Welcome to the Hotline for the Delusional and Clueless.

If you can't take a hint, press one.
If you can't give a hint, press two.
If you have no idea what this is about, press three.
If you know what this is about but assume it is a mistake, press four.

We love our loonies in the literary legion (and our alliteration as well). Everyone writes about the crazies; everyone loves to read about them. Admit it, we all love the nut jobs, the delusional, the disturbed. Is it because they're so removed from us that they're a sense of entertainment or is it because we precariously dangle over the line, ready to plunge at any minute ourselves?

The latter. We love loonies because they remind us that the real world in which we subsit is a sham, that we're a nosehair away from impoliteness at the very least and murder and mayhem at the very worst. What's the guarantee that the chemicals in our brain won't spoil like milk, sending us to the nearest street corner to talk to God or the Quik rabbit?

So maybe we like to probe our loonies, find out what makes them tick in the hopes that we will avoid the same fate. Or perhaps we live that fate vicariously through the crackpot, the Travis Biddles, the Jack Nicholsons, the Glenn Closes, and enjoy every minute of it?

Am I saying anything new? Nope, I'm just saying I like the crazies. And maybe if I'm lucky, I'll be in their ranks in my later life, enjoying the ROYGBIV of my demented mind while my body slowly rots somewhere.


Welcome to the hotline for those who refuse to take responsiblity

If it's not your fault, press one
If it's somebody else's fault, press two
If you dialed this number in error, press three
If it's someone else's fault you dialed this number in error, press four
If you want someone specific to blame, please wait on the line to speak to one of our representatives.