The subject of the day: Fruitcakes.
I might be bat-shit crazy, in my own opinion, but my doctor doesn't even really think that....
I'm sitting in her new office, settling into the chair, noticing that it is far less comfortable than it looked. She asks me to tell her how I have been. So I tell her about Thanksgiving. That I just flipped out Friday night and left, going for an hour drive while everyone worried and puzzled over my unpredictable behavior. I went back, after I had calmed down....
I sobbed out the story as best I could, telling her, "Everybody probably just thinks I'm fucking crazy!"
We exchange looks as I dab at my tears with a tissue.
"Are you seeing things or hearing things that aren't really there?" she asked.
"Well, no," I answered.
"Okay then. Not crazy. What do you think?"
I think that under-exposure to fruitcakes over the years has caused my illness.
Think about it. How many fruitcakes do you get a year? I sure as hell don't get any. Everybody hates them and now no one will give them as gifts anymore. And no one re-gifts them to their least favorite relative anymore.
What we need is more fruitcakes. We need a fruitcake in every house in America. It's both a patriotic and also a festive idea. If everyone had a fruitcake, and soon, when December 12th rolls around we can use them as weapons like that kid and David Hasselhoff in that weird Christmas movie.
Now I'd like to posit a question to you. If the world ends do you think it will be abruptly? Or do you think we will have a post-apocalypse filled with zombies and fruitcakes?
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