Stuff Psycho People Like

It’s 9:13pm and you’ve just arrived home after a grueling day of work at the Old Butterscotch Mill.  You sweat your ass off for 12 hours today without a break, just churning and churning that goddamn butterscotch while your stupid boss sat in his little office laughing hysterically at internet jokes and eating Ritz bits™ .  Why does he get to laugh at internet jokes and eat Ritz bits™ (your favorite fucking snack!) while you must toil away on the Butterscotch X-400?  It’s complete bullshit and you know it.

But one day you will exact your revenge.

You just purchased 3-D software on your favorite webpage for your homemade computer and are teaching yourself how to use it.  And once you are the supreme master animator, you can create anything you want.  ANYTHING.  This naturally includes a Naked Ogre Man with Oversized Lips and Hands.  He might only exist on your 8.5″ monitor now, but soon he will rise from the desktop in the form of reality.  And you will have trained him.  His first order of business will be to go straight to the Butterscotch Factory where he will punch your boss in the arm and take the Ritz bits™ right out of his hands. Then he will come back home and give you the box of Ritz bits™ which you will eat, while laughing at internet jokes.

The next day your boss will fire you, but at that point it doesn’t matter anymore; you’ve accomplished everything you’d ever wanted in your life.

Tags: old timey hats, parachute pants, Planet Hollywood, trolley car

Psychos dwell in one of three places: the forest, the city, and in rarer cases on Great Barrier Reefs.  This is indisputable fact.  I mean think about it.  When was the last time you saw a psycho in a place other than those mentioned above?  Exactly.  So shut the fuck up. Now, inevitably when in either the forest, city, or reef area, a psycho will come across things that need to be kept.  Decaying pigeon carcasses, decaying seal carcasses, decaying deer carcasses, etc..  A normal person is so out of their mind that they don’t even notice these treasures, or if they do they think it’s best to just “leave them be.”  But we know, oh do we know, that there is wisdom to be found in these things, and the only way to reap this wisdom is to take the carcasses, chop them into smaller pieces, and put them in various sized jars filled with formaldahyde and/or human urine.  How else do you expect the wisdom to keep?  It is important that the psycho have a shed or storage facility where all of the jars can be kept, organized, and re-organized on a weekly or monthly basis.  For that I reccomend Public Storage facilities.  They have a great variety as far as sizes, competetive pricing, and a staff that are as warm as they are helpful.  But most importantly they don’t ask questions. Not after you follow them after work, “accidentally” run into them at the local Target Greatland store, comment on their choice in paper towels, remind them that you know them from the storage facility, then flash your butterfly knife and tell them that if they ever so much as peek into your unit that “the butterfly takes flight”, then walk away, anyways.  Yeah, so jars.  Get ‘em.

Clam, vegetable, and corn chowder are the staple meal for anyone who has the guts to call themselves a psycho.  Reason #1: chowder is universally available.  I challenge you to go to any restaurant in the U.S./Nova Scotia and find a menu that doesn’t have a hearty chowder available.  If you find yourself in an establishment that doesn’t have a chowder on tap, then that place is run by the government and you’ve fallen prey to their vast conspiracy to deprive their constituents of the vital food stuffs needed for critical thinking.  When this happens, be calm.  Slowly rise from your booth, and when the waitress asks where you are going, tell her you just remembered that the army surplus store down the block is having a sale on canteens that ends in 35 minutes, but you’ll be back.  Then run out the door and down the block to the army surplus store to get some discounted canteens, go home, fill them up with 7 of the 214 cans of the chowder you keep in your kitchen pantry, and go back to the vicinity of the restaurant.  Hide behind a tree until it closes for the night.  Once the coast is clear, climb on the roof and sneak in through an air vent.  Go to the office and find the employee files (2nd drawer in the grey file cabinet), and get your waitresses home address.  Go to her residence and put all the chowder filled canteens in her mailbox with a note that simply reads “THINK.”  If you have a few extra minutes, write the note in Ox blood.

Mission fucking accomplished.

Tags: gladiators, Laura Ingalls Wilder, poot!, The Patriot Act

Bring miniature porcelain infants with you everywhere. Interact with them as often as possible, as if they were a standard size porcelain infant.  When you are depositing money at the bank, approach the teller quietly and when you are face to face, whisper:

“Quiet.  The baby is sleeping.”

She’ll give an awkward giggle at first, but as you continue staring deeply into her eyes while stroking the baby’s thin, wispy hair, her awkwardness will turn to fear, and that’s when you mutter:

“He’s do for a bath.”

At this point the branch manager will approach you, and say “Sir, can I help you?”  This is when you slowly exit the bank, for you didn’t have a deposit to make anyway.

Optional: Hiss violently at the people waiting in line behind you on the way out.  Works every time.

Tags: insect machine, prancing, the seventh seal of hell, Toblerone

A great wise Indian man once said that “power exists in the retina.”  This wise Indian man would later go on to die in what would be described by on-lookers as “the most ass-kickin’ rain dance of all time” but his truth had already been told.  And now the truth can be yours.  See something you like?  Stare at it. See something you want?  Stare at it. See the flesh of another human being or animal that you’d like to wear as a parka?  STARE AT IT. You’ll see. Just stare and all of a sudden you are in that parka.  You are dancing around your basement in that parka.  You are in the Barnes & Noble magazine section sitting on a bench staring into space without reading anything, empty coffee cup in hand for six straight hours mumbling to yourself, in the motherfucking parka. Maybe parkas aren’t your thing. Well, my friend, that makes you a nazi, and nazi’s aren’t “socially acceptable”, so GET IT TOGETHER. There’s a rain dance a’ comin’ and we don’t need you making us all look like fools!

Tags: dirtbomb, gravity, Minnesota, Raisin Bran, wolf hide blazer

Regular people are always talking about bark carvings. “Oh, you gotta see this bark carving” or “Check out this bark carving” or “Bark carving.” But what KIND of bark carvings are they talking about? Do you know?! NO YOU DON’T! Because they lack specifics. And as psycho people know, specifics are everything, particularly when it comes to wood carvings. The Wood Spirit Bark Carvings tell stories. Stories of the forest, and all the amazing power it wields. Try getting that from some pussy ass grizzly bear wood carving. Good luck. All those little bastards want to talk about is honey or some shit. Boring. As. Fuck. While regular people might choose to waste their time on that, psycho people prefer tapping into the raw energy-passion of the Wood, summonsing the spirits of the forest family, with which they can go back to the real world with a sense of mindless destruction. Or whatever. So next time you find yourself driving down the 1 freeway in California near Big Sur and come across one of them wood carving joints, go straight for the Wood Spirit Bark Carvings. Heed the wizards tales. Then, buy a few, tip nicely, set the place on fire, ditch your car off the highway and sleep in the wilderness for up to and including 6 years, subsisting on tree sap and anger.

Tags: bread brine, gravel hutch, mental tapestry, The Wiggles

Mannequins are just like real people, except they are not alive.  They wear a skin thicker than even ours.  This is the attraction.  Also, you can share a cup of tea with a mannequin and their piercing judgmental eyes won’t pick you apart, at least for a couple hours.  The best way to steal a mannequin is to  walk into a department store and punch a sales associate in the  ear(s).  While the rest of the staff is busy making sure they are  alright (typical), you run out with the mannequin you’ve been scoping out for several months on your digital camera watch from a dressing room.  If you get caught, just tell the police you had no choice.  They’ll understand in most cases.  Once you get the mannequin home, be sure that dinner is waiting.  Don’t worry: they are not finicky eaters, so a microwave lasagna or box of melted crayons will do the trick.  Just make sure it’s in a crockpot, for obvious reasons.  This first meal is a great opportunity to get to know the mannequin.  It’s always a good thing to know the “person” you will be sharing a bed with for the next 3-7 months.

Quick Tip! Don’t waste your time looking for a book on what to name your mannequin.  Since you want it to embody the characteristics of someone or something you aspired to be but never gained the respect of, just name it after that person or object.  For example, my mannequin’s name is Alex Trebek.  If you insist on coming up with something new, check out babynames.com.  A class-act site with some class-act names.  Make sure to email the babynames.com webmaster 20 times tonight, each time asking more or less the same thing: How much does a baby go for on the black market these days?

Tags: cockroach blood, modern dungeonry, The Carolinas