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Current Song:
Finger Eleven - One Thing
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Irrationality to the T (as in telephone) ~ 2004-04-20
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posted by chongüey
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As a bona fide member of the male gender, I try my hardest to rid myself of irrational behavior. Irrationality should be the sole domain of women; men being creatures of logic and women being creatures of emotion. Emotion is the epitome of irrationality. No, that’s not a slam; it’s just reality. For those of you offended by such blatant truth; grow up and deal with it.
Despite my best efforts to this end, I still find myself fearing certain things that I have no reason to be afraid of. What, you might ask? Imagine for one moment that I were deathly afraid that one day, while eating, my fork would miss my mouth. So terrified of this possibility that the I am seized upon by horrible thoughts of mealtime failure that I slowly starve to death rather than run the risk of getting some egg on my face, so to speak.
No, that is not a real fear I have, merely an exaggerated example. But, when not faced with my fearsome task, it appears as equally ludicrous as the previous example. I’m sure you are all asking yourselves what in the world I am talking about. I refer to ‘the call’. You know, that dreaded of all phone calls; the one to ASK A GIRL OUT. The horror! The pain! The excruciating, nerve wracking… wait a minute; it’s a phone call to another person who, in reality, is probably just as nervous about the whole thing as I am. Nothing to really get worked up over. Well, easier said than done.
The funny thing is, I have never in my life been rejected by a girl. Not once. Neither have I asked a girl out only to discover that my clothes have mysteriously vanished. Nor have I ever called a girl up on the phone and to my horror, discovered that I can only communicate in some unintelligible burping language. However, in some parallel-universe that exists only in my mind, I am rejected a million times a day for those exact reasons. And when the time for action comes in this universe, in true Twilight Zone-esque fashion, a dimensional portal opens and all the irrational fears materialize in front of me. Or, at least, I think they will. Past experience and statistical probability be damned! I will make a complete fool out of myself somehow during the course of the coming phone conversation.
Yet, seeing my impending doom as inevitable, I make a decision. What better way to go than in a blaze of glory, ridiculed to death by some saucy female? I pick up the receiver and punch in the numbers, all along facing down my gruesome fate with steely resolve. I begin talking with true heroic bravado, knowing that at any moment I will begin to fart uncontrollably, so loudly that it will drown out what I am trying to say. Five minutes pass and the conversation ends. I have achieved my goal and yet, somehow miraculously, I have survived. Not only survived, but with all my limbs intact. I hang up the phone, and then, with some disgust, realize that I made a big deal out of a simple phone call. Again. For the twelve billionth time.
And that my friends, is irrationality to the T. An idiotic fear that sucks the soul out of a man and reduces him to quivering mass of jelly in a little place we call “The Twilight Zone.”
And that burping language? That would be pretty dang cool.
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I (chongüey) own this site. That's right; It's mine, ALL MINE. Don't even think about using anything on this site without my permission. And if I find that you have stolen anything from this site, I will find where you live, enter your house while you aren't there and mess with you things! Like maybe rearrange the furniture. Or switch your underwear drawer with your sock drawer. Vengeance will be mine. You have been warned. And, oh yeah. Copyright 2004 and all that good stuff.
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