What Do You Do with a Barrel of Crazy

Today, my friends, I’m in a mood to be HELPFUL! We’re going to talk about appropriate responses to when TEH CRAZEE jumps out of the elevator, barricades the escapes, and corners you for extended discussion on the merits of their batshittery.

(It has been a DAY, guys. No joke.)

If you’re like me, you have a nasty habit of feeling misplaced sympathy for people who are obviously a few donuts short of a dozen. God owes those people a Dunkin Donuts gift card or something to apologize for the disservice he’s done to their ability to interact with other humans without inspiring trepidation and one sided awkwardness. But that sympathy, if you’re like me, comes back to bite you in the ass, usually in a loud, and inescapable form, when all you’re trying to do is settle down for some peace and quiet, work on a Sekrit Project, or fine tune your plans to blow up the moon. Because Crazy can sense when you’re trying to get stuff done. And it does not approve.

Given my massive experience in this matter, I’ve compiled a sure fire list of techniques you can use to flee when that person who always looks like they’ve just gone through a car wash with the windows open but smells a little like the bathroom stall at the end of the row, and wants to talk about their druid powers and what colors their aura is made of sniffs you out and corners you.

10. Sing a Gilbert and Sullivan song of your choice while they talk, starting under your breath and getting increasingly louder until you’re yelling over them. If they’re still there when you finish, smile, yell “hibberty gibbet and haberdashery” and skip away.

9. “Are you my mommy? I want my mommy.”

8. Lay down and play dead. If they poke you and ask what you’re doing, tell them you’re hiding from the sentient yogurt.

7.  “Look over there! It’s the second coming of Ghandi!” Run away when their head is turned.

6. “I’d love to talk, but I’m busy Skyping Jesus. I’m trying to get him to tell me if plucking my chin and mustache hairs violates Leviticus, and if I’m going to hell for it. But I’m using tweezers instead of a razor, so it should be okay, don’t you think?”

5. “I can’t really say anything about your aura’s color. Ever since the Evil Bunnies from Camazotz splashed their Kool-Aid in my eyes, I’ve been psychically color blind.”

4. “Oh wow, you can talk to the dead? That’s really cool! Yeah, I know; some people can be such pricks about stuff like that. I know that personally, I’m getting really sick of the therapy sessions they keep sending me too when I tell people about how my cats want me to kill the president. I can’t even count all the times I’ve pointed out to them that their plans are totally ridiculous. I mean, I keep telling Mr. Litter Licker that I can’t afford to buy that much kibble, never mind the problem of finding a vat big enough to hold all of it and which I can successfully drown my enemies in.”

3. “Oh wow, you can talk to the dead? Hey, can you get in touch with my grandpa for me? Fucker owes me 60 bucks for gas from the last time I drove his sorry butt to the ER.”

2. “Yeah, the Empire was pretty badass, but they would’ve been toast when the conspiracy of the 12 galaxies got started in on them. They’re guiltied to a dectrological rocket society, so you know they’re hardcore.”

1. Pretend you’re a mime.

Feel free to use any one of these plan, alone, together, or with the addition of a swift kick in the shins. Just remember, when the police come to your door asking about inappropriate uses of flame throwers, give credit where credit is due: to your loving and oh so cool Auntie Maria.


About Morgan Maria D'Isidoro

Morgan Maria D'Isidoro has lived in Baltimore, MD for most of her life, saving a handful of failed escape attempts. Given the murder rates, she'll probably die here too. Morgan is a writer of speculative fiction and poetry, a musician of dubious quality, cat aficionado, art history fangirl, kitchen sorceress, recovering pyromaniac, accomplished liar, and an all around person of questionable employability.
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