From the Nuthouse to the Nuthouse. Pt. 2 (standard:humor, 887 words) [2/2] show all parts
Author: Greggo	Added: Jun 20 2002	Views/Reads: 2552/0	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Continued...

I could leave this hospital whenvever I choose, I just find it redundant
to venture into another world of crazies. More doctors, more judges, 
not to leave out the lawyers and garbage men. Those who peek through 
everybody's trash ( the garbage men, not the lawyers), rooting and 
confiscating tossed torn shirts and burnt toast, relishing in the 
refuse of society. They're almost as awful as salesmen! I remember this 
car salesmen a few years back trying to sell me and my wife a new 
Lexus. It's just a lumpy piece of metal, I told him, but he kept 
talking. Why does it cost so much, I queried, but he continued yapping. 
Wow! How could one man talk for so long without really saying anything 
at all. He was so slick, smooth, and charming that I thought he was 
ready to sleep with himself. Instead he slept with my wife. She ended 
up buying the car and she even let me begin payments. Marriage is 
awesome! 

Whenever I suggest to another inmate that I have the privilege to leave
the hospital whenever I want to, it always ends in chaos. Usually I 
plan it around a time when all of their painkillers have worn off; then 
I burst their bubble. "Hey, I'm thinking of leaving tomorrow. Will you 
help me pack?". That's how I start. Then they sneak away slowly, yet 
very indiscreetly, towards scary Mary. They ask why I'm allowed to 
leave and they're not, but here's my favorite part: I deny saying 
anything of the sort. They usually lose it after this. Some of them 
throw things, others will start crying like a four-year-old that 
doesn't get his way. It's really quite humorous. Inevitably they get 
those painkillers that they subconciously wanted ever since they 
sobered up. Geez, they really  should be thanking me. 

You see, some of these patients are not even close to being half-sane,
although they all dream of being 'outside'. I tend to think that it 
couldn't hurt if they were released; maybe it would add a little slice 
of sanity to the world. Just envision being on a rush-hour bus one 
morning and one of our little patients begins sipping your coffee while 
groping himself. Or, what if, in an elevator, somebody justs starts 
yelling, "I've wet my pants, my pants are wet!". Wouldn't that just 
start your day on the right note? Doc Darren suggest spending my time 
reading a book or amusing myself in other ways. It's just that I can't 
think of another way to get grown men to throw temper tantrums.  "Come 
on Doc", I try to reason, "you play golf. If there's one sport in which 
wealthy, distinguished men are allowed to throw things, be it a putter 
or a golf bag, it's definately that sport. Golf is just one huge excuse 
for men to whine and throw tantrums!" He never agrees. 

You know, it has been three years since my admittance but it feels like
only one or two weeks, three tops! I blame it on my intellect; I feel 
that I slow down time. Doc D blames it on the drugs. He explains how 
Nurse Mary has to calm me down with morphine at least three times a 
day. It's not my fault that God gave me energy. Hell, everyone needs 
more energy in their life, sometimes I'm surprised these people have 
enough energy to even breath! But then again, I  believe breathing is 
God's way of getting humans to shut up. Could you imagine the 
gobbledy-gook that would transpire if we never had to catch our breath? 
Oh the humanity! I guess writing is just my way of beating God's 
system. 

Last night I heard Marty, my room-mate, crying. I wasn't overly
surprised because he is always crying for something. This time, at 1:47 
a.m. to be precise, he was crying for the whales. I could of lost it! 
Why not whine for politics or sob for the middle-east like he usually 
does, but the whales? Come on! These wild beasts that are invading our 
waters and Marty is crying for them! These mammals have been survived 
for millions of years and they finally realize that they cannot compete 
anymore, I think they're smart enough to konw when to get out. I only 
wish some of my floor-mates were so rational. Sometimes I wish I was so 
simple. Then I could cry for Marty. 

I don't really mind politicans, it's just that I don't trust most sounds
that emmanate from the region closest to their mouth. Although I 
imagine that the occasional burp is sincere. Don't get me wrong, I 
don't blame any elected officials for any wars that occur while they're 
in power. I believe that speech-writers begin the wars; politicians 
just keep the wars melodramatic. Maybe next election, instead of 
debating the party leaders, lets all interrogate their speech- team, 
those telling him what to say! Then we'll know who's son we're sending 
to battle and which under-developed country  will be sending those 
poor-ass troops home in pine boxes. Perhaps I'm being too hasty, scary 
Mary mellowed me out more than usual. I do not condemn war, in fact, 
some of my favorite ping-pong players are veterans. Let me give you the 
heads-up; shell-shock is a bitch to anyone's game. 


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