Lunatics Abound!

They do. Without even trying, I have met three lately:

Loony #1:

Whilst I was at work, selling Food Bank bags at $8 apiece to benefit the hungry and starving of Baton Rouge (this is something that I have first-hand knowlege of), I approached an elderly gentleman, he of leonine countenance and snowy mane, and solicited his assistance in this worthwhile endeavour.

He wanted to know to whom the proceeds would be going, and I told him:"To buy food for hungry people in Baton Rouge." He considered this for a moment, then told me that one had to be careful just where things were going these days, lest that $8 find itself in the wrong hands. He then asked me what would be done with the food purchased for the Food Bank. I told him that I supposed that it would be eaten by hungry people.

He then involved me in a lengthy discussion of how world poverty was being manipulated by nefarious One World Government  plotters in order to bring about One World Religion, One World Government and One World Currency, that President Obama had recently signed a bill into law that would mandate these sweeping changes, and that the mysterious Bilderbergs (q.v.) were behind it. He rattled off a list of organisations who could tell me all about this plot (I was familiar with several, including the Heritage Foundation) and made me promise that I would look into this as soon as I could. I told him that it sounded like the Illuminati to me, that it sounded just like something they would do, and referrred him to Robert Anton Wilson. He didn't donate, but left resolved to track down the Illuminati.

Loony #2:

I got back to the Kamp (I have decided that this is a better spelling option), exhausted, and was taking a shower when I heard another client cursing in the shower. Thinking that he might have injured himself, I asked him if he was all right. He was a fat, hairy redneck guy who has a perpetually angry expression on his face, to whom I have not spoken before (he is a newbie). He told me that he really hated it at the Kamp. I concurred, and said that I was saving money so that I could leave Baton Rouge for parts elsewhere. He asked me why I wanted to leave, and I said because I couldn't find a decent job and I didn't like it here. He then said: "You're a motherfucking liar! You're fucking lying! I growed up in Baton Rouge and I wouldn't live anywhere else! Baton Rouge is the best town anybody could live in! You're a motherfucking liar!"

So much for commiseration. He's on my Do Not Feed! list.

Loony #3:

So, today, I was standing outside the Public Library, waiting for the doors to open. Several others were waiting, too, including the maintenance guy. I said hello to everyone, as is my wont, and said something to the effect that the weather had been unusually Spring-like for the past week or so. One of the waiting patrons, a tall, skinny fellow with long, dark hair who always dresses completely in black, commented:

"That's because of the weather control facility they have under the Bermuda Triangle. That's why they don't let planes fly over it. It's all part of that alien technology they got from Area 51 (I am not making this up, I swear!). It's called Project Icarus (wasn't that in a Bruce Willis movie?). Katrina was just a test: the next one is gonna wipe New Orleans off the map!" He then went on to tell all of us (enthralled as we were) that he had been told by the FBI not to discuss this with anybody or else, because he had hacked into top secret government websites and downloaded all of this tippy-top secret information that nobody else even knew about. He claimed that they were going to have to invent a Force Six designation, just to classify the next one!

I told him that the best way to keep Chinese satellites from beaming those microwaves into his head was to buy a cap and line it with aluminum foil.

Where do they come from? Why do they all want to talk to me?

Just lucky, I guess.

Just Random Shit

Hung out with Travis and Fernando yesterday. We did wash and ate lunch (at FUCKING MACDONALDS!) and just hung for a while. Our cute young friend, H., came by. He is 22 and an avid runner, and had just completed the Crescent City Marathon, down in New Orleans, and was so pumped by the experience that that was all he would talk about, which was okay, because he is such a nice kid, and it made me feel good to see him so excited about his achievement. He is SO CUTE! Oops, shouldn't say that: he has FRIEND status, but he has hot little ass ...

We were talking about Mike the Tiger. For those of you who don't know, Mike the Tiger is an icon in Baton Rouge. He is the living mascot of Louisiana State University, and the current one is Mike VI, mixed Bengal and Siberian tiger, so it's really an university tradition. All of our athletic teams are "Tigers", especially the football (American) team. I swam at LSU, and we were the "Tiger Tankers". So, it's a big thing.

So, we were talking, and H. says it's so cruel to keep a tiger in a cage (actually, he has a really nice little habitat, with stuff to play with and a swimming pool), and I said, well, you really don't know cats, because all they really like to do, besides play and eat, is sleep, and that's what they do most of the time, when they are not destroying everything that you own, and using your DVD collection for skateboards.

So, day before yesterday, I was on my way to work. There is a "bike trail" along Dalrymple, which is on my way, but half of it is so rutted that it is unusable, and, yesterday, there were so many fucking joggers and baby stroller pushers and dog walkers on it that I couldn't use it. So, I'm on the road, on the right side, obeying the FUCKING TRAFFIC LAWS, when a pickup, redneck-equipped, passed me, and the passenger side cretin leaned out the window and screamed "BIKE LANE", to which I answered "ASS HOLE", and gave him my best three-fingered salute.

Which reminds me of something that happened years ago, when I was on my way home, around midnight, on my bike, on Perkins Road. Another pickup, with three stupid shitkickers in it, passed me, close, blew the horn and screamed obscenities at me. I yelled "fuck you", and they actually turned around and came back for another pass, so I got up off the road, laid my bike down, and put my U-lock (a really heavy thing to lock a bike up with) in my hand, in case they got out of the truck.They didn't. One of them threw a beer bottle at me, but it missed. Then they drove away.

Well, I got up to the next major intersection and, lo and behold, the same truck is parked outside of a popular bar. So, I got the multitool out of my tool kit and cut all four valve stems off of the tyres. This was a Saturday, and the truck was still there on Tuesday. Every time I drove by, another wheel was up on a cinderblock. Revenge is a dish best served cold, and it was a chilly night.

So be nice to cyclists: we don't fuck with you, pollute the environment or drive up oil prices. Plus: you may get away with it today, but may God help you if I finally catch up to you. And, I mean that.