Sunday, February 12, 2012
We Interrupt This Message..
For a word from our inner life coach. You know the guy, the loudmouth inside your head that has something to say about everything. All the time. It's like having a nagging spouse, a Jewish mother, a conscience and the biggest buzzkill you've ever met yammering at you all at once.
I have it a bit worse because in addition to the above, my coach thinks he's funny, and sometimes he is. Never at the right time, and I never know if he's funny until he turns me into his own Achmed the dead terrorist and the words are out. Then all that's left is for me to face the uproarious laughter or the dead silence, and it's about 50/50.
That's why I drink, but alcohol doesn't silence the little bastard, I just have slurred thoughts. Sleep doesn't work either. Oh, I rest all right, but the dreams. The little prick's a sadist too. I have a recurring dream where I'm performing at a nursing home and he forces me to imagine the audience in their underwear. In reality many of them are, but still. I haven't seen that many wrinkles since I managed a dry cleaner's. When they laugh it looks like a huge flesh tsunami.
I tried eating really spicy food once to see if that would quiet my coach, but he gave me funny gas. I didn't even know it was possible to fart the alphabet until then.
The only thing I can do is try to get along with him, but he doesn't make it easy. He let me drink 20 tequila shooters at a company party a few years ago. For an entire week I thought I was gonna die, while he was laughing himself silly. Apparently it's possible to recite the multiplication table while projectile vomiting. I don't recommend it, but it's possible.
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