Reading Back the Feed Back

I don't know what's wrong with me.

Is it the fact that I tend to question everything, and then there is something there, like some little seed that makes me either question it more or find it as an answer to my query. It's the problem with mentally ill people. We see the world askew. Take Dave Chappelle for an instance. This man is funny because he's insane. He sees something and instead of seeing it directly, his brain skews it, and with him, it's largely humorous. Like his assertion that the police departments are not racist. It's the sketch artists that are. Because they draw all Black people alike. Damn that was funny.



So now I'm thinking all askew about my local library and how they treat me. Yeah, I think I'm being abused by the Forces That Be, or The Man, or Mother Nature, or whoever the fuck is messing with me all the time. Maybe it's some deranged librarian that remembers me for assault and battery or something like that. Primarily because I've never committed such a crime...but you know those fucking sketch artists!



But it made me think. You see, my askewed thinking kicked in. Chappelle's joke like most, are just good clean fun. In fact I was writing to a friend that just broke out and said that 'Writing is fun.' And I said to myself...yeah, good, clean fun. Do you see where I'm going with this? Good, because I don't. I'm just wondering though, how did we get the phrase: "Good, clean, fun"? Where the fuck did that come from? I mean, what is clean fun? A shirt or tie that we have to keep clean? A flowery skirt that you have to make certain is on the blanket when you sit on the lawn? And what makes fun 'good'?



Here is my brain at work, or maybe trying to work. I start questioning things. Like, what was the purpose of the phrase 'good, clean fun?' Were some kids playing in the field and didn't get dirty? I wondered and so, you know what I do when I have questions such as this one, right? I resort to my favorite source for answers...the Internet.



And unfor- tunately the Internet let me down. There is nothing concerning the origin of the phrase. Could it just be that the phrase has some deeper, darker meaning, covered over by secret organizations to amass power and influence across the planet? C'mon, stop thinking that I'm crazy here! What? Good, clean fun, as opposed to what? Bad, dirty tricks? Hmmmm, maybe that's what my problem is. Where Dave Chappelle turns his warped thinking into humor, mine turns it into some black, sick shit. Bad, dirty tricks seems to appeal to me for some reason. I wonder if I can use it in a sentence.



"Wow, writing is such a bad, dirty trick!" Ha ha! My blog is a nefarious, filthy mach- ination! As compared to an 'honorable, immaculate merriment!' I'm going to use that nefarious shit as a catch phrase for now on in relation to my blog. Oh I love it. A nefarious so and so. Because it just suits me and my gruff attitude. Like my Library down the street (oh oh, racing thoughts again). Good, clean fun, right? Why don't I ever have fun in a library. Every time I walk through the door I prepare myself for nefarious, filthy machinations!



Why those bastids! I like to read books, but unfor- tunately I can't afford them (do you ever believe that one day this might be a valid limitation for you too? Scary right?). They are indeed a luxury item...so THANK GOD for the library. Shit, I can even get the latest albums from the library. They are amazing! And when you sit in the most corpulent cities on Earth, there is very little that is denied you.



So, I borrow books from all over the tri-state area and have them shipped to my library right down the block. Such a convenience. I enjoy it, until someone feels that they are having Good, clean fun with me. I call it 'fucking with me'. All I have to do is wait until my email tells me that my book is ready for pick up at the library so that I can run on out there and pick 'em up. But there is this curious statement in the email that I would like to share with you. It reads:  The item you requested has arrived at the library and will be ready for pickup soon. Please allow time for library staff to process and place your item on the holdshelf.



What the fuck? Ready soon? What's that supposed to mean, ready soon, allow time? Time for what? Why don't you try this? Put the fucking books on the hold shelf and THEN send out the email. What's wrong with that plan? I'll tell you why in a minute. Instead, these dwarfs like to play that 'good, clean  fun' shit on me. Okay, I play along. I give them three days from the notice to have the book on the holdshelf. Three days later, on that particular day, the temps fell from the high fifties to the low thirties, below freezing.



Okay, let me go out there and pick up this shit.I go there and look on the holdshelf and there's the book! Wow, this is great. I'm glad I have three more coming! I shiver back into my home and crack that book open ASAP. Days later I get another notice in my email. I wait the three days and this day the weather was delightful, once again up in the fifties. When I get to the library, the book is not there. I go to the bespectacled Miss' Crumb behind the library desk and ask what's up?



More good clean fun! "Sir, on the bottom of the email notice it says that you need to give the books enough time to be processed and make it to the hold shelf." Hey, and don't think that she said this to me normally. This bitch was in some kind of time dilation field. On the other side of the desk, time was crawling by. Her movements were slow and laborious as if hampered by molasses in her veins. Her voice was slow and wobbly like putting your finger on an old record player while a record was on.



What the? Okay, how long should I wait then? She has more good clean fun in store. "I don't know, Sir. It depends on the book I guess." I nod. I'm being fucked around with. Do you know how I know? Because I just know these things. I get home and put the weather channel up as my Internet home page. The next day it was in the Fifties. The next day the book was not on the shelf. Two days later the temperature drops into the thirties again. I go to the library and guess what? The fucking book is on the shelf!



Ahhh, now I get it. They put the books out only when the temper- atures are a bitch. Possibly there is some wackadoo librarian in the back that doesn't come in when the weather is fine, but instead arrives to do his work whenever shit is nasty outside. That's probably it...otherwise these people are watching me. Probably they have a camera in my room, watching me walk around naked. And when I get up to go to the Library, they hurry up and take the books off the shelves.

I guess I'll have to wait until after a cold snap to go get my books from this library.



But I'm telling you guys. Don't let me find the guy, gal or anyone who is is having a nefarious, filthy mach- ination with me, because I"m going to bust their asses if I can prove it. And do you know why? Two reasons: 1) I hate the cold, 2) and I hate ambiguous paragraphs that gives Librarians time to put a stupid book on a shelf.



What is fucking wrong with this demented world?


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