Start the Insanity!

If you’re anything like me, you spend an inordinate amount of time sitting around pondering your own insanity. Which, if you think about it, is pretty insane.

If you’re not like me, then what in the name of Zeus’ butthole are you doing here?

Let’s think about this problem mathematically. There are two possible conditions when we consider the question, “Am I insane?” One is insane, the other is not insane. (I guess there is also theoretically partially-insane but for the sake of this discussion let’s leave that out of the mix. For now. Mwuhahahah!)

With those assumptions locked in, let’s roll up our sleeves and get to work.

If one is insane, it logically follows that one will not be able to correctly deduce the state of their own state of insanity, therefore the activity is a complete waste of time.

Whee. This is fun!

Perversely it follows that even if you are sane, you can never be too sure, so you might think you are not. Yet another waste of time.

Thus I conclude that pondering one’s one sanity is probably not the most productive thing one might do.

But, every once in a while, you can get a sign you might not be completely batshit crazy.

Long story short, there have been some folks who have been thorns in my side. Thorns that eventually made me wonder if I was starting to have a few extra bats in the belfry, if you know what I mean. I would use the term “mad” but when I’m involved that is unwise. The term becomes rather ambiguous since I’m always angry. I don’t want anyone getting confused.

The two people of which I currently speak happen to be recent bosses of mine. Specifically they are people from my present/past “decade of despair.” May I present the bosses from Job #2 and Job #3.

I’ve been bitching about the boss from Job #3 for the last 18 months. And I bitched about his predecessor (from Job #2) here on the blog for a year before that.

Although cut from different cloth, there are still some remarking similarities between them. (I’ve dwelled on some of these in the past right here on this very blog.) I won’t go into excruciating detail here. The similarity of particular interest right now is how they both did the same “it’s not me, it’s you” mind fuck technique on me.

When done properly, and to such extremes, the technique can be useful for making the target doubt his own sanity.


Fortunately, for me, the forces of the universe aligned to do me a solid. (I know! Rare, but it can happen.) There were little signs that my perceptions were accurate and spot on. And these made me feel good.

In the case of the boss from Job #3, these took the form of comments from strangers:

  • Does that dude ever take a bath?
  • Your boss is one of the rudest people I’ve ever met.
  • That guy sure seems strange.

What? You mean I’m not the only one who feels that way? Halleluiah! Universe, I salute you. Just when I was at my lowest and about to doubt my sanity to the maximum, you sent some of your little strange minions with precision messages tuned just for my hungry ears.

I thank you for that, Universe. What’s the score now? 4.2 trillion to one? Watch your back. I’m catching up!

Then, the other day, a message about the boss from Job #2 floated my way. He’s going to be back in town and had the unmitigated gall to email and ask me to dinner to “chat.” Yes, he fucking mitigate his gall all over my shiznit. Do… not… want.

Let me be clear about this. I’d rather sit in a movie theater with 4.2 billion cell phones and texting devices than sit through a mind control experience with that fucker ever again.

In fact, I wasn’t quite sure how to respond, so I waited until I could ask my psychoanalyst, “What would you do?” In the course of that conversation, I mentioned his name. She’d heard of him. She called a place where he used to work and asked her friend there, “Hey, do you know this guy, Mr. Fucknugget?”

I was amazed that she got an affirmative response. She followed up with, “What was your impression of the guy? What’s the scuttlebutt over there?”

“The guy was an ass.”

Pop the Santana DVX champagne that I’ve been saving! This is a special occasion.

Yeah, yeah. I know that in my quest for the mental equivalence of an eight-year-old human being, I’m not supposed to derive pleasure from such things. It is not the way of the enlightened path.

Fuck that shit. This feels good!!

You might as well have literally poured honey into my ears, so sweet was the sound.


Maybe, just maybe, I’m not quite as crazy as I am wont to think. It’s a good day for me.

Bringeth forth thy pith and vinegar

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