Will the reign of man ever end?

Things haven’t been right since my mama accidentally dropped her little bundle of joy on the vinyl game mat so many years ago. It’s hard balancing a baby when you’re playing Twister. Mama taught me a lot about life, but all I can remember is: left foot red, right hand blue. Oh, that Twister ties you up in a knot.

As I got older (mostly due to the passage of time and not because I matured), my education continued in The School of Hard Knocks; most of which landed on my head and hence the title of our little story today. Mother thoughtfully enrolled me in this school simply by birthing me. Your mother did too? I knew it. We’re all classmates in this school whether we like it or not. However, this is not a tale of woe. It’s a tale of whoa! As in, slow down Dr. Phil while I sort this out. But even if I were to succeed, all I’d have is a well sorted life. So what? Botanists do the same thing categorizing plants and they’re no happier than I am. Still I wonder, if a botanist was a vegan, would they feel guilty about eating their work.

If the School of Hard Knocks has taught me one thing I’d be surprised. And while the tuition is zero, so is the graduation rate. Forget the 5 year plan. It seems as if everybody is on the lifetime plan. Oh sure our school has produced a few overachievers – Christ, Confucius and the Buddha come to mind – but they never seem to return for homecoming to tell us what it’s like in the netherworlds after you graduate. This lack of mentoring has rendered us a species of high functioning ants who think we’re “all that” just because we’ve tamed fire and domesticated animals; some of whom are called husbands.

Do you sometimes feel like a fish out of water?

Dazed and Concussed

As this story progresses you’ll discover I sometimes have difficulty tracking. Unrelated notions cross my mind and I simply must share them with you. While it’s not compulsory I share them with you, I’m going to do it anyway. So here goes:

1.    I think Tootsie Pop is making a big mistake with their new flavor – Chrome Trailer Hitch. It’s bound to offend some, but it’s a litmus test for others.

2.    My neighbor Mr. Yee, is not a very religious man. In the neighborhood he’s known as, Oh Yee of little faith.

3.    When is it not Leaf Blower Awareness Month?

Concussed

– The David Hardiman Story – 

♫I’ve seen life from both sides now♫

Man this is like déjà vu. Have I written this before? Anyway, as my father might say, “Any *sshole can get blotto and suddenly find themselves experiencing the limitless surety that everything is serenely unified. However, getting to that point without intoxicants is very difficult and yet it’s the key to true wisdom.”

Dad’s right you know. Think about the last time your inhibitions were removed via mood enhancing drugs. Suddenly it became so easy to see the inner beauty of some stranger at a restaurant who just passed you the ketchup you requested, causing you to gaze soulfully upon him and then gush with great conviction – “I want you to know something man. I love you! No I really do. What you just did with that ketchup was beautiful man, beautiful.”  

Nurturing the Warm and Fuzzy in your Life: 3 1/2 Views

1.    The human heart is interminably seeking this expression of unalloyed connectivity. I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant to say. What I meant to say was:I just wanna be an innocent and loving 4 year old again and I’ll do anything to get it back. There. I said it. I said my truth. This feeling I’m referring to dispels judgments, transcends duality and motivates you to floss till you bleed. But if you get to this blissful understanding illegitimately by ingesting mood enhancing drugs, coming down is such a bitch.

(Disclaimer: Coming down may not be a bitch for everyone. Individual “coming downs” may vary. Additionally, in case you didn’t know, speculums are not play things. Also, please avoid the trampoline if you’re pregnant. But maybe that’s where you got pregnant in the first place and why you’ll soon give birth to a bouncing baby boy, who, if they were dropped on a Twister mat, might possess the ability to land feet first, thereby avoiding any head trauma so they wouldn’t have to write a story about concussions to begin with.) For more information, or to see lots of targeted ads, visit Blamesomebody.com.  

2.    One may also experience that divinely inspired life-is-too-important-to-be-taken-seriously moment by listening to a really good commencement address. The kind where the revered speaker exhorts the callow students to, “Damn all the small-minded bastards and go forthwith into this world questioning everything with grace and good humor.” Now this is a noble sentiment indeed except the bastards he’s referring to will turn out to be everyone sitting next to you.

3.    Some may even achieve this elevated feeling of well-being by communally singing “Brining in the Sheaves,” although, for the life of me, I don’t know how (see previous story). Most often, however, people come close to this feeling on Sunday by quietly paying homage to their great benefactor and overlord – the National Football League. From 10:00 am to 9:00 pm its presence is always available for your complete gridiron comfort – the whole nine yards. And for swingers there’s even a fantasy version they can play. Blue 52. Blue 52. Set. Hut. Hut.  

3 1/2.  The fourth-ish way of nurturing the warm and fuzzy cannot be spoken of or categorized, so I will write about it from the perspective of an observer in Plato’s Cave thusly:  Much like peas, when credulity has been strained, it’s much easier to swallow.

Concussed

– The David Hardiman Story – 

God created man in his image (good). Then man created woman in  his image (better). 

Haven’t I plowed this ground already? I feel like I’ve been here before. I think I have to watch what I say. But then I’d have to speak in thought bubbles so I could actually see the words. Can I do that? Although I’m good at blowing smoke, I don’t think I could blow thought bubbles. That must take years, if I could even do it at all. I mean if I did see my words, they’d already be out of my mouth and what could I do then? I still think I have to watch what I say. I’m so confused and that’s the story of my life. No wait. That’s not the story of my life. The story of my life is Concussed – The David Hardiman Story. This isn’t easy for me, I can only imagine what you’re experiencing. 

I could sure use a rousing commencement address to elevate my mood. But what I dearly need are the soothing words of the Dalai Lama or the soothing breasts of Dolley Madison. So dazed and concussed. Don’t want no intoxicants. Don’t need no alcohol or exogenous inspiration (excuse me? “exogenous inspiration?”). I’ll just get it from within (endogenously – oh I get it now) which usually results in me knocking my head against the wall and has left me dazed and concussed. How’s that for a title? Dazed and Concussed. Other titles I considered for this story include: 

1.     Am not Amnesiac. Am Concussed.

2.    Opposite Sex Marriage: A Recipe for Orgasms – Mostly Male

3.    Here We Go ‘Round the Marlboro Bush: Lung Cancer in the Time of Bogart

4.    Here We Go ‘Round the Laura Bush: W Tells How the Twins were Conceived 

I could go on and on. I already have. For example: If nutrition is lacking in your literary snacking, well then – ♫Look away, look away, look away Dixieland♫. And although occasionally I wish I was in the land of cotton, Tuscany would be a definite improvement. So as I begin Concussed, the reader must bear in mind I’ve received many blows to the head (mostly from watching a Green Acres marathon on TV Land in 1983). Also I once mistakenly referred to my 1^st wife as my insignificant other. Big mistake. She then referred to me as her worse half and the next thing you know I’m left with half a sectional couch. These opposite sex marriages are so unworkable and are a recipe for (see #2 above). Sometimes I think the only way they stay legal is from the intense lobbying effort of the DLFEP – the Divorce Lawyer’s Full Employment Project.

Concussed

– The David Hardiman Story – 

Hmmmm. Concussed. An interesting idea for a story and yet it sounds vaguely familiar to my cauliflower ear. Of course this makes perfect sense because my neurologist says I’m also developing a cauliflower brain. And as my cruciferous mind goes the way of a Kardashian marriage (truncated and inconsequential), I look to a greater power for solace. Greater even than the National Football League whose brutal displays of uniformed imperialism are broken up by brutal displays of hipster commercials which comprise 45% of its content. The NFL never ceases to fool the sporting public into believing they’re part of something really big.  

Hmmmm. I feel like I talked about the NFL earlier. Weird. It’s like I’m repeating myself or something. I’m told there’s a genital equivalent to this condition. It’s called Penile Dementia, although it’s more commonly referred to as Alzheimer’s Cock. In this syndrome a penis enters a womb, pokes around for a while, and then forgets why it went in there in the first place. Its symptoms can also be traced to too many blows to the head. 

It’s French for, “This is not a pipe.” Which begs the question: What have I been smoking then?

If I’ve had the sense knocked out of me, is it too late to have some sense knocked into me?

Some say their prayers every morning and night. Me, I get down on my hands and knees and thank the Lord for creating sexual attraction. Otherwise life would be like living in a vat of mayonnaise. And not the new kind of mayonnaise infused with a tasty dash of Olive Oil, but the old kind – white, thick and suitable for sculpting. Some people complain about plain vanilla sex. Are you kidding me? Vanilla is my favorite flavor and having gone long stretches without any ice cream at all, let me hastily add; I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Although, as a rule I prefer to avoid ice cream with nuts in it; if others like Rocky Road that’s fine. Just don’t put any in my cone (oh this is a great bit and I’m very proud of the creamy analogies dripping with lickable verbiage running all over my fingers.)

I’m Sorry, But You Know this has to End Soon

Just another day in Paradise…if they let you in. You call them angels. I call them bouncers.

Even with all our wits about us, and with our brain functioning at optimal capacity it’s impossible to comprehend the enormity of the universe, the fragility of life or the microscopicity of the infinitesimal. Yup, we humans are sure content with not knowing a lot of things. Instead we tend to rely on what we think we know. We often choose to be blissfully ignorant or to fill in the gaps with borrowed ideas or stand-in beliefs. This provides a safe and familiar platform from which to operate. It’s called “Getting by.” I too deplore unsettling details or inexplicable mysteries. Like why people sing Bringing in the Sheaves or how if bees decided not to pollinate flowers, we’d all be dead in a year. And don’t forget the whole asparagus/urine gene thing. And need I mention the obvious: If God’s Kingdom is both our origin and our destiny, why aren’t we humans privy to this Shangri-La now? I mean throw us a bone Mr. Godman. An app. Something. You get to live in this St. Peter’s gated community full time. All we want to do is visit, but your neighborhood watch committee has decided the earthly rabble stays out till we’re a little less vulgar or until we die. And we’re still praying to you? {End of Rant}  

What I’ve Learned – A True Account

Once I won an award for a story I wrote. There was an event where I was feted. I got to read my piece, sign a few autographs and collect a small check. As I basked in my publically acknowledged brilliance a fellow writer came up to me and said amidst my celebration, “I know you David. And I thought you could’ve done better. Much better.” She wasn’t being catty. She was right. And this is essentially how I feel about you all. I know you and I challenge you to do better. At least stop lying to yourself. Live an examined life. Meanwhile, “Damn all the small-minded bastards and go forthwith into this world questioning everything with grace and good humor. Congratulations School of Hard Knocks. Class of Whenever. Carry on smartly! My name is David Hardiman and although I’m concussed, I approved this message.”

Concussed

– The David Hardiman Story – 

Hmmmm. This all looks so familiar. Haven’t I poked around in this womb before? It’s like I keep banging my head against the same wall over and over, but in a good way.

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