Panic Attack

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The all too common panic attack. Not interested in jamming on about what to do to cure them, no sir. I’d rather have a go at how to create one.

Sure, panic attacks aren’t fun to those who are in the middle of one, but to anyone who isn’t currently under attack, they can be hilarious and silly. From outside the attack, the lack of logic is obvious.

I’m not only writing this because of the recent events, but because I’m a huge fan of Andrew Schiavone, a comedian who cohosts a podcast by the name of Panic Attacking. A good many of the episodes have decent jokes, but if you want a real taste of Andrew’s comedy, follow him on Twitter.

Now to answer the question we all ask ourselves every day: How can I give myself a panic attack today? And of course many of you have come up with the evident current pandemic. Absolutely right, but let’s dig a little deeper.

How about trying a new career. Make a career move to public speaking. How’s your anxiety now?

Okay, maybe that one didn’t get you. Consider the idea of walking around your neighborhood at 3AM. Is that something you would want to do? Or is it something that gives you the heebies? Does walking around your neighborhood at night sound like a horror show? Even if you only have a mild amount of fear, that’s a mild amount of panic—attacking you. The reason that’s funny is because either you don’t know any of your neighbors, or you know them far too well. Brilliant, isn’t it? Revel in it; there’s more.

Panic should attack you if you know you’re going to grow old. Your body’s going to change so much that all the people who used to know you won’t be able to recognize you. Hair is going to grow out of places on your body it never used to grow. If you’ve passed through puberty already then you know what I’m talking about, sorta-kinda. Except as you grow older, the hair growth will be weirder than puberty and less pleasant.

If you’re even younger than puberty age, you’re pre-pubescent, and you have plenty to worry about. Someday you’re going to find out Harry Potter isn’t real, Pokemon is only a game, and The Mandalorian moves slower than your dad’s old cellphone. Beware reality! It’s coming to find you young ones, believe it.

Is there one thing that works universally to give everyone a panic attack? I don’t think so. We all have different talents and fears and worries. We all come from different neighborhoods. If there was one thing that attacks us equally, I’d say it’s the famous question, “Do you have enough toilet paper?”

Work vs. Sleep

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You have work, but you want to sleep. What are you going to do?

Today, I suggest the sleep. Sleep in. Go back to sleep. Whatever. Skip work. Unless you’re the garbage man. The garbage truck driver has to work even on the day after Christmas. He doesn’t get to skip work just because there’s a snowstorm or a holiday or a dumpster fire. The garbage truck driver dumps the dumpster while it’s on fire. You know he does.

He’s okay. Most of his job is good, even though he has to be to work on those odd days. At least he works days. He doesn’t have to work a graveyard shift. At least he has a schedule. “Drive down such-and-such a street on this day,” they say. “Drive down the other street on a different day,” they say. And he does it, because he doesn’t mind. He gets to listen to audiobooks while he’s working the route. And he doesn’t have to slog through the snow like that crazy walking-route mailman does.

Everyone can look elsewhere for people with worse jobs. The mailman can say, “At least I don’t have to clear a sewage line, backed up by those crazy Americans with their obsession over flushing massive amounts of paper. At least I’m not a plumber.”

And the plumber can say, “At least I don’t have to bury the dead. What a thankless job that is.”

And the undertaker can say, “At least I don’t have to nurse them back to health, or listen to them whine about how cold the bed and the soup and the medicine is.”

And the nurse can say, “At least I don’t have to spray out their bowling shoes.”

And the bowling alley rental counter attendant can say, “At least I don’t have to chop the heads off of fish.”

And the butcher can say, “At least I don’t have to endure the scorching heat on the ocean where they catch these fish.”

And the fisherman can say, “At least I don’t have to work for a handful of cabbage writing fake news for the Russians.”

No matter what job you do, you can imagine worse. Even better, if you can take a sick day, you should be able to see the benefits you have. See it, be grateful for it. No problem.

Get some sleep, have even one less problem.

Fruit

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By their fruits you shall know them. Fruit of your loins and fruit of your actions. Everything is fruit. We are apples of someone’s eye and apples of the sun. We have Adam’s apples, and coconuts. We are dried up old prunes. We smell fresh like lemons. A pregnant woman is said to look like she’s hiding a watermelon. The baby is the watermelon. Knock on someone’s melon, though, and you’ve knocked on their skull.

At what point will we stop referring to fruit when we talk about ourselves?

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When we start referring to vegetables.

You can get cauliflower ear. Your muscles can be like mashed potatoes. If you’re tall and skinny, you’re a bean pole. 

Because we’re human, we compare ourselves to everything. There’s really no end to it. We’re animals.

A lizard, a chicken, a monkey. A loyal mutt, strong as a horse, sly as a fox.

Slippery as an _____.

Proud as a _____.

Slow as a _____.

You know the answers to the above because you’ve heard the references at least a hundred times before. Our comparisons go on forever, and that’s a long, long way. It’s to the point you’ll have to choose if you want to be fruit, vegetable, or animal. Well, which is it?

Alien Interference

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The aliens are messing with our minds, man.

It’s the only explanation why people are so crazy these days. There are the usual pessimists who used to be relatively sane who now believe the rain specifically aims for them. There are the generally mystified who have become completely daft. There are also those who want to be oblivious on purpose, and now they want a badge or a bracelet to identify as clinically insane. They want to be labelled.

Even worse, we have the people in charge of our social commentary wanting to make our comments for us. Automatic social media posting. Sick!

Why would any sane individual want automatic everything? Really, they don’t. The sane, the confident, the level-headed—they want very few things in their life to be automatic. A confident person wants to do things for themself.

Speaking of automatic. There needs to be such a thing as an un-update. Every time a computer or a cell phone “updates” it breaks something. Never does an update make every aspect of the system better. Some part of a program will stop working right. Why? Did the computer programmers really intend to reduce the function? Not likely.

It’s more likely that cosmic radiation messed with the programmers’ minds.

And don’t even get me started on the political scene. Yeah, by scene, I mean obscene. There are crazy politicians alright, but worse there are the psychos who obsess over those politicians. You can’t honestly say you hate a person if you spend every moment of every day tracking their behavior. If, for instance, you follow a politician on Facebook, and you add a comment to their every prompt, you’re not in hate-mode, you’re in teenage-lust-stalker-crush-mode.

Scanning past the obvious is a function of schizophrenia. But it could also be a consequence of alien interference. Maybe, just maybe, there are these psycho crazy rays coming out of alien spacecraft, affecting the minds of otherwise intelligent people—making schizophrenics of us all.

Sure people have always been crazed and dazed, frazzled and dazzled, bungled and botched, but why does the insanity appear to have magnified sevenfold?

Aliens. The aliens are messing with our minds, man.

Clean

How to be clean:

Soap.

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Of course, good old soap. But not that new stuff. If you stack it up, you can’t tell the difference between stacked soap and stacked blocks of cheese.

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Both are aromatic. Both are colorful and brick-like. That colorful square you thought was soap could actually be cheese. Be careful, and yes, “choose wisely”.

The oldest methods of making soap are best.

Why?

Lye.

It burned a little going across the skin. That was the point though, right? Burn the top layer, then rinse. Chemically changing the top layer of skin is a method of cleaning mimicked in cleaning everything from silverware to automobiles. Chemical burns are so cleansing, and yet the rinse is the important part. Don’t burn the top TWO layers.

Rinse, rinse, rinse.

How else can we be clean?

Alcohol.

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Silly, bald man.

No, not in you.

And who said this silly, bald man is drinking alcohol anyway? Did you judge him somehow? I didn’t mean to make you think he was three pints into the drink. I wanted to talk about what to do with the alcohol.

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Honestly, I think you all know what to do with the alcohol. You’ve all been buying the Purell like it was the last source of oxygen on the space station, or the best steak sandwich you’ve ever had, or a tested and proven love potion. And just like that love potion, you’re not supposed to drink it, you’re supposed to bathe in it.

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That’s right. Bathe in alcohol. It will make and keep you clean.

Just one caution. While you’re bathing in alcohol, remember the rule: No Smoking.

Is there any other way to be clean?

Yes. Shave your head.

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Shaving your head will make the very tip top of you clean.

And when you’re all tip top clean, you’ll be happy.