Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

I'm not gonna lie

some whacked out

hand holding

prayer circling

hippy chanting

crazy

shit

 

happened in my living room tonight.

 

I was trying to listen to the top of the 9th and my dog was kinda wigging out

and retards were everywhere.

Everywhere.

 

I could go into greater detail

so I will

 

My parents' wooptard friends (a married couple they've known all of my life) came over, since they're only in town about 6 times a year now, and my dad decided to have a party for the next 72 hours in celebration of this fact. One has chronic asshole-itus, and suffers from "cluster headaches". Anyway, his wife's ... moondog idiot brother (who frankly isn't allowed to touch me MORESO than anyone else on the planet because he gives off a really dim, oogey vibe) comes over unannounced.

I'm pleased as punch.

And he decides to do his hippy whacked out kookookatchoo shit in my living room to heal his brother-in-law's cluster headaches.

which freaks out my dog-

and I'm trying to listen to the damn top of the ninth, not hurting or bothering anyone, which is a god damn favor from me.

 

Granted... my dog flips out a bit just from people getting up from the sofa

but

howling, and making ghost sounds

and holding hands on the floor

 

yeah, that's gonna flip her out- next thing I know two people are dragging my dog out of the room and asking me to watch her,

I stand up getting ready to hit someone and possibly murder them and hide the body

"Did something happen"

"can you take the d-"

"Did something happen!?"

One of my greatest fears is that my dog's better judgement will get the best of her

and she will BITE

some creepy, child molestery, moondog "I live in a van" dipshit that came over to my house unannounced

and that creepy child molestery moondog "I live in a van and have suffered multiple injuries to the head, and used a lot of psychotropic drugs" dipshit that came over unannounced to my house would want to press charges and have my dog put to sleep.

I don't give a flying fuck if his arm is missing and my dog is gnawing on the bloody stump, you press charges and threaten her, I'll beat you to death and bury you somewhere.

 

No

my dog hadn't bit or bumped anyone

 

but all I'm seeing is dipshit moondog on all fours, possibly in pain, and my dog being dragged out of a room.

 

What we could've done BEFORE that happened

and before my adrenaline spiked (in preperation of murdering someone+witnesses and disposing of said bodies in an abandoned field south of town)

someone could've said

"hey we're gonna do some stupid hippy shit, is it okay if you and the dog were somewhere else?"

 

Yeah... that's what we could've done.

 

Anyway

they tried to kumbayah the headaches away, and apparently the humming and chanting actually gave him a stellar migraine

 

I tried not to lulz and chalk one up for modern medicine, and a society that has moved past leaches and powercrystals or cracking their own skulls to let evil spirits out and to talk to their gods.

 

Maybe my stomach will stop bleeding if I put my favorite chair in the southwest corner of the room.

 

Anyway, annoyed, and now well into the ninth inning, I have my dog at my feet, and the rest of the house cut off.

I later ask my dad, after dipshit moondog left, apparently disturbed by the fact that his "healing" didn't instantly work, and in fact gave the person he was "healing" a headache- and was in fact a bit indignant on this point

"well its not like when you go to the doctor and say 'doctor doctor it hurts when I do that', 'don't do that',-

"this is a journey of healing you have to be brave and willing to work through this pain"

 

Seriously- he sounded insulted and incensed that his unproven, unconventional, mind over matter spiritualism hadn't instantly healed someone in one session, as if it were the subject's fault for not trying hard enough/not believing.

 

Me to dad:

"what the fuck was that moondog crazy shit?"

Dad to me:

"I ... wow, I have no idea, I mean, I've been around that guy before, and I always thought he was kinda weird, but I could talk to him- tonight, I dunno, tonight it seemed like he was... well I'm sure I've talked to him on drugs before, but tonight it was kinda scary. Like he was on a scary amount of drugs"

 

Me to dad:

"Awesome- Royals won."

 

Dad to me:

"5 to 1?"

 

Me to dad:

"Yeah something like that, I was kinda distracted by ghost sounds and couldn't get a great signal".

 

Then we watched Battlestar Galactica >>

 

What do YOU need to take from all this?

 

You can be an ether riding vegan, moondog, spiritualist, hippy.

I'm all for it, some of you are hilarious and/or cool cats to talk to.

But here's what NOT to do:

 

Don't come to my childhood home high, especially around me, my family, or my dog. (Anyone. High on anything. Ever.)

 

Don't be so crazy that we don't know for certain that you're high- because if no one can tell for sure- you're obviously at a dangerous level of high or crazy or both and should seek help for your substance abuse problem and/or mental illness.

 

Don't get all whacked out and talk about having to leave "this place" because the "energy isn't right", and then leave indignantly from a place you weren't really invited to.

 

And don't order my dog around (even nicely), or expect her to convenience you. You're actually in her territory, she's doing you a service by not ripping your throat out and presenting it to me or doing anything else outwardly defensive of where she sleeps and eats.

 

Those are my general "how to avoid getting lower on my shitlist" notes.

 

Specifically to this guy:

Seriously- don't put your dirty child molestery hands on me or anything I'd touch, like a glass, or a table.

You give me some wicked bad vibes.

... like manslaughter and rape bad vibes.

 

Like my aunt's excon exboyfriend who's... back to serving most of a most-of-life term for-

rape

and manslaughter

after assaulting his parole officer.

 

 

I'm not giving out all the details, all the descriptors, all the lines and quotes, etc

Just know that my defender impulse for my dog went off,

my bullshitometer and dramamoter was on high alert for a couple hours,

I wasn't the only person that had a "wow, that dude needs help" moment

and everyone that counts is fine, if not a little irked.

 

Then I made chicken tamales.

I made 24.

I ate 4.

 

They're a little gooey probably because the dough was wet and loose compared to the last batch, but they'll set more in the fridge and should reheat fantastic.

 

They're fanfuckingtastic as it is, and I'm going to vegas in less than two weeks.

Fuck.

I'll have a lot to do soon.