Brian's Absurd Theory of Animosity...write this down

This is what nausea induced apathy has blessed me with on this quiet, snowy Saturday.

I'm supposed to be:

a) Occasionally depressed
b) Mildly irritated
c) Scratch that...Pissed off
d) Selectively stressed

How is it that I've come to the seemingly worrisome conclusion that I should be all of the above? It's pretty simple really, and not hardly as worrisome as you might imagine, in fact, figuring it all out has been an enlightening process. I'm supposed to be those things because those are the seeds that this occasionally awful world is planting, and as the saying goes...if you plant corn, you get corn.

Before you assume I've lost my head and hope, relax for a moment and take a look around you. If there isn't an overwhelming amount of things to feel a) thru d) about then you're either blind, ignorant, or your annual household income tops $150 K. It's a miserable world out there. Why is everyone not struggling to maintain their composure in these hubris fueled huckster times. We lie and are lied to, and the best liars -- the ones who don't even see it as lying -- get the blackberries, nicest business cards, the corner offices, the expense accounts, and the fancy clothes that some other liar tricked them into thinking they needed. At least it used to bother people that the liars and frauds and phonies rose to the top; the Joe Schmoes expressed concern about such things and displayed an acute awareness that shit floats to the top. Today, we put the shit on magazine covers, laud it's buoyancy and anxiously wait to buy the shit's best selling business book about how you can get your shit to float too.

What the @#$% is wrong with this world when well over half the people we orbit around daily -- in our own pathetic lives or as we tune in to watch other people 's deceivingly less pathetic lives -- are used car salesmen. Do you think Dr. Oz is a #$%&ing genius or does he get a lot of help selling you the latest prescription bullshit? That offensive side-part schmuck is as contrived as the scrubs he wears (he hasn't seen the inside of a hospital since he stepped onto Oprah's set for the first time), and we want to turn him into the only honest physician we know? It's embarrassing. He's Al Bundy without the shoe horn. Weird example, I know, but hang with me.

Here's what a snowed in Saturday and some post-concussive symptoms have illuminated for me...Bullshit gets to me. Bullshit should get to me. Bullshit should get to everyone. I'm surprised the whole world isn't pissed off. It strikes me now that they're the ones with the problem (that's called displacement in case you were wondering, and this thing in it's entirety is called humor, so don't fret over my mental health...this is supposed to be funny), not me. I've learned that the real pessimists are the so-called optimists who are too afraid to acknowledge just how bad everything is, while the real optimists are the supposed pessimists who haven't yet given up hope. I suppose for verbiage sake I should use the term "realist" as opposed to "pessimist," but let's not get sidetracked with linguistic accuracy. Someday when we're all together, in person, I can explain it all better, provided that you're picking up the tab, you blind, smiling, and deluded masked masses. In the meantime I'll worry about how I'll translate all this for my daughter someday (who am I kidding, by the time I'll need to my theory will be shot all to hell), I figure that I've got two options...

1. I can explain to her that there are things in this world that should piss you off.

2. Explain to her why I'm a willfully ignorant, self-delusional sheep of a person who won't even get angry when everything before me suggests that getting angry is exactly what I should be getting.

Of course, this whole thing is just a theory, and in the words of Daniel Tosh, "it's probably wrong," but I'm willing to risk it. How do you stand up for anything when your willing to tolerate everything. You can't. So while I'm waiting for this latest of theories to implode and then dissolve in the most hesitant hearts of reason, I'm going to go get my pineal gland attuned thanks to this great link that Grandad Jerry sent me. I could sure use it. You could too, especially if you're taking this whole ridiculous rant too seriously. The truth is you're suppose to know that the world isn't fair, and that it's your obligation as an upright walking homo sapien to question things, to discern what's @#$% and what isn't @#$%, and then go play with your wife and daughter because they're the closest thing to earthly perfection you can get, unless of course, you're counting Dr. Oz's spectacular side-part. Then, naturally, it's a push.