Sat., May 29, 1999"Oh no! The storm has knocked out the power to the security fence! Everyone - quick! Get down on this disabled Jeep's floor and don't make a sound lest an escaped bird learns we're here, rushes over, and amuses us all to death!" - Dramatic dialogue from Steven Spielberg's movie classic, "Dodo Park"
I haven't always been an idiot. There was a time when I was confident that I knew exactly what was going on - a time when I even thought myself the indisputable master of my domain.
But then some other idiot actually handed a set of forceps to the obstetrician and that, as 9 out of 10 dentists say, was that.
I'm resorting to the Times New Roman font today in hopes of hiding some of my mental deficiency behind its uncomplaining serifs....For a long time I had a real forceps phobia - and who can blame me? It was so bad, I couldn't even convince myself to use a pair to pick up the menu when I ate in my favorite greasy spoon restaurant. I might have starved to death had it not been for the counseling I received from the world's leading expert on overcoming childhood trauma (who just happened to be working as a waitress in that restaurant while she waited for her Ph.D to come through in the mail).
It was this expert who convinced me that my real problem could be traced to the Doctrine of Signatures.In case you don't know (as I didn't before - and sometimes still don't): The Doctrine of Signatures asserts that the physical characteristics of a thing reveals its inner powers. That is to say, heart-shaped leaves are good medicine for heart ailments, ground up rhino horns make a fine Viagra substitute, and the wearing of a wig made from the hair of Demi Moore can turn even Sen. Strom Thurmond into a high-paid Vegas stripper.
Unfortunately, not all the effects are so positive. Eating lava may give you the power of a volcano - or it might get you ground up and turned into a bar soap designed for the hands of hard-working men. Rubbing yourself with roses has the potential to make your skin all satiny and sweet smelling - but it also just might prompt someone to beat the hell out of you at the next Hell's Angels meeting you crash (especially if the roses you use just happen to have been taken from a member's garden without your asking first).
In my case, the waitress convinced me that my idiocy had nothing to do with forceps, nor even with the fact that the obstetrican wielding them lost his grip on me, thereby allowing the nurses present to play "Hot Potato" with my body for some hours before X-rays established my exact position in the game and I was successfully extracted from it. No, my idiocy actually stems from my having been raised on milk.
Not human milk, mind you (which would have merely led to my growing up to be an average boob), but cow's milk (which explains not only my bovine-like IQ scores but my penchant for wandering around grassy fields, drooling and wagging my tail).
If only I had been raised eating the brains of my tribe's smartest, just-deceased elders, the way Einstein was! Or is it the way the cannibals of Malaysia still are? I'm such an idiot - how the hell should I know??
One thing's for sure: Things could have been better. And if it wasn't the milk, then maybe it was the thalidomide-flavored Tootsie Rolls I once got ahold of in my crib (which I'm sure gave me a name few others can pronounce, if nothing else).
So: If I'm ever a big enough idiot to have kids of my own some day, I'm gonna skip both the milk and the Tootsie Rolls and bottle feed 'em.
And right from the moment of conception, too!One scholarly note before moving on: The Doctrine of Signatures is not synonymous with the Monroe Doctrine.
The Doctrine of Signatures asserts that the physical characteristics of a thing reveals its inner powers.
The Monroe Doctrine asserts that any European power that comes to this hemisphere looking for the brain of an ex-president to eat will be slapped up side the head.
Preferably with a dairy cow rendered otherwise useless by enlightened child-feeding practices.But I gotta go. My ex-fiancé accidentally called me at a bad time last night and I promised that I would call her back today to tell her that she had dialed the wrong number.
I don't mean to be putting on airs, but... she's at least twice the idiot I am. When I gave her the engagement ring, she tried to melt the diamond down and extract its copper content. That's why I couldn't go through with it and actually marry her.
I mean, could you find it in your heart to marry someone with a permanently burned ring finger??
Be honest!*******************************************************
NOTE: The words "Doctrine of Signatures" were invested in this journal by Ms. CJ of Michigan and Texas. To see what a journal can be like when its author is willing and able to put a little thought into it, check out hers just by clicking Get Me The Hell To Something Worthwhile FAST! To find out how and why you yourself should help deodorize this toxic thought dump with a few choice words of your own, click here.*******************************************************
DISCLAIMER: It has been brought to my attention that neither members of the Hell's Angels social service club nor any other bikers would ever beat someone up just for having rubbed roses all over themselves. In fact, recent studies indicate that 62% of bikers are moved by poetry vs. a mere 23% of non-bikers. Furthermore, bikers are four times as likely to have wept during an episode of The Andy Griffith Show as the rest of us. And NOT because they expected to find wrestling on instead when they turned on their TV. More bikers idolize Oprah than you'd ever suspect prior to your fifth gin and tonic in a row. Studies prove it; i.e., shut-up.*******************************************************
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(All Material Not Freshly Plagiarized From A Passing Gypsy Fortune Teller © 1999 by Dan Birtcher)
