Probably Right, I Don’t Explain

I’m cryptic. I’m vague. I’m in my head so much that people think I’m rude. I get accused of thinking a lot. I don’t. I rarely actively think. I more or less watch, if that makes sense. There isn’t a lot of inner monologueing happening in my fat head. More or less a private picture show starring anyone or everyone that I have met or seen. It’s not that I am ignoring you, it’s just that I’m so enthralled with the plot unfolding in my subconscious.

Sometimes there’s a quip I see, sometimes (often) there’s jugs and nips, sometimes a maiming, lots of times two women I know making out, sometimes a scream, sometimes there’s a love story, sometimes a drama, more times than not a dramedy. I can’t actively listen. It takes all of my energy and concentration to focus and listen to the string of words that comes out of your mouth. It may be considered rude. Not sure, I may have a social disorder. Social distortion. That explains why self medication leads to an out-going and, might I add, humorous “individual.”

I take pride in that. Why wouldn’t I. I am, after all, my own biggest fan. Phil Tanner taught me that. I take pride in the fact that my own self is so entertaining to my own self that I become entertained by my own thoughts. Did you know that Phil’s dad is an action star?

Van Tanner – Action Star

To wrap up this senseless meandering, I’m not purposely ignoring you. And, if you have my attention for even the smallest amount of time, do yourself a favor and gently pat your back because you did it. You got my focus away from the developing story of jugs and nips in my head.

Please to enjoy.

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