When was the last time you tried running around your front yard while screaming, “For the love of God! Will someone please thing of the children!?” Or you can replace these words with just about anything. “Dandelions! Dandelions! A pox upon thee!” Or in the words of Tommy Boy, “Bees! Bees! Bees in the car! Bees Everywhere! God, they’re huge! They’re ripping my flesh off!”
It doesn’t really matter what you say. The point is that unfettered hysteria can be fun and even therapeutic, as long as your neighbors recognize that you’re ridiculous. The only potential problem with this sort of blood-circulating hysteria is when your neighbor calls animal control to report a swarm of Africanized killer bees. Fifteen minutes later you end up facedown in your front yard and handcuffed while the black and whites wait for the paddy wagon. Fifteen years after that, your kids describe the moment to their councilor in an effort to understand why they can’t sleep, they’re gaining weight, and they have a repeating dream about human-sized bees wearing police uniforms and using licorice whips while singing The Who’s classic, Wont’ Get Fooled Again.
You don’t want the weight of that following you to your grave. Trust me.
But who is to blame for this scenario? Can it possibly be my fault for staging a psychedelic freak out for therapeutic purposes? I mean, if I turn up my music and play the air guitar in my living room while in my old man pajamas, and my neighbor creates an accidental flash mob by posting on social media that Kenny Loggins is staging a private performance next door…am I to be held responsible for the property damages that ensue?
Or should my neighbor be held responsible? Or should my neighbor’s social media followers be held responsible? After all, they’re the ones who punched the police and trampled my petunias.
Ah, therein lies the gremlin of the matter. While I’m the first to confess that hysteria is a hoot in a box, hysteria begets hysteria. And in the end, the flowers are gonna get trampled. Or in the words of Moe Szyslak the bartender, “It’s like my dad always said; Eventually, everybody gets shot.”
The fact is that hysteria is so much fun, we simply can’t resist joining in. We do it everyday when we listen to the news or conversate with like-minded individuals. The only solution is to therapeutically stage socially safe hysterical freak outs that are prescribed and monitored by your neighborhood hysteria coach. (I fill this position in my neighborhood. If you don’t have a neighborhood hysteria coach, I offer an online course.) By venting our hysteria-steam in a controlled and regulated manner, as a society, we can regain a safe operating pressure… AND PREVENT THE END OF THE WORLD!!! FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THINGS HOLY! WHEN WILL SOMEONE START THINKING OF THE CHILDREN!?
At the Desk This Week
I’m plugging away at rewrites and edits on the third season of The Green Ones. It’s coming along nicely. At the same time I’m starting physical therapy to counter all the old-man-crap and loss of mobility that comes with being a desk jokey. Woohoo! I can’t complain too much though. I love it. I’ll keep writing about gritty, male characters who can still get the job done…even if I can’t. That’s the beauty of being a writer. I can live vicariously through my characters! (Unless my characters are killing people. I promise, I’m not disguising murderous intentions…or am I? No, I’m not. I swear Mr. FBI agent. I have no violent intentions what so ever.)
If You Wish to Start Reading The Green Ones…
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
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