Skip to main content

Spinach: Zombie Sheep (part 1).

There are people in this world who don’t quite fit into society.  


            If people were puzzle pieces, they would be the unidentified extras, the empty gaps,     
               the soggy chewed up pieces that fall off the table and get noshed on by the dog.
  

They live their lives feeling unnecessary, lost, destroyed.  In a world that celebrates conformity, if not uniformity, allowances are made for puzzle pieces to be different shapes, colors, and sizes.
But if they don’t fit together, they’re either pounded on until they do, or thrown away.  

Rejected.  

Not because they’re of less worth than any other piece.  All puzzle pieces are simply shaped bits of cardboard, after all.  But because their purpose is not immediately visible.  


Okay, that said, I’m not a fan of misfits, myself included.  They’re awkward and annoying and sometimes they want to kill you.  But they play an important role in society, I would argue even a critical role.  
There is a need for every single one of them.  

A purpose.  

A reason.  

So, if you feel like a misfit, just send me two hundred dollars and I’ll mail you my special pamphlet, titled:  “You’re So Special:  Why you are important to society even if you’ve lived your whole life being told otherwise.”  This pamphlet will explore this topic further, telling you all the things you thought you would be told in this article, and filling you in on the deepest secrets of the universe which you never thought you could know.  For an extra $399.99, you could also buy a signed copy of my autobiography:  “Puzzle Piece to President:  How I overcame obstacles and made three million close personal friends while becoming rich and famous, and how you can do the same!”  


To be cont.  (obviously...if you haven’t figured it out, there isn’t nothing I loathe more than a click-bait-y article.  I would never leave you hanging like that, and I know you’re just dying to hear my opinion on why weirdos should be proud of themselves instead of skulking in the gutters.  Plus, we haven’t even gotten to the Zombie Sheep yet, and that’s the best part!)



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Welcome to Weirdness!

Hi, world, and welcome to “The Password’s Lasagna”!  One day I’ll share where that name came from - for now, just revel in the wonderful idioticity of the word “Lasagna”.  Say it over and over again.  Let it flip off your tongue in all its gleeful lasagnaness.  Say it until it means nothing, say it ‘til it means everything.  Lasagna.  It’s a word with many layers.  Moving on quickly now... I have to wonder if, in a year, I will regret this first post.  I’ll think “what kind of imbecilic idiot was I, to think starting a blog would be a good idea?”  As if there aren’t more constructive things to do.  Like...fishing.  Or hunter-gathering (which is the sport of gathering as many hunters as possible in one weekend and stuffing them all in the back of a closed pickup, preferably with a limb or so hanging out and dripping blood).  Or making clay...things.  Useful things.  Mugs and the like.  Or I could be chilling with friends...engaging in meaningful conversations over cups of coffee.

Noodles: Just, noodles.

I realized on Thursday that I have no idea who I am.  It was very disconcerting, particularly as it happened moments after I’d stood up suddenly, not realizing there was a heavy plank shelf directly over my head.  It was also after two or three hours of inhaling the stale remnants of ten years of uninhibited mouse parties, and an entire bottle of environmentally caring cleaning fluid.  Anyway, this isn’t exactly humorous (unless you get a kick out of existential crises), but it made me wonder if anyone else feels the same way.  So, readers, tell me this - do you feel as if you know who you are?  Or are you just pretending to know?  Or are you, at this moment, simultaneously reading this on your phone and telling a complete stranger all the ways that you feel isolated from the rest of the human race?  Let me know.  “I” am interested in your answer.   PS Anticipating zero comments, because the majority of my readership is too intellectual to stoop to the paltry pract

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world.  It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”.  I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller.  It just works for the already-awkward group conversations.  There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect.  Check it out. “You guys.”  Offensive to feminists. “You girls.”  Offensive to mature women. “You ladies.”