Cigarette?

A few days ago a friend told me he reads my blog. “You write well,” he said. “But a lot of it is just mental masturbation.”

Mental masturbation? You want to see mental masturbation? OK watch this. I’m going to do some, right here.

Friends, let me give you a word of advice. If you happen to find yourselves amongst me and drop a remark like that, have your laugh. And then pack. Take your whoopee cushion, your X-ray goggles, your clown shoes, and your dog-eared last month’s issue of It’s What Everybody Says So It Must Be True and Aren't I Clever to Say It, and get out of the vicinity. Because I do not back down and I do not let up. I will wear you out. I will singe the ears right off your head. I will unpack the contents of your brain and spread them out, sorted by size and function, and I will neatly label all the contents (“Stupid” and “Pig Ignorant” and “Loutish” among other categories) and show them to you and then I will shovel all of it into a garbage bag. And then I will kick you out the door and fling the whole worthless package after you.

Well, now I must go and fan myself. I am all aglow. Goodness!

See? That’s mental masturbation. Now you can say you have seen it on my blog. My pleasure.

Some of you have known me, lived with me, worked with me, since I was in my teens. Do I exaggerate? Back when I was teaching, I was The Scary One. I can run an argument into the ground, I’m like the Jack Russell terrier who is willing to tear up the whole sofa to get that piece of old cheese that's stuck between the cushions. And I so rarely ever get to pursue anything that way any more. I get excited just thinking about it!