THE REALITY CHALLENGED FRINGE©

Years ago when you got into a discussion with strangers, there was always a chance that the conversation would head off into deep-space. Perhaps they believed in Masonic conspiracies or were convinced that cucumbers cured cancer.
But there were always certain subtle verbal warning signs that you ignored at your peril, ere you got to the glaring eyes and completely illogical assertions. Astute listeners would seek a graceful way out long before being accused of treason, lying, or space-alien loyalties.


Here in San Francisco, the subtle warning signs included chattiness, eye-contact, friendly sincerity.
So then, answer all questions with a grunt, roll your pupils, and insistently talk about meat and idols to religious types. That, plus several disconcerting nervous tics and much scratching, are guaranteed to keep you out of trouble.

Which explains why it often seems like SF has more disturbed people than anywhere else - We're just acting this way to avoid talking with you. Okay?


Alas, the Reality Challenged Fringe (R.C.F.) have discovered computers, and acquired e-mail. They have modernized.



ELVIS IS ALIVE AND WELL ON THE INTERNET

I mention this, because on one mailing list the discussion keeps returning to the assertion that Obama is a Muslim Communist born in Kenya, put in power by a vast evil conspiracy of ultra-left wing Democrats and Capitalists, with the connivance of most of the Democratic National Committee, the top ranks of the Republican Party, all of the mainstream media (dominated by ultra libs, including Fox), thousand of foreign conspirators, AND a network of traitors and liars put in place years ago in the Federal and State bureaucracies for this specific task.

[Plus, this Obama isn't the real Obama but a convincing simulacrum kept alive by electronic brainwaves.]


The argumentation of the cultists who believe this stuff consists of denying any and all evidence to the contrary, followed by demands to see Obama's birth certificate, 'why won't he show his birth certificate what does he have to hide he's hiding something or else he'd show us his birth certificate that isn't his birth certificate - we want to see the form signed by doctors and spattered with bloodspots from the wild animal sacrifice! It's green and Kenyato-Indonesian for a mooslim I know this waggah waggah!'
Then comes the suggestion that anyone who insists that Obama is validly president must be doing so for traitorous motives and we'll deal with them once the truth comes out.

To give the rest of us all a last chance to see the light, they keep forwarding links to World Net Daily, Obama Crimes (the vendetta website of Hillary loyalist Philip J. Berg, Esquire), and the Washington Times (the rev. Moon's propaganda rag).

Any further counter-arguments are met with repeats of sneering denial, more demands for the long form plus treason accusations, and yet more links to World Net Daily, Berg, and the Moonies.


Now I know why this is happening.


See, years ago, most of us successfully switched from Neviim 2.02 to MSRevelation. This meant that we also changed our spreadsheet programmes, graphic interfaces, and our e-mail. It was in many ways a monumental improvement, our lives sped up, and our functionality increased.
We no longer see the error messages from the bowels of the machine.

Consequently, we're not getting the memos. Anymore.
But they are. Still.

I just wish that they'd get on board the space ship already.
Go on, little birdies, fly away now. Be free. Be free.
Say hi to Elvis for us.
Meat. Idols. Meat. Idols. Boo!
Boo again.

HIGH LEVEL OF BLONDE

Coworkers know that I am not the most patient man in the world. My forbearance is at a particularly low-ebb early in the morning, when still grumbly and bleary-eyed I stumble in to the office to listen to my voice-mails and swear under my breath.

This is NOT an aspect of my loveable personality that Savage Kitten is familiar with. From the moment I wake up till when I leave the house I have a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye. I am sparkling, cheerful, and good natured.
The pretence is draining.

At the office, however, I revert to my instinctual pattern of morning behaviour.
It's called rabies.


Yesterday morning, while attempting to listen to my messages, I was subjected to a massive flood of inane chatter coming from the other side of the wall. That is where the blondes live.
It was a pulsating high pitched squeal-drone of several voices speaking of their wonderful personal experiences while shopping and eating and shopping and visiting friends and shopping and going to movies and shopping and having dinner and shopping and boys and shopping and chocolate and shopping and handbags and shopping and coffee and shopping and file folders and shopping and clothes and shopping and fabulous jewelry and shopping and make-up and shopping and last night's television show and shopping ....... !


Sweet pickles, ladies, but you lead dreadful lives! Why are you sharing the details? Are you trying to make the rest of us miserable as well?

Have you ever thought of shutting up? For the good of mankind?

Do I need to zap you-uns with a tazer?


I am ever so grateful that Savage Kitten is not blonde. I do not think I could maintain my gracious mask of gentle wonderfulness in the morning if she were.
I am also very glad that she does not visit me at the office. She would probably take one look at the blondes, and decide to poke them with a sharp stick. Or worse.