“Wildly Insane”

Do you guys know anyone who has become a ward of the state after being diagnosed as bat shit crazy?  The reason I ask is because I was sitting there in my nice suburban house with my beautiful wife and healthy, intelligent children being pissed off at God for the way things turned out…so I stormed out of my house and hopped in my car.  As I was driving around my upper-middle class neighborhood with tears in my eyes shouting, “WHY GOD WHY?” I suddenly realized that none of this bullshit was necessary.  The solution was obvious.  I could get out of all of life’s responsibilities AND spend the rest of my days writing in a quiet room.  I could go Section 8, Corporal Klinger-style and totally get out of everything…only I would do it right…and instead of the Army I would be section 8ing out of all of life’s responsibilities.

See, Klinger had it all wrong.  He desperately wanted out so he wore dresses hoping they would declare him crazy and send him back to Toledo.   However, he continued to be a faithful and dependable member of the M*A*S*H team.  They immediately saw through his ruse, told him it wasn’t going to happen and his cross-dressing became nothing more than a cheap gag.

Remember all the times the four star generals came to the 4077 and Pierce and Hunnicutt did something wacky and the general threatened to have them court martialed, only to have the doctors save his life or blackmail him or whatever? That happened like eight different times! What a wonderful opportunity for Klinger to furiously masturbate in the middle of camp and blaspheme upon the name of Woodrow Wilson. Further, not 0ne single time did he defecate in his hand and throw it at Major Margaret J. “Hot Lips” Houlihan.  Klinger also refused to set Hawkeye and B.J.’s gin still on fire and dance around the flames with a sock on his penis declaring himself “Pyrasticles – the fire god of wisecracking but unnecessarily preachy fornicators.” He would have been home in a minute.  Sure, it would have lessened his chances for that lucrative sponsorship deal with the M&M Mars people, but Klinger was really half-assing it the whole time. Not me buddy, I am going to do it right the first time.

On Friday when everybody turns in their timesheets, I am going to approve them with the signature of  “Sergeant Tallahassee Titties.”  Then I am going to spend the rest of the morning falling out of my chair and blaming it on “those nazi-tongue-kissers at V8” and when people ask me if I am suggesting that the people at V8 are Nazi’s who do a lot of tongue kissing or if they are people who tongue kiss Nazis, I will respond that Foghorn Leghorn confiscated the Pope’s pajamas and angrily go to lunch. I will return an hour later and write a long-winded memo forbidding employees from watching Time Warner cable because of the plot between the corporation and the Olsen twins to keep Barack Obama and the rest of the remaining members of the Jackson 5 from repealing “Don’t Ask, Just Jell” policy.  Right before I go home I will cover the manual typewriter with bourbon and set it on fire.  I will rip entire files out of the cabinets and throw them in the air, throw my arms above my head and strut out the door in my one-man ticker tape parade, screaming my thanks to Dave Thomas for founding Wendy’s and starring in Strange Brew.

When I get home, I will respond to any and all queries with the phrase, “Schadenfreude Bitch.”  I should be in a comfy padded room by Sunday.  Suck on that Klinger.  Any flaws in such a plan?