Pilly and the Television.

I may have said this before, but I am really tired of the state of the television. There I was over on CNN trying to figure out what the hell went wrong, when I noticed that my news was not coming from what I would term a reliable source.

When I hear news I want it to come from some guy who not only had to go to college but was expected to maintain at least a C average if he ever wanted to sit behind the news desk.

I don't want to know what some idiot thinks about the state of the world. If I wanted that, I could go look in a mirror and talk to myself, it would be every bit as edifying as what Bob the plumber thinks went wrong with the health care bill.

And I don't need to hear from George the doctor, either. George's job would be to ascertain that my heart is still beating and that I don't have that h1n1 flu. I could give a flip what he thinks about politics. I don't go to Bob the plumber to get my car fixed, I don't take my car to Phil the electrician, and I don't want to know how "cool" the teenager next door finds the Presidency--which incidentally, he aspires to, and the way things are going, why not?

And George the doctor should stick to medicine, presumably he did not spend ALL of medical school discussing how gnarly Twitter is.

I would mention ***** the Deputy here, but I believe that might be how I ended up getting fingerprinted last week, and as charming as the ladies at the jail are--and they are very nice, something I do not take for granted anymore--I still feel no desire to go visit them again. It gets in the way of my suicide attempts and frankly, I put a lot of thought into dying and i don't want some person to screw that up for me.

I'm not saying I'm not guilty, that would not be up to me, anyway. I feel confident that given enough time and patience someone, somewhere is sure to reach that conclusion with no input from me, and will no doubt inform me at the appropriate time.

If it should turn out that I AM guilty, I hope jail has a significantly better heating system than this house and that no one expects me to cook. I see no reason for other inmates to be subjected to my cooking, I think they even mention it in the constitution in that cruel and unusual section.

So, anyway, I took boucoup coumadin and thinned my blood all to hell and gone and couldn't have my CT Angiogram so God alone knows what's going on in my chest, but I just decided "screw my chest, what has it ever done for me, anyway?"

And please don't answer that, because at this point it would not matter if my chest had thrown itself on a live grenade to save my life, I still wouldn't like it.

So back to the news, I eventually got to the TV series review and, there again, it was delivered by someone too young to have seen the original series V unless he was wearing a diaper, and in the intervening years certainly did not go to school to learn anything useful.

Had I wanted to know what someone of that age thought of the remake of V as opposed to the original, I could have asked one of my kids, there would be no need for me to go to CNN for that. I would like to know how anyone can be expected to adequately compare 80's V with the 2009 version, if during the original version he was eating strained peas and charming his mother with his toothless grin?

And, also, why should i care what he thinks, even if he got his PhD in television review. A sane person would just go watch the stupid show and afterwards muse to himself, "Was this better or worse than the last time we pretended mean aliens came to earth and pretended to be us...?"

It would not be at all necessary to pay someone for his considered opinion. No one pays me for my considered opinion and I find it a hell of lot more useful than that of some guy over to CNN that has joined the team via the "ordinary people e-mail us what they think" option.

Even if they were any good, and they're not, wouldn't you think that it would occur to one of them that if he went to college someone would PAY him to opine about Star wars? Dude, you're giving it away for free. That's what ruined the prostitution industry, go talk to an old hooker and get yourself back to school. Soon.

In the meantime, quit e-mailing CNN. Also, if you go giving your opinion of current events around here, some guy takes you to the jail and fingerprints you, just so you know. It's fun and all, but it's really hell to explain to the Ladies Aid.

I have given up such nice pastimes as church and kindergarten events for my grandchildren and baby showers for my daughters-in-law, and frankly there's only so much you can do after you have creatively planned all the ways there are to commit suicide. Although I am thinking of writing a book. You know, "Pilly's Guide to Creative Suicide," although God knows why you'd want to buy it. I clearly suck at it.

I will tell you this. Forget the mess, you won't be the one cleaning it up. Forget the dramatic "maybe I'll die and maybe I won't" approach, if you're not sure, don't start. If you are sure use something absolutely certain with no second chances. Guns or hemlock or something like that.

And don't leave a note telling which deputy finally drove you over the edge, in case God intervenes or something and you WOULD fail, that's just going to come back and bite you in the ass and it'll be off to the nice jail ladies to be fingerprinted yet again.

Not that I'm suggesting that you should actually go and attempt to kill yourself or anything, as a general rule I am opposed to suicide and you probably won't enjoy it as much as you expect to and you might go to hell, although the jury's still out on that one. I'm pretty sure it's a sin, and why would you listen to me anyway?

Have I ever given you advice that worked out well? No, I have not. Get a clue.

So, anyway, if I live til January I get to see some grand genuine psychiatrist who's going to play musical chairs with my mood adjusting meds. Never a dull moment, really. First you're depressed and then your maniacally gleeful. Then you're sure you're Napoleon, then you think you might be a mushroom (and not the good kind people used to take to see visions, the fungus kind that makes you vomit. Actually, after they make you sick enough you don't really give a damn about feeling better as long as you can quit vomiting, so there may be a foreseeable reason for that one).

Then you see people's faces melt and run and buildings talk back to you. And if you're lucky you end up taking one that makes everything gray and dull but nothing talks to you, so that's a small plus.

And after a year or so in hell they find the magic drug combination and you're good for ten years or so til it quits working for you and you have to play the magical medicine musical chairs game once again.

Remember the sixties?

One pill makes you smaller
and one pill makes you tall
and the ones that mother give you
don't do anything at all

Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall.


Crazy hurts. Be the kindness.