The Warning Signs of Insanity...
Everyone you meet appears to have tentacles growing out of places
that you wouldn't expect tentacles to be growing from.
You start out each morning with a 30-minute jog around the bathroom.
You write to your mother in Germany every week, even though she
sends you mail from Iowa asking why you never write.
Every time you see a street sign, you have a tremendous urge to
relieve yourself on it.
You wear your boxers on your head because you heard it will ward of
evil dandruff spirits.
You're always having to apologize to your next door neighbour for
setting fire to his lawn decorations.
Every commercial you hear on the radio reminds you of death.
People stay away from you whenever they hear you howl.
Your breath smells more and more like squirrel dung each passing
day.
Nobody listens to you anymore, because they can't understand you
through that scuba mask.
You begin to stop and consider all of the blades of grass you've
stepped on as a child, and worry that their ancestors are going to
one day seek revenge.
You have meaningful conversations with your toaster.
Your father pretends you don't exist, just to play along with your
little illusion.
You collect dead windowsill flies.
Every time the phone rings, you shout, "Hey! An angel just got
its wings!"
You like cats. Especially with mayo.
You cry at the end of every episode of Gilligan's Island because
they weren't rescued.
You put tennis balls in the microwave to see if they'll hatch.
You have a predominant fear of fabric softener.
Your dentist asks you why each individual tooth has your name etched
on it, and you tell him it's for security reasons.
Melba toast excites you.
When the waiter asks for your order, you ask to go into another room
to tell him because "the napkins have ears."
You tend to agree with everything your mother's dead uncle tells
you.
You argue with yourself about which is better, to be eaten by a
koala or to be loved by an infectious disease.
You like to sit in cornfields for prolonged periods of time, and
pretend that you're a stalk.
You try to make a list of the Warning Signs of Insanity. (cough)
People offer you help, but you unfortunately interpret this as a
violation of your rights as a boysenberry.
You keep thinking this is the year for the Red Sox.
You despise the voices in your head, especially the one that speaks
only Hindi.
You see migrating flocks of ducks in the fall and only your
attachment to the toaster keeps you from joining them.
The person you always talk to is invisible to everyone but you.
You like reading lists like this.
 
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