May 31, 2010


It strikes me that where there is money to be made there is always someone lined up to profit off someone's misery.

It further strikes me that I may be one such person.

The prominence of jackasses wandering around with Bluetooth earpieces for their cell phones -particularly in Wal*Mart, accessorizing a snazzy pink, stretched-to-the-breaking-point spandex, or on the ears of loud-mouthed show-offs in front of me in the checkout '1-8 items' lane of the grocery store (with their Audi TT and their Tommy Hilfiger man-capri pants, you know who I'm talkin' 'bout!)- makes me long for the day when people just used cell phones so you wouldn't have to stop and wonder if the guy talking to himself was actually talking to himself or not. Remember the days when you'd see someone jabbering to himself and you'd know that he or she was a little off? It was like nature's way of saying "Heads up; shit may or may not go down." Nowadays, you have to stop and pay attention to see if the guy's actually got a phone of some kind.

The line between mental illness and being a jerk is getting blurred and, to be fair, I have more sympathy for those who are mentally ill. At least they have an excuse. What's yours, Ms. Decaf-half-soy-non-fat-ristretto-with-Splenda?

In fact, to help out those who have mental illness of the kind that makes one prone to outbursts in the street or prolonged conversations with people I can't see, I would like to start a business. For particularly aware schizophrenics who are aware that, for whatever reason, those around them don't see the lizard people that talk to you daily, I would like to start manifacturing and distributing fake Bluetooth headsets.

All you have to do is slap one on your ear and Presto! you're not crazy anymore, you're just a jerk with a Bluetooth! I know, crazy street people: it is a bit demeaning to have to pretend you're a Bluetooth loser, but it's a small price to pay to be able to really get into conversations with angels in the food court without having some damned security guard interrupting you every fifteen minutes.

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