Being laid up this past weekend, I got to spend a lot of quality time with my best friends – Sifu13, Weinerdog13, and the glowing god in my living room who tells me the truth always.
A marathon of Ancient Aliens on Saturday was packed with solid indisputable facts about how aliens totally don’t want to vaporize us and I enjoyed that soundly.
By Sunday night, I was tired of laying on the couch, but once again my glowing friend came through with a bunch of shit for me to look at so I would forget my life was happening. Some sort of sport thing was taking place, if my co-w*rker’s blatherings are to be believed, but that’s not want I want to talk about today.
There was a cartoon called “Bob’s Burgers”. “Bob’s Burgers” was cute. I liked Bob’s frustrated impotence, his wife’s borderline infidelity, his mutinous kids’ betrayal, the cannibalism, and the kid in the bunny hat.
This is the way my brain works: When I saw that kid in the bunny hat, the programmable part of my brain began to throb. This lobe of temptation informed me that I HAD TO HAVE A BUNNY HAT. “It looks so cute on that cartoon child,” whispered the gland. “Seek a bunny hat of your own.” I felt that pull. I confess.
But when I switched back to the brain I normally use, it screamed in my idiot face. “You are a 33 year old woman,” it said to me. “You would look like a deviant retard in a bunny hat.” And I knew this to be true, so now I don’t have a bunny hat.
Having all these functioning brains in my head sure takes the whimsy out of life sometimes, but fuck whimsy. You can’t buy whimsy. If your brain isn’t cranking out its own form of demented whimsy full time, you are a fucking amateur with a credit card. Kill yourself. There’s no joy for you unless someone else thinks of it first and sells it to you.
But that’s not what I want to talk about today.
I want to talk about what came on AFTER “Bob’s Whimsy Bunny Burgers and Cannibal Sideshow”. An INTERVIEW WITH JEFFREY DAHMNER AND HIS DAD.
Rapt. I could not stop watching this. Jeffrey Dahmer and HIS FUCKING DAD, side by side in matching shirts, talking about how Jeffrey Dahmer killed and ate a bunch of people. His dad was pitching a book. I think it was a cookbook, or a book about parenting or some shit. The interviewer would ask Jeffrey Dahmer some question, like, “How did you feel when you were killing the hell out of those people?” And Jeffrey Dahmer would say, “I guess I felt okay about it. I sure wanted to kill more people though.” And Jeffrey Dahmer’s Fucking Dad sat there, nodding along. I think. I couldn’t see clearly because my eyes were blurry with tears from laughing so hard.
The moral lesson here is, no matter how badly you’ve hurt your shoulder opening the bathroom door at work, no matter how many borrowed vicodin you may have to eat, no matter how many skidmarks the weinerdog may leave upon you as you slumber, no matter how many bunny hats you resist the urge to buy, your name is not Dahmer, and you don’t have to explain to every new person you meet for the rest of your life, that Yes, your name is Dahmer, and Yes, there is a relation in fact, and Jeffrey Dahmer was once swimming around inside your nutsack, and Yes, he really drilled holes in all those peoples’ heads and ate them. Your son. He ate people.
But when that’s your reality, you just suck it up, stiff upper lip, and look people right in the face and say We Are Dahmers, and we’re proud of it, and you can put THAT in your freezer and eventually make stew out of it.
- simianidiot posted this