Monday, March 26, 2012

A Loony Favourite

Out of My Own Experience

A group of people lean their heads together, from six feet away, eyes darting back and forth at me, and at each other, all doing the same thing together, as they go into smirking, whispering mode so that I, the lesser minded one, cannot see them or understand them. One of them whispers, too loudly, as they all turn and look at me in unison, while listening to the genius among them,
“I think she thinks we are talking about her.”
(they're right. I do.)
I laugh.
They don't know why.
I laugh again.
They still don't know why.
The superior people rarely do.
But they have heard it is another symptom of insanity.

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