Here we go again, vivisecting my personality. Should you care to attempt to fully diagnose my neurosis (spoiler: it’s codependency) please go back and read the last handful of posts (and please, do, my last post was aggressively ignored). Let’s get on to my alphabetized personality aberrations.
P-Portmanteau. (Bet you thought I was going to go with “Pickleope”) Seems like one of the favorite pastimes of the internet and marketing jackasses in general is smashing together words as though it’s clever. That’s where “hangry” came from or, I just saw in an ad that Frosted Mini-Wheats is trying to get “kidult” going. I don’t inherently hate portmanteaus (love the word and product, “spork”), but I do have an aversion to laziness and sweaty marketing. Kidult, the combo of kid and adult, is already covered by existing words like, nostalgia or infantilism or juvenility or immature. Lazy ass marketers. That’s why I created the moniker “Pickleope” to make fun of mash-up culture. Oh look, aren’t you clever, combining the Ghostbusters with Pac-Man because they both bust ghosts. Get it together, internet.
Q-Quibble. I love to quibble. I’ll make up reasons to quibble. For example, this past Friday I had a conversation with people where I created the argumentative position that I want to punch some (not all) birds right in the beak. Just so I could quibble about why and what type of birds. The why is because dinosaurs evolved from birds and they want the world back so we have to keep them in place with a good punchin’. What types? I dunno, pretty much all of them…except crows because they’re mean, smart and organized. I’m not going to mess with a murder of crows.
R-Really Raunchy Rhizome of Ridiculousness. Bread deep in my brain and soul is a rhizome (root system) of absolute buffoonery that leans toward the raunchy. I think this stems from my mother being dedicated to silliness and doing things that are designed just to make her laugh, most of which involved embarrassing me. The first thing she said when dropping me off at college was, “if you come home, call first because we may be having sex…in the living room…or your old room.” Hence, explaining my also love of the embarrassingly raunchy. Because that root system is so deep within me, I also know the line between charmingly indecent and utterly horrifyingly inappropriate, which is a razor-thin line. Due to this being a defining characteristic of mine, inevitably, someone who hasn’t been indoctrinated in the raunchy ridiculous ethos will take the joking too far. So, I’ve had to really learn how to read people to know when to get them to pull back. Screw painting, this is my art.
S-Suicidal Dog (by popular demand). But it’s a longer story than what I’ve already had you endure, so come back on Thursday (or Wednesday, I’m thinking about changing post days) for the tale of my suicide pooch. TEASER!