Captain’s log. Stardate now, the time between Christmas and New Year. Everything seems quiet, but the relatives lie in wait. The opportunity they have anticipated is right after the next midnight, or this one. Maybe two more. Soon, though. Timing is vital but unimportant.
Psychoses disguised as political opinions. I’m running out of whiskey to protect the holy cerebellum from a violent and messy collapse. A hefty belt followed by a deep breath and a long pause only provides a small amount of protection against the inevitable onslaught of stupid. How can I, ne’er must, I be related to these?
What ancient gods have I forsook that this be my lot? What deeds have I done, or not done, knowingly or not, that woeful me, the Tiny Tim of someone else’s cautionary tale, why must I take on their mantle of carrying heavy links of chain to purgatory?
Alas, by sour coincidence, I was born into a family of softheaded wrong thinkers. Verily, I fear I might lash out! Having to spend infinite time in limbo; they know how I feel, but they keep smiling at me like I haven’t figured it out.
Oh, Lord! Why hast thou forsaken me! On closer inspection, the lord to whom I share my laminations is a floor stain likely left by a pair of wet boots. I might need new glasses.
Hope! In suffering, there lies no hope. Surrender, for you have already lost. Thine high score has been surpassed by someone with the initials of POO and their skills greatly exceed yours.
Forgive me, Lord, for they know not what I am about to do. I shall eat their potatoes with gravy and bland protein of their choosing. Disingenuously, I shall smile and say, “Happy blah blah blum,“ and hope that they consider me sincere, all the while biting my tongue, for it is meat, after all.
—DG
Inside Doug's Head 