Norm
MalI can’t believe how rude some people are.
A professional blogger
Today, my wife decided I needed to take a break from blogging. After the police had pried my hands away from my computer keyboard with the jaws of life, I reluctantly went outside.
I collapsed by the front door but I enjoyed the ride in the ambulance, and the doctor at accident and emergency said I didn’t need to see an eye specialist but rather, that it was natural to have a severe reaction to natural light after being inside for three years in front of a computer reading Orble posts. She also said that bodily spasms and uncontrolled vomiting and incontinence issues were natural occurrences in people of genius level intellect who had trained their minds to focus solely on Orble votes and karma. I didn’t let on that she hadn’t told me anything that I didn’t already know.
Before I had time to give her a few tips, I had to sign a form. I listed my occupation as professional blogger. I could tell the nurse who handed me the form was more than a little curious about lofty matters far beyond her intelligence, so I decided to do her a favour and enlighten and educate her.
I explained to her what a blogger was. How it was someone who didn’t live in what plebeians describe as the ‘real’ world due to a heightened perception of reality and innate superiority, and how a blogger didn’t have a real job or need one, or need to mix with real people, but knew everything intuitively and theoretically in a Google kind of way without having to go through the tedium of ‘experience’ in order to grasp or truly experience experience itself. And how experience was overrated.
She pretended she wasn’t interested, but I picked up on her deceptive body-language in that intuitive and perceptive way I pick up on the false vibrations of mistrustful virtual people through their text. I could tell she was embarrassed yet titillated by my superiority, and didn’t want to further humiliate herself in the presence of others by allowing her to do what she knew was the only appropriate course of action to take, namely fawning further, prostrating herself on the hospital corridor in order to pay adoring homage to my magnificence.
It is such an advantage for a blogger who has arrived at the point of spiritual union with inner peace itself , to comprehend not just the calming value of crystals and the supple and flexible bodily advantages of non-religious Yoga to arrive at a junction in life where one possesses not just inner peace, but a comprehensive knowledge of where the skull’s acupuncture points are, and how to drill holes in your own head in order to imbed crystals deep into the lower frontal lobes, and then stitch your own head up in such an expertly surgical manner that would put a plastic surgeon to shame, so as to appear as if your hair itself was impervious to the wind and the elements themselves.
I asked her if she needed some help to get her life on track in any area whatsoever, even though I knew the answer to the question was both an equivocal and unequivocal Yes!
She said she was fine, in that way that people say they’re okay when you ask them how they are, when they inwardly scream ‘suicidal!’ and wonder for years later why their inner voice is mute on the outside. I knew her answer was a lie, so I began to give her a few free tips, while I thought about how much more money I would have made through Google AdSense if I was blogging about this matter rather than just instructing a real person who wasn’t ready for the full force and blinding light of my own brilliance.
Being in total denial, and quite deluded about the fabric, nature and essence of life itself - like every non-blogger - she started making excuses about being busy and having other patients to attend to, workplace reforms, etc, and even had the audacity to interrupt me while I was giving her a rundown on global terrorism.
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