A normal person might answer. . .

"Nothing." Or perhaps, "Oh. I was just thinking about what I'm going to do this weekend."

Not me. When asked the question, "What are you doing?," like my boy Billy Joel, "I go to extremes."

My friend re-shared this with me as it was a comment to her question on her blog. I thought I would share it with you all so that you can see firsthand how clinically insane I am and/or on the verge of writing a really interesting book:

JayGee said...

Right now I'm trying to concentrate on doing work, but these visions of myself in a kung fu outfit with nunchucks and chinese slippers keep coming into my head.

In this vision, I'm a secret agent for the Nation of Islam and my mission is to ensure global domination under one religion led by this 5 percenter named Jamaal that I know from one-two-fifth who used to sell me my frankinsense & Myr.

So here I am walking towards Grand Central Station with Jamaal and all of a sudden, George Bush rolls up on me with a home made pea shooter. Classic style too, with the top of the gallon of milk container cut off, the ballon with baby powder in the bottom and a sack of 69 cent green peas stashed in his back pocket.

He takes a shot at me. I duck out of the way Matrix style. But George Bush is quick with his so he takes another shot and catches me in the kneecap. I'm stunned but not hurt, because I was trained by Bruce Lee's illegitimate half-negro brother, Brother Lee. As I'm leaning back up, Fat Joe pops out from behind a car and starts singing his signature song from the summer of 2005. I hear him scream out "rock away" but hear nothing else, because I must maintain focus.

While I'm down, George Bush takes a shot at Jamaal. He doesn't realize that Jamaal has the "soul power" invisible shield force which activates whenever he puts on a black glove and pumps his black fist into the air.

I gain my barings and lunge at George Bush catching him 'cross the jaw using a standing thrust kick (quite impossible to do in the mortal world, I might add). He's thrown back. I take the split second I have while he's disoriented to give him an Ay-u-kick, a move I learned by playing Streetfighter the video game, way too many times as a young teen.

George Bush is on the verge of death, and everyone can tell because if you look closely at his feet, there's a meter glowing red and showing that he has 10% vitality left. He's smart though. He runs into a Popeye's chicken and shoves a leg and biscuit down his throat. Immediately, his strength is back up to 35%.

I have only one chance at ending this. As he begins to aim his pea shooter at Jamaal again, I scream out, "I saw Bin Laden around the corner making out with your daughter."

"Not again!!", he screams. He puts the pea shooter down and starts running around the corner. The next day, I took my uniform to the dry cleaners and had tea for lunch because my stomach was feeling a bit queasy. That's the end of my story.

After I thought about that, I read your blog. Ate some cheese toast. Told Jyoti how much nann to order for tonight's meal and here I am.

Phew. . .glad I got that off my chest.