Mooner To Hire Rethinker; Problems Solved

 

So. Every time I start feeling sorry for myself, something happens that brightens my day. I don’t mean to say that the day brightening something happens right away. Rather I’m telling you that no matter how terrible things seem to be, they can always get worse.

Hold em up kids, I’m mixing both my sentiments and my metaphors. My ADHD has gone into DEFCON 5, what with all the cold weather-based calamities in Mooner World. I’ve got a ranch house full of people, most of whom think of me as a mixed bag of savior/perpetrator, and all of whom I have both saved from a miserable cold existence without electricity, and managed to drive nuts.

Maybe what I’m trying to say is this. You want to come stay to my house, come when I’m away on vacation if you’ve got the delicate sensibilities. If frank talk, adult subjects and inappropriate anythings bother you, check your snippy ass into a room down to the La Quinta Inn. I’ve got enough ungrateful women living in my life on a full-time basis. I don’t need to import additional crotchety bitches.

Look, I get it that some folks have a problem when my buddy Squirt and I take a leak in your sink. When it’s my Gram’s sink (in my house), and I know in advance that said man-and-puppy sink-peeing incident will be frowned upon, the clocking of my head by the cuffed, bony hand to my ear is warranted.

Warranted, expected… fully deserved.

I seem to either lack filters for my thoughts altogether, or the ADHD has plugged them so completely as to render them unconscious. I’ve been working hard in my regular psycho therapy sessions to unlink my tongue’s direct connection with my ADHD-addled brain. Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson tells me in session, she says, “Look, Mooner, you have got to break the direct-connect between your tongue and your crazy assed brain.”

And by the way. For any of you fuckballs who think I’m lying about my ex-wife/therapist’s name, go to the “Cast of Characters” section of my homepage and look her up. After reading Sammie’s given name, if you have any problem as to why she’s known as Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson, you can kiss my buffed and polished ass and go fuck yourself. Log-on to the Glen Beck Show and fill your head with that shit. Leave me alone.

So, I’m sitting around this morning after another breakfast table filled with non-residential aliens, and I was feeling sorry for myself. Sorry I have no privacy, sorry it’s so very fucking cold, and sorry that I keep thinking out loud and making trouble for myself. It’s the thinking-out-loud part that bothers me the most.

My lacking those thought filters is problematic. I am convinced it’s the ADHD that causes this effect. When you have as many thoughts in your head as I have, it’s often difficult to distinguish which ones are in residence in which parts of my brain. When you are busy trying to push thoughts of your sexual fascination with a fake video into the deeper recesses of your mind (that’s the video over to Squatlo’s bloggie), you can easily misplace the thought about, “Maybe I should have told the Squirt to mox nix any conversation about how much fun we just had when we peed in Gram’s sink.”

What happens is that the sink peeing thought makes its way to the “thinks out loud” brain control center, and the fake video squirms its way back into the “sexual” brain control center, and I end up with a boner and Gram’s slap up side my head. I guess you might say that I often loose control of my control centers.

Squirt and I were discussing this problem while we read the paper in my room after breakfast. I had an ice pack held to my swollen ear and Squirt was curious as to why I keep doing stupid shit. “It’s because I can’t always control which thoughts go to which brain control center, little lady.”

“?Que?” she asked.

“Huh, indeed,” I answered.

Our discussion started to lag when Squirt asked me, “Wie viele cerebro el centre de controle in your ymennydd, Bwana Mooner?”

“Well, my curious little mini-dachshund and chihuahua mixed breed marvel, if I understand your question– I haven’t ever thought about how many brain control centers my brain has. And by the way, was that last little bit in Welsh, or did you have a brain fart?”

Squirt giggled and said, “It’s mien Welsh,” she said and giggled some more.

“Welsh, German, Spanish, French and English– all in a twelve-word sentence, and then three of those in a three-word sentence.” I took the ice pack off my head and squeezed her tight. “I love you, you little shitbird!”

Squirt giggled some more then gave me her quizzical look. “OK, let’s try to answer your question.”

We started writing a Postie Notes list and came up with the following partial number of brain control centers in my brain: Active-Thought Speech; Passive-Thought Speech; Speech Queuing (active and passive); Post-Speech Evaluations; Post-Speech Duck Reflex Actions; Apologies (both pre-speech and post-speech); Active Sexual (real, imaginary and cartoon sections); Passive Sexual; Food (active and passive); Carta Blanca beer (active, passive and in-the-act-tive); Non-sexual pleasure (active and passive); General Fight/Flight; Specific Fight/Fright; Obsessive/Compulsive Centers (a second set of control centers running on parallel circuits); ADHD Command Center……

When we got to the ADHD Command Center center, as I was writing the words on my Postie Notes, the something happened that brightened my day. I had another original thought.

“Squirt, think about this one. How about I hire a special assistant and their job will be to rethink for me.”

“?Que?” Squirt asked me.

“I don’t know who, silly. Someone with Squatlo’s smarts, and the Reckmonster’s sass, and T-cat’s brass. And Chunky Knubby Navels’ focus.”

The Squirt gave me that sideways cocked-head dog look that either says, “Huh?” or, “This bonehead is an idiot.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Let’s have a Carta Blanca and think it over,” I told her.

That got me a tail waggle. Manana, y’all.

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14 Responses to “Mooner To Hire Rethinker; Problems Solved”

  1. Streaker Jones says:

    Mooner. Fix yer shit buddy.

  2. admin says:

    UGH! We’re working on it now. We’ll use you as a testee.

  3. Squatlo says:

    Testing testing… testicle testicle…left right…

    hello hello hello, is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me… is there anyone home?

    About this \rethinker\ thing… exactly how would that work? Would someone serve as an intermediary between you and the rest of the universe? Filtering out all of the distasteful comments you would normally blurt out at random moments? In that case, you’d find yourself living the life of a submarine commander… calling out your thoughts to your interpreter, who would then filter them and pass them along to the next person on the other side of the bulkhead, who would, in turn, pass it along to the next. By the time it got to the end of your submarine-like house of characters the meaning would be so twisted up and convoluted that your original \politically incorrect’ thought would have made a lot more sense and been less offensive.
    \Clear the deck! Prepare to dive!\
    and it echoes down the hall… \Clear the deck! Prepare to dive!\
    \Cleaned his dick! Prepare to die!\
    \He’s cleaning his dick, and paring a dyke!\
    \He’s what? Tell that shithead to get in here and bring me a brew!\

    See what I mean? You’re better off making your own announcements. No sense getting slapped silly for something you never said.

  4. admin says:

    Squat. As soon as I catch my breath and wipe the tears from my eyes, I’ll see if our test results have made any improvements. (You funny shit)

    Maybe I need to rethink my rethinker logic. Here’s my alogarythm: If A squared(Q/x) is greater than 3y(Y-2x+Z)=(-5Rcubed+(9Qr(R+PiA)Zz); then I’m fucked either way. Agree? Maybe if I amend the, “3y(Y-2x+Z),” part to, “3y(Yx-2x+Z),” it’ll fly.

  5. Squatlo says:

    Your CAPTCHA thingie had some undeciperable hieroglyphics up the first time I posted, so I hit the top little “reset” twisty thing, and all that did was make the CAPCHA words disappear altogether. So I kept clicking it, not wanting to lose that bit of brilliance I had left for you, but it wouldn’t offer up another set of words to type in. So, fuck it, I just hit “submit comment” and after about ten minutes of pondering that command, it decided to offer up some more hieroglyphics.
    What could possibly be simpler?

    Hey, at least the comments are staying on the page for your readers to check out. Much better than before. so far…
    (hmmmm…. the CAPCHA words are “wangnut slobberslurp”… are you setting those yourself, Mooner?

  6. admin says:

    Squat. We already crashed our GoYoDaddy server once this am. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll install my captcha program in my head to do my rethinking for me. Logic– 2 (-) = 1 (+).

  7. Mooner, I hate to break it to you, but DEFCON 5 is like the lowest level of readiness. DEFCON 1 is where you shit your pants. And about this ass-mold you’re talking about. One question: is the “plaster” or whatever they use “warmed” up for you? Because I can’t see plunking down the back nine and the one man garage into a pool of frigidity.

  8. I think you are my long lost brother. Or something.
    I read “ADHD” and “no filter” but then I lost track somewhere? It must be that I have no inner monologue…
    Then, Reckmonster’s mention of a butt mold makes me giggle, partly because my daughter is currently trying to shove a balloon in my ass. It’s already inflated, to be clear.
    I’m not sure why your ADHD would want to try to destroy the world but, you know, whatever. Bring the snow to Houston and we’ll talk. OR, better yet, make the cold weather get the fuck AWAY from Houston and we’ll talk more. Something like that.

  9. admin says:

    Miley. I’m so glad I was able to entice you for a visit. I think I might be sleep walking, so I’ll keep this short, for now. When I awaken in the am, if I pinch myself and your comment is still here, I’ll do something. I’m not sure what it is because I just watched Inception, that movie, and I’m trying to see if it works. In real life.

    You are getting sleepy, sleepy….

  10. admin says:

    Reck. OK, buzz killer, why is 1 worse than 5? As for the gooey mold goo, I will personally warm it for you. I’ll get one of those Dr. Scholls, or howeverthefuck you spell his name, foot bath dealies, and I’ll heat it slowly to proper temperature. I just watched that movie Inception, the one about the dreams. I think I am dreaming and was hypnotized by some secret subliminal thingie there to the movie.

    I think Miley came by for a visit too. Maybe I can save some money and have you, the T-cat and Miley doo your gooey mold goo castings at the same time. I’ll fly us all to Costa Rica for a week. I’m getting sleepy, sleepy…

  11. Well hello there, how do you do I, see you’ve met my. Shit never mind. I gotta throw a big fat wet kiss at my cobra sister Reckmonster for somehow sending you to my \Nice\ site to which you left a comment which was like vodka laced trail to your site and BAM baby you get Props ! So I send you over to my \ Not ever fucking nice site\ might I suggest you look up Sam I am by Dr. Abuse as you will probably fall on the floor of the irony. Also the \ I did a greek in a hot tub and we got salty\ you may find this world is just mucho smaller than we all previously thought. Also I have 3 empty guest rooms, you can piss in the sink I don’t care I never go upstairs anyway that’s like exercise and shit. You are so going on my freaking \shit worth reading\ list on ThePits. Dude your fucking catcpha is in inversed pig latin but with math, I can’t fucking do that… shit, you will probably never see this. Damn it.

  12. admin says:

    Peachy, baby. So, welcome to my world, which might turn out to be parallel parked in a universe next to yours. Thanks for comming. The capchta dealie keeps the religious fuckballs at bay.

  13. Squatlo says:

    Mooner, you’re attracting an interesting herd of curious voyeurs to your loony bin. Well damn done, sir!

  14. admin says:

    Ever since I somehow attracted you for a visit, things have gotten interesting. Before you dropped by, the great bulk of my readers were either sexual deviates come for a good camel toe storie, or the mental deviets come to try to threaten me, or crash my trash talk about the siliness of right-wing religious fuckballs.

    Thanks for dragging your loyals over, and for the attendant kharma. I toast you mit cerveza frio, Carta Blanca. Seems like the Squirt’s rubbing off on me as well… the languages in a short toast. UGH.

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