Not Working on Book- A Conspiracy


So. I’m at Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson’s office early this morning when I had one of those, as Oprah calls them, “Ah-ha!” moments. As I sat in the waiting area with Dr. Am’s other crazy patients, I was watching the big TV attached to the wall. Of course, all that was on was a bunch of negative political ads.

“Why is that TV placed so high on the wall,” asked the little lady sitting to my left. “Damn thing gives me a crick in my neck every time I come here.”

Since I know the answer, I told her, “It’s all part of the evil plan. Like subliminal advertising only more devious. The more complaints you have, the more psycho therapy you need. The too hot coffee and tepid drinking water are other aspects.”

The older woman thinks on this for a minute and says, “I believe you might be on to something sonny.”

Then her face went all slack, and her eyeballs did that tree frog dealie where they go in different directions and bug-out. “We need to do something about this.” When she said this last bit, I shuddered instinctively.

The man sitting to my right, and two seats away, pipes up with, “It’s one a them gov’ment conspiracies. Like Obamie’s health care and sales tax. Let’s shoot somebody.”

“Wait a minute here,” I try, “I didn’t mean to upset anybody, I was just joking about the evil plan stuff.”

“Nah, yer onta sumthin. I seen a black helicopter last week. That’s a sign from God.” He stands up and starts pacing maniacally. “What would Alex Jones want me ta do?”

“Wait a minute, hang on sir. Alex Jones is a shitball right-wing conspiracy theorist,” I counseled, “that brain dead moron would want you to kill yourself and blame the CIA.”

Now here’s my Ah-ha! Moment. See, I’m thinking I’m having a polite conversation with a couple of nice people as I wait to be charged $150.00 for my ex-wife to tell me how crazy I am. What I was actually involved in was not so polite.

The old lady jumped from her seat and said, “Let’s write letters and put them in envelopes that say, ‘Open upon my untimely death.’ The letters will detail how Mooner Johnson here works for the CIA and Homeland Security, and he hypnotized us to shoot each other to cover up his clandestine activities.”

“I got guns in my truck.” Then the loonie old bastard added, “Here,” and he handed her a serrated hunting knife that I never saw coming. “You hold down the fort and I’ll get the guns.”

The rest of my morning went, as so many do, with me getting blamed for causing a disturbance and talking to the Sheriff down to the jail. My morning was typical in many ways. So now the Ah ha! part.

Sheriff Wozniac released me without filing any charges and I’m driving to work, and my cell phone rings. It’s the ring tone that plays the Wicked witch’s voice from The Wizard of Oz, so I know it’s the good Doctor.

“Just wanted to tell you I’m charging you $450.00 for the three therapy sessions you managed to interrupt this morning,” Dr. Sam I. Am tells me in that snooty psycho therapist voice of hers. “I’ll let you know what the final bill is for the redecorating.”

“Wait a fucking minute,” I start, but I’m talking to the buzz of a dial tone.

I’m driving and stewing, trying to figure where I went wrong this time, because quite honestly, this dealie was not my fault. An old lady makes a comment and all I did was try to help her. So, I’m driving and stewing, and starting to get angry when it hits me.

“Sonofabitch!” I shouted and slapped the dash with my free hand. “I’ve been set up!”

Sammie was telling me last week how she was wanting to redecorate her waiting room and get some new HD TVs for the walls. “Ah ha!,” I shouted again. “It’s a fucking conspiracy after all.”

I called over to Shoal Creek Mental Hospital and told Martha, she’s the admitting clerk over there, that I would cover any deductible costs incurred by Mrs. Plunkett and Marvin Travis-Kennsington during their stays.

“You are a very nice man, Mooner,” Martha told me. “When are you planning to come stay with us again?”

“Not something I plan, Martha. But with all of the conspiracies plotted against me, it might be soon.”

“OK. I’ll keep the light on for you.”

The staff are all quite nice over there.

The moral to this story is that I think we need to outlaw negative political ads on TV. If a fucking politician can’t tell us what he/she is going to do to fix things, they can’t say anything.

Makes me want a cold Carta Blanca beer.

Manana, y’all.

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