vast and fascinating land steeped in mystery novels by Sherlock Holmes.

Don't try and call me on that. I know what I said. I just can't remember what I wanted to say.

I was told, "fake it till you make it!" Worst advice ever! If you don't believe me, I'll give you the address of a few of my open heart surgery patients. People REALLY don't like it when you fake it till you make it as anything dealing with knives.

Very well. I can't seem to get anywhere with this intro. I'll just tell you everything you'll want to be careful of in the following article: Frightful images of the author, evil kitties peering into your soul, video of cats eating things they shouldn't, and an extreme lack of "fart" jokes (sorry about that).

Well, without further ado, let the homicidal tendencies begin with "Arrgh!" an article I wrote a long time ago and have revamped here. Enjoy (if you can bwahahahaha!)

I am going crazy! At least I’m pretty sure that’s what is happening.

I have put a chicken in the oven to cook (obviously, you don’t put it in there to train it to be a better chicken), after verifying the correct temperature and length of cooking time. I did the verifying via the Internet, but was worried I would damage my audio track which I am loading onto my computer. (I’m transferring my old cassettes to digital.)

I have the TV running and all I can find are reruns which I wasn’t too hot to see the first time they were on.

I’m letting my “tranquility” fountain run to try and calm down since I seem to have an immense amount of adrenalin running through my tired body and can’t seem to sit down.

Well, I’m sitting now, but I have the pencil moving and that’s almost keeping me from screaming.

I am going to tell you something now which you must NEVER reveal to anyone—EVER!

I have so much energy right now, I found myself actually dancing in the kitchen while the oven was warming up.

I don’t dance! I don’t know what was happening to me. There wasn’t even any music—not even in my head. I was simply moving my posterior and dancing around as if I had begun channeling M. C. Hammer’s dance moves. Or maybe it was Mike Hammer’s dance moves…

Between unproductive job hunting and the need to decide where my next home will be, I am losing any ability to keep track of anything.

I know that this isn’t a very funny column, today, but I think that my ability to write funny things goes down as my adrenalin levels go up.

My ability to embarrass myself in person usually goes up by leaps and bounds, but the unintended humor from such embarrassment doesn’t seem to translate. Kind of like Japanese barbecue assembly instructions.

And now my cat has decided she has to have my undivided attention. She’s meowing quite a bit and is seemingly very insistent that I stop what I’m doing and focus all of my "attention waves” at her.

Now she’s licking her fur and leaving about ten pounds of it on the floor beneath the coffee table. I thought that cats gave birth. It appears that my cat is trying to divide a la an amoeba.

What is the old joke? The Bible says we are made from dust and when we die we go back to the dust. Correct? Then please look under the couch and tell me if someone is coming or going.

Now my cat’s trying to commit suicide; she’s laying on my wife’s newly washed clothes. Maybe she feels my restlessness. Maybe she is just a little manic. Maybe I’m anthropomorphizing her a little too much. (That’s not as bad as it sounds—it just means giving human qualities to nonhuman creatures and things.) At least that’s what my cat tells me. Hmmm?

Arrgh!

I’m sure I’m going a bit crazy! Perhaps only temporarily, but quite fully, stark-raving mad! Sigh….

Want to come with me? I hear there will be dancing.