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The Heavy Thinker
It started out innocently enough. I began to think at parties now and then to loosen up. Inevitably though, one thought led to another, and soon I was more than just a social thinker.
I began to think alone - "to relax," I told myself - but I knew it wasn''t true. Thinking became more and more important to me, and finally I was thinking all the time.
I began to think on the job. I knew that thinking and employment don''t mix, but I couldn''t stop myself.
I began to avoid friends at lunch time so I could read Thoreau and Kafka. I would return to the office dizzied and confused, asking, "What is it exactly we are doing here?".
Things weren''t going so great at home either. One evening I had turned off the TV and asked my wife about the meaning of life. She spent that night at her mother''s.
I soon had a reputation as a heavy thinker. One day the boss called me in. He said, "Skippy, I like you, and it hurts me to say this, but your thinking has become a real problem. If you don''t stop thinking on the job, you''ll have to find another job." This gave me a lot to think about.
I came home early after my conversation with the boss.
"Honey," I confessed, "I''ve been thinking..."
"I know you''ve been thinking," she said, "and I want a divorce!"
"But Honey, surely it''s not that serious."
"It is serious," she said, lower lip aquiver. "You think as much as college professors, and college professors don''t make any money, so if you keep on thinking we won''t have any money!"
"That''s a faulty syllogism," I said impatiently, and she began to cry. I''d had enough. "I''m going to the library," I snarled as I stomped out the door.
I headed for the library, in the mood for some Nietzsche, with a PBS station on the radio. I roared into the parking lot and ran up to the big glass doors... they didn''t open. The library was closed.
To this day, I believe that a Higher Power was looking out for me that night.
As I sank to the ground clawing at the unfeeling glass, whimpering for Zarathustra, a poster caught my eye. "Friend, is heavy thinking ruining your life?" it asked. You probably recognize that line. It comes from the standard Thinker''s Anonymous poster.
Which is why I am what I am today: a recovering thinker. I never miss a TA meeting. At each meeting we watch a non-educational video; last week it was "Porky''s." Then we share experiences about how we avoided thinking since the last meeting.
I still have my job, and things are a lot better at home.
Life just seemed... easier, somehow, as soon as I stopped thinking.
Humor of the day
December 26, 1999
Dear Santa,
You must be surprised that I''m writing to you today, the 26th of December. Well I would very much like to clear up certain things that have occurred since the beginning of the month, when, filled with illusion, I wrote you my letter.
I asked for a bicycle, an electric train set, a pair of roller blades, and a football uniform. I destroyed my brain studying the whole year. Not only was I the first in my class, but I had the best grades in the whole school.
I''m not going to lie to you, there was no one in my entire neighborhood that behaved better than me, with my parents, my brothers, my friends, and with my neighbors. I would go on errands, and even help the elderly cross the street. There was virtually nothing within reach that I would not do for humanity.
What balls do you have leaving me a fucking yo-yo, a stupid whistle, and a pair of socks? What the fuck were you thinking you fat son of a bitch?!
That you have taken me for a sucker the whole fucking year to come out with some shit like this under the tree. As if you hadn''t fucked me enough, you gave that little faggot across the street so many toys that he can''t even walk into his house.
Don''t let me see you trying to fit your big ass down my chimney next year. I''ll fuck you up. I''ll throw rocks at those stupid reindeer and scare them away so you''ll have to walk back to the fucking North Pole, just like what I have to do now since you didn''t get me that fucking bike.
FUCK YOU SANTA. Next year you''ll find out how bad I can be, you FAT-SON-OF-A-BITCH!
Sincerely,
Little Johnny