I love watching the show Fatal Attractions on Animal Planet about people who own deadly and dangerous wild animals as pets. I have to say that I’ve always thought these people must just be batshit crazy. I’m rethinking this now and maybe the point is that it’s a good backup plan for when you really lose your mind. If my mental faculties are starting to slip-slide away, how handy for a friend or family member to say, “Delaney, isn’t it time to give your black mamba a bath?” If I respond with an emphatic, “Yes!” and bound off to start running the water, well, it is high time that I end up a headline. I’ve watched the horror that the venom of demensia can wreak; I’ll take my chances with a pit viper.
Demensia aside, there are many different kinds of crazy we all have to endure. Every family seems to have that one person who is two cans shy of a six pack; the phone’s ringing but nobody’s answering; completely gone Mad-Hatter! I have no such family members… especially any that might read this… just saying… but my brother and I were discussing the long-term problems of such leaches on the family crest, and we stumbled upon a completely genius plan. A new reality series, Last Crazy Standing! Someone need only procure a large house and then advertise for families to send their problematic, head-case, nutter family members on over. All these whack-a-doodoles can fight it out on national television, and in American Idol style voting we can pluck them off one at a time until it is only one bat-shittiest crazy fruitcake left at home! Winner winner chicken dinner. Money in the bank for the TV network and it gets the fruitloop family out of the house for a while.
Imagine old Granny Nora spouting her neurotic fascist mouth off to Aunt Delia, who will only eat rice and crackers because everything else causes cancer, while Cousin Jimmy is monotonously banging his head on the counter and listening to Great-Uncle Willy recite e.e. cummings poetry while only wearing Aunt Nora’s underwear. Wouldn’t you watch? Don’t you have a person in mind you’d like to send off to the nut-hatch? If you are related to me, and thinking of me, too late, I’ve already submitted your name. Plus, I already live in a crazy house, just one more likely to become a sitcom than a reality series. Now if you’ll excuse me, my black mamba needs his nightly fang brushing.