Depraved. Gross. Take me to the Pilot!
© By Sera
I was thinking about how odd it is that if something is labeled ‘bad, gross, too filthy to speak of, or dangerous’ I immediately want to investigate it. Is this only the mind of the addict or does everyone think that way? Really, I’d like an answer, because, on this, I truly have no idea. Two things led up to this train of thought: 1. I was thinking how genius it was when my friend preceded my life story with the words “Reader, Beware.” Because if I read that I’d be hooked immediately, like “Ooh, this must be really good to deserve a warning.” I’d dive right in with a prayer that it be as horrible as promised: “Yay! Something terrifying! This day just got better!” and 2. I remember a skit on Saturday Night Live that showed a family at dinner. Then someone smelled the milk, grimaced, and was like “Blech. This milk is rancid! Smell it!” And everyone at the table took a good whiff and exclaimed at how disgusting the milk truly was. Things went downhill from there – one guy tastes something gross, so everyone has to try it and agree on its grossness. Finally, someone fell down a flight a stairs and upon landing cried: “My God! That hurt! I’m in so much pain! I think my leg is broke!” And so, of course, everyone starts throwing themselves down the stairs to experience it as well. Hilarity ensues. I found that bit extremely entertaining. And realistic! It seems to be the story of my life -- Oh, that road is dangerous to ride your bike on? I’m going! Oh, drugs will possibly kill you? Who does have some? Cigarettes lead to cancer? Can I bum a smoke? Oh, men who hit women aren’t a wise choice? Is that serial killer single? Oh, cutting off your foot is excruciating? Can I borrow your switchblade? And so on and so forth… I think for me a big part of it is the label that I indulge in; that excites me. Is it possible I did drugs and dated crazy people and cut off my foot because I was simply and painfully terrified of being bored? And if that’s true then when did I define what qualified as ‘boring?’ My life since day one has been action-packed, full of sinister pitfalls and without a doubt very entertaining, which may have thus equaled “the norm” to my addled brain, and hence, upping the stakes of what is amusing and exciting in life, as I know it. Whew! So, in conclusion, the real problem is the description society dubs things. Dangerous = exciting. Fatal = awesome. If all those asshole politicians really had a brain and honestly wanted to keep kids off dope they would have said, “Drugs are a snore fest! Dope is dull. Cocaine and heroin are the
equivalent of high school economics class. Crack is like reading the phonebook. Seriously, if these things had a reputation for being like tarring a freeway or dusting ceiling fans would they be so interesting? I can hear my Mother saying, insulted, “Hey! I like dusting my ceiling fans!” But she is weird, borderline, OCD, and you get my point. So, as usual, I start writing about something I’m randomly musing about and end up rambling on and on (but with passion, damn it!) and finally find myself spent, blinking in a town my brain visits often, called “What? -ville.” Right about now I watch my mind go wandering off to other new and exciting things like “what’s for lunch?” or “You know I think I really like vanilla.” And if I’m bored, I can only assume the reader must have left off at “tarring the freeway.” So I’ll gracefully close before I bore myself and everyone else to death or at least suicidal ideation. Thanks for hanging in there. With Love from Prison, Sera P.S. Do you remember the Garbage Pail Kids? They were an extremely gross spoof on the Cabbage Patch Kids, depicting filthy images of basically the Cabbage Patch Kids in all their chubby, adorable glory gone horribly, horribly wrong. With names like Snotty Sally, Stinky Sandra, Filthy Fred and Vomiting Victor, they were covered in snot, filth, spew and otherwise nasty accoutrements. Well, kids loved that shit! Or at least the kids I hung around with. Maybe there were other cleaner, more well adjusted children on this earth who found those GPK just wrong and avoided them at all costs. Maybe they turned their nose up and stuck close to their snot and vomit-free counterparts. Was this the defining line between me and my friends being future drug addicts and those ‘other’ kids being ‘normal’? Or was everyone deriving secret glee at viewing these depraved inhabitants of garbage cans, possibly closeted or hiding in their bathroom? Are we all sick or what? Well, I don’t have all the answers, that’s for damn sure. In a moment of blissful reprieve from grieving my father, I fling forth this ridiculous little gem. And frankly, I’d like some answers. I hope someone reading these little reports of mine has some. If so, write to me at firstname.lastname@example.org. Thank you.