The Shit Keeps Gettin' Weirder

Damn, I say.

Damn it all.

As I was zooming around the warehouse on my trusty forklift(I haven't hit anyone yet), I was doing a headcount on the people around me who are seriously, seriously in need of some kind of mental enema.

There's MeepMeep, of course, but he's on some kind of new meds, and has hit that normal zone of weirdness where you can stand to be around him for more than a few minutes. Any longer than that and the small hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you start trying to remember if he's got a knife or not.

Then there's RodgerDodger, who, shortly after my arrival and ascension as Master of the Known Universe, suffered what can only be described as one seriously massive hissy fit. He was gone for several months, his ailments ranging from high blood pressure, high cholesterol, heart murmurs, plantar's warts, thin blood, thick blood, thin veins and some sort of vaguely-described condition that has it's roots more in Toben's Spirit Guide than anything else (trust me, I know from nervous breakdowns, and this mofo had the kind of nervous breakdown normally reserved for a Pope who find out everyone has been sleeping with the Vienna Boy's Choir).

Now, I could for sure go on, because the list actually continues (Blenderman, for example, is awaiting his arranged bride from Kuwait, Smurfette is simply awaiting the moment when the Telus Ninjas come sailing through the roof for her 7k cellphone bill, Mollymaid's Dad is, I shit you not, Arthurt Spooner for real, and so on), but I'm gonna take this moment to introduce you to SlowPoke McDragass.

I have never, in all my life, seen someone this slow. I thought Meep was slow, and lazy, and easily confused (look! SHINY!), but goddamn, even Eyeore with his every ready slow-and-steady-wins-the-race philosophy'd be shovelling methamphetamines down SlowPoke's gullet. This guy is slow.

He also has epilepsy, but it's not the normal kind. There is, apparently more than one kind, which I didn't know, and I can honestly say that no matter what, I would much rather be around someone who has the kind where the flop around the floor and you have to keep them from swallowing their tongues.

SlowPoke has the kind of epilepsy where he has ... hallucinations. And, WOW!

We've all seen Fear and Loathing, and if you haven't, you really should fuck right off this very second and don't bother me anymore, that movie is some seriously messed up shit and you need to enlighten your sorry asses. You know that scene where Benicio del Toro's in the tub, very, very fucked up and wants Johnny Depp to drop a radio (i think) into the tub at this part in the song?

That guy was having a bad trip.

I have seen worse. And, this is the nutty part, without the use of any drugs.

Here is the scene:

I have decided that I am in a shitty mood, which isn't all that strange, except today I am given the opportunity to punish SlowPoke for being slow. (Insert image of molasses pooling gently on a table). As such, I have been hammering at him relentlessly for something like 3 hours, intent on seeing if I can actually make someone quit. (It failed with SlowPoke, but it worked(s) with other people). Needless to say, this is quite a physical workout. I dash upstairs to check on the machine and product and all, and then I come barelling back down the stairs. Here is the conversation:

SlowPoke: Evilmister ... do you trust me?
Evilmister: (wondering what the fuck is going on) Uh ... ya, shur.
SlowPoke: No one else is going to get hurt.
Evilmister: Why would anyone get hurt? (I can take SlowPoke, he's little.)
SlowPoke: You've got to be more careful.
Evilmister: Safety is the name of the game, there, SlowPoke, don't you worry about a thing. (Feeling now like that fancy trick shot they do in movies where the camera zooms in on the character and the background zips away into the margins)
SlowPoke: I promise, no one else will get hurt.
Evilmister: That is just super, SlowPoke, you make sure no one else gets hurt while I just call 9-1-1 ... we'll make certain you get a soft comfy bed, color-coded food and bouncy walls to play with...

Like the rabbit says, Exit stage left.

I am also not the only one who has been on the receiving end. Mollymaid's husband got told, during lunch hour, in decibels loud enough for the King of Siam to hear, that HE WAS NEXT, HE WAS GOING TO GET IT NEXT! He tried to pick a fight with the boss' son moments after being told he was going to get permanently hired, while the boss was schmoozing with customers in the very next room ...

The list goes on...

Now me, I am not against garden variety weirdness. Shit, I don't mind the Marilyn Manson hump a security guard's neck while singing weirdness. I am a motherfucking weirdness super-conductor. I am also so hip, I can't see over my own pelvis, and I have made a lifetime career of never blinking an eye when something stupendously fucked up is happening. This skill helps when you are being busted by the police for public drunkeness and the contribution to the delinquincies of minors, but it also helps when the guy you're working with starts quacking like a duck and demanding to see the King of CheeseTown.

Now, I thought I would never say this, but SlowPoke creeps me out more than MeepMeep. Meep is crazy all the time. I have habituated myself to hearing how two of his wives are also Horsepeople of the Apocalypse, and how Stan got him into trouble over the weekend. That shit has become like Muchmusic; you know, you put it on in case something interesting happens, but ultimately it's just filler noise.

SlowPoke, on the other hand, is like a GrandMaster chess champion of weird shit. Since that first time, he hasn't wigged out on me. I'm pretty sure this is because I told him later (he never recalls these hallucinations) that if he ever tripped out on me again I would feed him ass first into the blending machine and make SlowPoke flavored jerky out of him.
Am I wrong to be insensitive to the guy's serious medical condition?

Motherfucker please.

If I can laugh my ass when some dumbass gets her (yes, her) hand caught in between two conveyor belts a second time (yes, twice), then I can sure as shit find something comical about a guy who will all of a sudden shout 'BEWOOOOP' and then yammer on about the massive lemur hanging around by the dust collector.

You guys think this is funny, I'm sure. I know I do. So remember, kids, if you ever see a short little Native American (what? I can't be politically sensitive) guy in a mall somewhere and he starts going BEWOOP BEWOOP BEWOOP like some kind of cheezy cartoon effect, do what I would do: canter in real close and try and see what ever the fuck it is he sees.

I'm pretty certain it'd be amusing.