Wild Berry & ADHD

ADHD Ritalin

 

[Note to disturbed and deviant readers of this chronicle: This was partially written before the recent snow fell, hence the reference to leaves, of which there are no more on our tree.]

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the unholy matrimony of twisted and corrupt thoughts with the freedom to express them via Internet publishing, thus initiating a rethink of the meaning of the term “freedom of speech.” Also, it’s my birthday so I can do what I want today, as long as my wife lets me.

Wintry Weather is Distracting Me, Must Be ADHD

There was a severe change in weather last night with cold winds whipping the trees and our house, which caused literally thousands of leaves to be littered on our street. This weather is part and parcel of November climate, but no one really is ever ready for it, even the weirdos like me who like it. But weather-readiness isn’t the point. Mother nature, survival and ADHD are what I’m getting at here.

As I left to go to the gym in the eternally vain attempt to ensure my feeble heart  can pump my cholesterol and putty-thick blood through my veins to my oxygen-starved brain, there was a constant and bitter cold wind that continued to denude the trees of their remaining leaves. Leaves, these are the victims of the winter and other natural occurrences that may not be so natural, or maybe it’s just  Mother Nature going through menopause or possibly postpartum depression. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

This weather got me to thinking of those poor souls who have been crushed by mega tornadoes, super floods, super typhoons and other natural disasters. It leaves me wondering what’s the point and who is to blame? Natural or unnatural? Man-made or freakish bad luck? I’d like to blame someone for this otherwise this rant will be over in a sentence or so. Ah, wait, it’s coming to me. No, it’s gone. Maybe a coffee will help. Wait! It’s back. OK, since I can’t really blame anyone or any corporation or government for the massive destruction, I can theorize as to what these super storms are all about.

Either these storms are an inefficient form of population/birth control, or Mother Nature has postpartum depression and is trying to drown us, kind of like an unwanted child from an illegitimate affair, or worse. The birth control argument seems to be a little weak, unless Mother Nature is advocating abstinence or the rhythm method. Maybe she’s Catholic, who knows? Either way, neither one seems to be that effective. Maybe as a form of population control, she’s trying to keep her offspring from ruining her Earth (too late Mom, we got to the cabinet with the cleaning chemicals and have started poring them into the rivers.)

Oddly, these massive weather events sometimes lead to more humans being created, take heat waves for example. Power is out, people get all crazy with the heat and they foolishly fornicate due to the hot weather madness, which offsets the seniors Mother Nature picks off as they suffocate to death because they have no air conditioning.

Accident Waiting To Happen

I’m starting to think human beings were a big wake-up-next-morning mistake and Mother Nature is freaking out because this is putting a damper on her career, or her hormones went off the chart. Yes, that’s what we are: the unintended offspring of Mother Nature and Father Time after a heavy night out at the club with a dozen vodka shooters, a few more banana daiquiris, maybe a huge joint, followed up by some drunken, sloppy, unprotected sex on the stained futon in Father Time’s poorly decorated and cheaply lit apartment in the student ghetto near the pizzeria where the hairy-armed cook behind the counter also deals weed. We’re an accident.

So what do you do with an accident that you’re embarrassed about? Well, if it’s a car and you have insurance, you bring it to four-fingered Tony who will fix it on the cheap before you resell it to some sucker. But since there is no insurance for rotten offspring, and she couldn’t find a buyer for us even if she wanted to sell us on the black market, she has to deal with it. Or hopes we disappear altogether.  Normally you ignore the accident or put it up for adoption or ship it to a convent in the countryside or a boarding school, hoping desperately it goes away. But if it doesn’t go away and you’re moody like Mother Nature, you go to extremes to obliterate the mistake.

Look, as offspring go, we are pretty ADHD, and we have pretty much ruined all of her good furniture, like forests, lakes and rivers and grasslands. Not to mention the animals we’ve killed for warm, luscious, stylish coats, the ones with mink fur. We still haven’t gotten to the mountains yet, but give us time and we’ll stain those too with indelible markers or pee on them or use a can of spray paint to mark our names.

I can’t imagine Mother Nature could even find a babysitter for us ADHD humans. We’re constantly breaking things, we kill each other over toys, we rape and we pillage, we pollute and we pass gas. As far as I know, there is no industrial strength Ritalin to calm all of us down, and the only way we’re ever pacified is either through alcohol and drugs, post-sex sleep, electronics like my iPad, or shock therapy like a storm of the century, massive flooding, or maybe a volcanic eruption.

Parental Absenteeism

Not that Father Time has been such a good parent either. More like an absent father. Where has he been as Mother Nature raised us single-handedly? At least she cares enough to be embarrassed and annoyed by us. Father Time is out with the boys at the club, driving fast cars and generally shows no remorse for his one-night stand. Mom’s left holding the bag, not much governmental assistance, and she’s bitter about it. We offspring are never allowed to come out of our rooms at dinner parties to ask for some of the leftover cheese puffs. No. We are shunted off to the damp basement to watch crappy TV while she’s upstairs with her adult friends eating fondue.

So, as we humans are busy procreating at a rate that only vermin, rabbits and rats can better, Mommy Dearest Nature is busy thinking up ways to off us — and she has come up with a few creatively psycho solutions: drought, floods, locusts, hurricanes, typhoons, volcanoes, diseases, cancer, the Internet, junk food, the ice age (she came close there with that one), politicians, wild berries, hemlock and McDonald’s. So far nothing has worked.

She even gave us nasty toys to play with, a.k.a. guns, chemical weapons, nuclear weapons, missiles, cigarettes, and Pop Tarts, just hoping we’d kill ourselves when she was out for drinks with her friends. Then she’d call the police and the paramedics after she had found us dead in the closet having ingested a huge bottle of sun tan lotion mistakenly labelled “chocolate milk”, laying motionless, breathless, without a pulse. She’d feign tears, tell the police she was just out to get milk at the corner store, she’d never left us alone before, she only left for a few millennia, how could this have happened?? Oh the shame. Then as the paramedics leave with the bodies, she closes the door, smiles quietly, lights up a joint and watches the last season of  Breaking Bad with some chips and dip, followed by a bottle of wine and some Home & Garden TV.

On a side note, I have been accused of having defective telomeres (the aglet of the genetic world) that have allowed my genetic tips to look like worn split ends, thus leaving room for my brain to develop deviant thoughts and rants like this one. Maybe it’s because Mother Nature neglected me as a child? Makes perfect sense to me.

Deviantly dynamic and diligently unintelligent,

Sir Chester Breastfondler the IV

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