Anger Isn’t Just a Comedy in Bollywood

I’ll start with what everyone expects me to begin going off on, so as to quench agreers thirst or keep the annoyance level of that particular opinion/topic to a minimum for the non-Kool Aid drinkers.  So, make sure you meet the minimum height requirement, have taken your Flomax, and laced up your hush puppies, because it’s going to be some sort of something.

If you’re a psychiatrist who goes psycho and – instead of donning a hair piece, keeping a corpse in your rack, and killing a guest or two – shoots a bunch of personas, did you know you were turning shelled and salted while knowingly avoiding such a realization?  Or, did your training as a mental dehydrator give you more mentality than the Dragon Scroll, allowing you to up the knowingly volume – it apparently did go to 11 – and do something far more evil and sinister than Montgomery Burns responding to queries from trick or treaters?  Weren’t there some other psychiatrists around Ft. Hood somewhere that could have noticed this guy suddenly had a penchant for strangely naming ink blots, and thinking Miller Light only tasted great, but wasn’t less filling?

Anyone and everyone of every ilk can lose it and go cashew.  Hell, I’ve dealt with it every day of my life by playing a mental poker hand with my hot-tempered, red-headed, nun-abused – but not molested as a halter boy – postal worker father.  Every time the price of stamps went up, you could foresee a post-postal rant about “the public wanting this”, “it’s cheaper than the goddamn pony express” and, my personal favorite, “I’m at the mercy of every fool who can afford a stamp.” There is no doubt my father had every right to feel as wronged as he did – for the album, he’s a great father and grandfather – but where the bird hangs on the wire is the yelling at home about it, and letting it ruin the rest of your night.  From my experience, angry beer does not taste nearly as good as happy beer.  Having a job that you hate, however, does not give you a “gun one person down free card” if you lose it, can’t find it, or never had it.  But then again, you’d think a job at a place known to some as the “Federal Postage and Gun Club” would have psychiatrists, life coaches, or at the very least, a metal detector. 

So that somehow brings me back from whence I came.  How in the saliva of Pavlov’s dog did someone not pick up on this guy’s mental equivalent of trying to put a Betamax into a Blu-ray player?  These army bases have some of the most valiant, life giving up people I’ve ever seen.  There had to be a superior military officer, a on-the-spot secretary, or someone else who noticed he made a perfect sad face on the target his last trip to the firing range.  I’ll bet you seaweed to bluegrass it will be reported in the upcoming days that some of the people he was chronicling reported him being off his narnia before this went down.

The bad thing is a large majority of this type of evil can’t be stopped.  Who knew a dog would, oddly enough, tell a postal worker to kill people in the 70′s?  Most sane people don’t listen to everything their dog tells them.  You couldn’t predict a serial killer simply by noticing the fool was obsessed by clowns.  Sure, you’d think he had been overly impressed with the idea of honking noses and bending air-filled plastic; but you wouldn’t think he was clowning around in his spare time by killing people.  The BTK was as normal as Bavarian cream-filled long johns on the outside. and as looney as a sprinkled cinnamon twist on the inside.  This whole incident is different and scarier than all of that.  To be clear, I’m not saying any type of murder is not as bad as the next type, because death doesn’t come in lighter shades of pale.  I’m just speculatin’ that the more preventable the psychosis could have been makes the fact that it wasn’t prevented scarier than not being able to predict preventativeability – am I right?

Maybe allegedly knowing the in’s and out’s of the sponge of life gives you the ability to hide the fact you aren’t holdin’ water anymore?  In all seriousness, it’s possible that I am wrong and he showed no signs, nor told anyone he wanted no part of being deployed.  I hope that’s a case of high quality beer, because if he turns out to be a sixer of Milwaukee’s Beast - i.e. I think I mean he showed signs of lunacy, but even I’m not quite sure I follow the preceding metaphor – it will make the loss of those soldiers lives even more tragic than it already is.