Now there's a phrase I haven't heard since I was knee high to a jitterbug. Normal. Which way to Normal? It's a shifty little burg right over the horizon. Hard to pin down, not on any maps recognized by the Army Core of Engineers. No. You might find Normal on a dusty parchment map penned centuries ago ("Here be monsters!"), but as soon as you can point to it and gleefully exclaim eureka, that map will crumble into your fingers and blow away with the four winds.
It doesn't have to be this way. Drunk driving. High protein diets. High fructose corn syrup in everything (why the hell is it in bread, for Muhammad's sake?) Bottled water. Prescription drug abuse. Juvenile diabetes. Cell phones.
That's right I said cell phones!
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6 comments:
do you even HAVE a land line?
The Bath Bädgerd is where that normal is. Through the archway, and turn left, or was it right.
Where your fingers hold nothing but the crumbling remains of rationale blowing beyond return to this place of nothingness. This wastland where past Gods spook as demons.
Close your eyes - for Muhammad's sake - when you take aim.
God is great.
Ha, it's reckless. He's drunk again. High on corn mash, and prescription drugs.
I really want Mr. Moose and Sean Reckless to meet in a cage match. . . of their fucking minds! Chained to desks, facing each other, with only pen and paper to do battle with. Can you just see the madness!
Normal is abnormal. We are all different, and that is what makes us normal.
Normality itself is routine - like my mid-morning coffee and mid-afternoon tea. That's normality, which presumably is why I get so upset if someone else boils the kettle at 11am.
May I adopt the phrase? If only I can remember it. JD has a point; our normals rarely coincide - that would be too easy.
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