Why're You So Crazy?!

Week Two of a comedy blog from a past joke. Video attached. Hope you Enjoy

A lot of people call me crazy.

I blame my parents for not recognizing how much I loved the smell of gasoline as a child. This was back before it became mandatory for large companies to at least pretend to give a shit about our environment and well-being. If you are under the age of thirty-five you probably have no idea what I am talking about, but back when I was a kid there were no emissions control or regulation on toxic chemicals being let out into our environment and city streets.

In the early eighties when you went to the gas station, you literally inhaled the gas station. I loved it. I also get almost daily, unbearable, massive headaches now but I’m sure the two are not related…

I loved being in the backseat of my dad’s car. As soon as we got within about a block and a half of the petroleum pumps I’d roll the window down, hang my head out the rear window, close my mouth and eyes and enjoy the deep nasal inhale of unfiltered fuel.

The toxic fumes did not induce a noticeable high as far as I can remember, but like a Placebo effect, I felt instantly elated and gratified with the results. And I’m guessing it made my dad’s favorite supper meal of Beans and Wieners a little more delightful.

I believe I’ve touched on this in previous writings, but in case you missed it, our weekly Wednesday meal in my family household was a can of pinto beans cooked on the stove top with a package of raw hot dogs cut into slices and added in. Side of white bread to scoop up the remnant juices, and YumYum! Dinner is ready.

But this is blog is not about our somewhat middle/ semi lower-class eating habits.

Although I just realized my parental controlled dinner may have been even more polluted than the gas station exhaust.

It’s not their fault. It’s expensive raising a family, and there was no Only Fans back then to rely on!

To this day I still feel a sense of euphoria from strong odors.  I could inhale garlic all day long. I am not sure if it is simply for the potent nasal pleasure, or if my brain has a tendency to seek out any type of altered state from the norm…but being that I am terrified of drugs, I am stuck with ecstasy of potent cuisine.

Not the worst fetish to have…

Also, the majority of humans calling me crazy are of the male descent…And from many years and tears of experience, that seems to be the only argument they have to take us down with!

Once that is thrown at me I can’t defend myself cause if I do I just look crazier! Can’t be in a crowded restaurant with my arms flailing in the air loudly exclaiming how “I am not Crazy!!”

It’s the ultimate trump card! Back before that word/name carried so much weight.

Although if you watch any of his rally’s, it literally IS the ultimate TRUMP card.

God Bless America, and all the young women coming up in the world now, constantly being called crazy, and not having the life experience yet to know it is them, not you.

I mean it is you.

But it’s mostly them…making YOU

Crazy!! xo