Enlightening Nonsense

September 25, 2009

I received an email from one of my stalkers, “Nora” (revolution39@hotmail.com), a person who I believe discovered me on a raw food site. It was only recently that I realized that people in the raw food community are either dogmatic bores, downright fruity or certifiable, or some combination of the three.

While I have many fans and dissuaders both, I usually don’t pay them no nevermind. But “Nora” ended up Googling me and finding out a yoga studio where I worked, which she preceded to call up several times asking about setting up a private session with me.

Soon her emails turned hostile and basically an electronic version of cutting out letters in a magazine and putting together a barely cohesive ransom note. I gave up hoping that the FBI agents who monitor my online activity would do something besides drink gallons of coffee each day, put my name on the Terrorist Watch List so that I get hassled every time I go to the airport and cut The Constitution into little dolls would do something and took matters into my own hands, which required me to let go of my 14” penis.

So I put “Nora’s” email address on my “Block List,” which contains a few Viagra salesmen and “Jenny from the block.” I thought this was the end of it but must have screwed up the block and was blessed with her latest diatribe today modeled after Manson, Charles that is and not that dude that dresses really weird but seems pretty cool. Here it is (I colored it red to give it its rightful devilishness):

I THINK YOGA IS YES IT IS BUT MEAT ETERS DON´T NOW THAT BUT BISCUITS !! WHY BISCUITS!  NO, MARGARINE IS FAR BETTER THAN YOGA BECASUE MARGARINE HELPS YOU FUCK HORSES MUCH MUCH EASIER THAN YOGA HELPS TO SLEEP IN A DOOR MAT UNDER THE RAIN

THESE ARE MY THOUGHTS FOR TODAY

NORA

I hadn’t seen anything this retarded since “Chad” used to write comments on my un-blog pieces that, while disturbing, did introduce me to “KFC,” which according to Chad stands for “kunt fucked coon,” that even while misspelled and not hyphenated correctly is still genius (see “Mein Kampf” at http://rebelyogi.com/mein-kampf-2.html)

I wrote her back a one-line email: “Are you three years old or retarded?” She responded with a clarification: “I am retarded.” I wouldn’t doubt if “Chad” and “Nora” are the same person; on some level it gives me a little more peace of mind if I believe that only one person is that psychotically retarded and not two.

If “Chad” and “Nora” had a child…now that is even scary for a fearless rebel like me! I can imagine the sex talk, though. “Lube my ass with margarine and fuck me like a horse!” “Take it, you kunt fucked coon!” I think I may go watch some German scheizer porn now to clear my mental palette of that disgusting image.

I started to question if all these people were really crazy or if I am, in fact, the crazy one. I have been fired from just about every job I ever held, except one handjob, that is, and that was only because my brother was getting no sex from his wife and would put up with anything, even the Brillo Pad I was using.

People seem to always be offended by what I say or write or do, when for the most part it’s just a friggin’ joke. While I used to think that they all lacked a sense of humor (see “Mozart’s Favorite Fruit” at http://rebelyogi.com/mozarts-favorite-fruit.html), now I am wondering if my sense of humor may be a bit disturbed.

I used to think a world that kills animals for sport and to cut them up and wear them on their bodies was crazy. I used to think that a world that kills people over “My God has a bigger dick than your God” arguments or pieces of dirt with delineating lines drawn on them was insane. I used to think that a world where a man almost as moronic as “Nora” and “Chad” was elected President of the United States—replacing the slightly less foolish, George Bush, Jr.—was idiotic. I’m a jackass; to that there is no question. But now I am not sure whether I am the crazy, insane, idiot in a sane world. Dare I say, maybe I’m not funny at all and the people who are offended by such classic phrases like, “As dry as a nun’s vagina” are the real Kings of comedy.

I am reminded of a story about a King who loved his subjects more than anything in the world…

One day a witch came to the castle and the King’s right-hand man spoke with her, as his left-hand man had recently taken a left-handed compliment the jester had made to excess and quit. The witch demanded that The Right-Hand Man turn over the King’s pet newt, or at least one of his eyes, for her latest brew.

The Right-Hand Man told her to that Newton The Newt would be keeping both his eyes. She told him that she was going to poison the Kingdom’s water if he didn’t turn over the newt.

The Right-Hand Man said, “I don’t bend to terrorist threats. Now kindly fuck off.” Apparently the King’s English back then sounded very similar to New York City English today.

The witch made some joke regarding his sexuality, something about how, “I know who you bend over for” and stormed off. The Right-Hand Man was not offended in the least; he was very gay and made no qualms about it.

The next day all madness seemed to break out in the Kingdom. A man was riding a jackass backwards and a woman was holding a broom upside-down while sweeping the floor with the wooden part. People were running around naked, laughing and singing and talking gibberish. I suppose the naked thing was okay but the rest was pure madness!

The Right-Hand Man had the bad job of having to tell the King the news. “Your Highness, I have some bad news to share.”

“What could be so bad, Righty, we are all alive, I have a beautiful Kingdom with people whom I love and adore.” The King had entered several “Miss Congeniality” contests in his youth and still managed to hold that annoying Pollyanna attitude, even if the castle were burning down—which was not likely, as it was constructed of stone.

“You see, Your Majesty, a witch came yesterday asking for Newton The Newt’s eye for a brew she was making.”

“You could have probably passed off one of those gimlet onions as Newton’s eye,” said the King.

“I didn’t think of it at the time, Sire. But even had I thought of it, we’ve been out of those little onions for a week now.”

“We really must keep an eye on the Royal Shopper, as I think he is getting a little loopy on us. Last time I asked him to pick up some asparagus, he instead brought back several cans of gas.”

“’A spare gas,’ I get it. I think that would have worked better if we first established that he had a heavy Italian accent,” said The Right-Hand Man helpfully.

“The gas made a pretty good broth and, unlike the asparagus, it didn’t make my pee smell funny!” exclaimed the King.

“Sir, if I may get back to the matter at hand,” said The Right-Hand Man.

“I’m assuming the right hand?” asked the King.

“Seriously, King, can we work on the stand-up material later? We have a crisis on our hands—all of them!” shouted The Right-Hand Man. He wasn’t a pussy like the Left-Hand Man and wasn’t planning on storming off over a right-handed compliment, let alone joke. But the King could get his goat sometimes. He thought back to the last time he searched for hours for that goat only to find him in the King’s bedroom.

“Okay, tell me what is the matter so that we can get back to our tomfoolery as soon as we can,” said the King.

“That jester, Tom Foolery isn’t worth his weight in straw!” said The Right-Hand Man.

“But he does look cute in those tights and pointy shoes, no?” came back the King.

“I’ll give that to you, Your Majesty. The tights do show off his firm derriere and the shoes seem to accentuate his lithe legs,” The Right-Hand Man reflected.

“I just wish he didn’t give my Left-Handed Man that left-handed compliment. I had to hire a new Royal Ass-Wiper as a result of his storming off—and he wiped a pretty good ass,” lamented the King.

“King Houston, we have a problem. People are running around naked and brooming and jackassing and babbling like fools.”

“Sounds like a good time!” said the King.

“Believe me, Sir, if you saw Old Lady Bag O’ Fat running around naked you may just change your tune,” said The Right-Hand Man.

“Or my underwear!” laughed the King.

“The whole Kingdom is acting like lunatics, Sir. That witch told me she was going to poison the Kingdom’s water and it looks like she held true on her word,” said The Right-Hand Man.

The King suddenly got serious. “Why didn’t you tell me this was no laughing matter, Righty? My mouth was carrying on with mindless chatter like someone’s with projectile diarrhea after eating spare ribs and crab cakes and tacos and washing it down with some gasoline stew!”

“I’m sorry,” said The Right-Hand Man, knowing that pointing out that he had tried desperately to shut the King up would probably only delay the matter at hand even longer. “Please, Sir, take a look outside the castle window.”

The King and The Right-Hand Man looked out the window and it was worse than they both thought. People were eating the orange peels and throwing out the oranges. Others were playing “Bobbing For Water” instead of “Bobbing for Apples,” dunking their heads in the bucket and coming up with mouthfuls of water and celebrating in victory. And then there was Old Lady Bag O’Fat running to and fro, more chins on her than in all of the Chinese king’s kingdom, breasts which had given up the fight against gravity several decades earlier sagging to her knees, an ass that had so many folds one couldn’t tell the ass crack from a fat crease.

“This is too much!” said the King. “But why are we the only two people in the Kingdom who have maintained our sanity?”

“We’ve been drinking from the Royal Well inside the castle, while everyone else has been drinking from the Kingdom Well outside; the witch must have poisoned that well,” concluded The Right-Hand Man.

“But how do we know that she didn’t poison the Royal Well and that we are not the crazy ones while everyone else in the kingdom is completely sane?” said the King. The King leaned out the castle window and shouted to his subjects. “PEOPLE OF THE KINGDOM. WHAT’S ALL THE FUSS?”

Shouts from down below were thrown like javelins in a javelin-throwing contest.

“THE KING IS WEARING CLOTHES! HE MUST BE INSANE!”

“HOW CAN WE BE RULED BY A CRAZY KING? HE MAY JUST STICK A SWORD INTO HIS HEAD LIKE THE KING OF HEARTS DID!”

“UNLESS THE KING REGAINS HIS SANITY, WE MUST DISPOSE OF HIM!”

“Oh my!” said the King as he brought himself away from the window opening. “What are we to do? I love my people so much and yet it seems in my current capacity I cannot serve them how they need me.”

“I say we grab a few bags of gold and gems and get the fuck out of here,” said The Right-Hand Man.

“I can’t leave my people in their time of need,” said the King. Suddenly the King’s eyes lit up. “By George, I’ve got it!”

The Right-Hand Man cut him off abruptly. “The last time we listened to that idiot George we were serving red wine with fish. I mean, really—everyone knows you should serve white wine with fish!”

“I want you to fetch us a couple of goblets of that tainted water. If I can’t serve my people as a sane King, then by gum I will serve them as an insane one!” declared the King.

The Right-Hand Man didn’t even want to get into the fact that Gum had even stupider ideas than George ever did, such as the swimming contest in the mote where half the contestants ended up eaten by crocodiles! “That’s the plan?” balked The Right-Hand Man. “You like that plan better than my ‘grab the gold and run’ plan?”

“It’s as I command. Now be gone with you, Righty, and don’t come back until you have the crazy water,” stated the King firmly.

The Right-Handed Man left the castle out a back door, as he was used to entering and exiting back doors, and managed to slip through the group pubic hair shaving gathering and the squirrel-heaving contest to the well. He filled his flask with the water and when he turned around there stood a stern man staring directly at him.

“You look a bit crazy to me, Righty, clothes on, not drooling or tossing any squirrels,” said The Stern Man.

The Right-Hand Man looked at a loss for words. And then it came to him: “BOOGY-BOO, SLOVETY-SLOW!” shouted The Right-Hand Man and The Stern Man’s straight mouth curved into a big smile.

“You had me worried there for a second!” said The Stern Man as he spun his penis in a circle and ran off. The Right-Hand Man ran back to the castle and again entered the back door. He looked at the fudge-packing plant right inside the doors there, his old favorite haunt, and lamented on all the fudge he had packed over the years. He wondered if after he drank the water if he’d still enjoy fudge packing or if his tastes would change. He sighed and ran back to the King.

“Your Highness, here is the water!” he said, holding the flask out towards the King.

“It’s time to drink up,” said the King solemnly.

“But, Sir, what if your question before proves true. What if the Royal Well was poisoned and we are the crazy ones and everyone else is normal?” asked The Right-Hand Man.

“If I can’t serve my people, then my purpose in life has run dry. Give me the water,” said the King firmly. And The Right-Hand Man gave him the flask of crazy water.

The King drank the water and passed the flask back to The Right-Hand Man. The Right-Hand Man loved his King almost as much as he loved a Dirty Sanchez and so he drank up as well.

And soon there was celebration in the Kingdom as the King and The Right-Hand Man were among the people, singing and dancing and jackassing and brooming and gibberishing and tossing squirrels with the best of them.

“THE KING HAS REGAINED HIS SENSES!”

“OUR KING IS BACK!”

“ALL PRAISE TO OUR KING!”

The King was once again ruler to the people he loved. Only now instead of worrying about small onions for his gimlets or crafting a bit of witticism, he was more concerned with how he could keep a squirrel from biting his nuts while he waited for his turn to toss it.