Oh The Douchebaggery

I find I attract lunatics into my nexus quite frequently.

It might have something to do with the fact that my blood is thick with the crazy juice.

But holy nut job!

I finally acquiesced and went to the doctor yesterday to get myself right after having suffered with smarmy bitch Influenza far too long.
And because mama lacks insurance at the moment, I had to go to the ghetto clinic.

It's rarely very busy, but because it's cold and flu season, the joint was packed to the rafters with ailing freaks.

Words won't do justice here, and I didn't have a pen handy, so I will have to rely on my memory.

First there was a woman whose butt you could have stacked 5 or 6 martinis on. No hate...'cept' that her actual butt, sans underwear, was in all it's glory.
She was talking on her cell phone the entire time about some chick who, "'Gonna get her face slapped if she don't stop talkin' to my man".

You go,sista.

But then it got kind of scary.

She went into detail. I swear I was looking for the candid camera.

She proceeded to describe the ways in which she would cut/shoot/set on fire, said offender.

Oh my.

I was wondering if my cough was really bad enough to wait around and see what would happen next.

Fortunately she was the first one called in.

Whew.

I was waiting far past my scheduled appointment and had the urge to pee, so decided to get up and use the facilities.
But just before I stood up, I heard the loudest, wettest, most blatant fart I had ever heard in my life.
I looked over to see a man walking, ever so slowly, in the direction of the restroom.
And he made one continual fart the entire way there.
Did I mention he was walking very, very, slowly?

Needless to say, I held my sauce in until after I left the clinic.

There was one dude just standing in the corner grimacing at me.
And he looked like a dead ringer for Ernest Borgnine, complete with three-piece suit.

But, ladies and gents, I save the best for last.

I always manage to choose the wrong seat.

The woman sitting next to me was sporting a do that had clearly not been combed in years.

Pigpen called. He wants the critters swarming around his head back!

And she was wearing an entire tube of blood red lipstick on both her lips, and her teeth.

When I first came in she was listening to a head set.
There was no need for the head seat.
It was like Studio 54 up in there...shit was so loud.
And it was bad, bad slow jams.

I turned and looked at her shyly, so as not to arouse her crazy to come out.
Surprisingly she turned the volume down.

Aaah, silence.

Not!

In the wake of her sweet jams' absence, she began to talk...to no one in particular.

It started out innocently enough.

"Did you see that" (keep in mind, there is nothing to see).
"I said, I know!"

But then it turned to...
"What the fuck!?!"
"I will not take that, you fool"
"You better get the fuck away from me"

Uhhhh.

And as much as I joke about my ability to fit in with the mentally deranged, I know I am not, in fact, certifiable.

When I am around the kind of people I described above, I politely pretend that I have no idea that they are acting a fool.

Nope, just another day in the neighborhood here.

But what is so funny about crazy people is that they have no qualms staring at each other. It's like they have some special pact.
For instance, fartman was looking at butt-lady like she was crazy, and headphone lady was looking at fartman like he was crazy, etal.

Maybe none of them were looking at me because my silence and total lack of interesting quirks and/or outbursts seemed nutso to them.

Who knows?

All I know is I need to get me some of that fine, fine insurance.