Gum, Interrupted

By the way, I think I'm going crazy.

And no, I'm not going crazy by thinking I'm going crazy.

But knowing I'm going crazy is driving me mad.

So I'm just sitting in my car.

This may be why I'm going insane. I spend a questionable amount of hours in a single leather seat that according to my driver's school teacher is way, way, WAY too close to my steering wheel. Look lady, I don't want your opinion. I was forced to come here just as you're forced to frown when frat boy laughs about going 77 in an elementary school zone when you know you want to laugh because everyone else in this little room is laughing because apparently potentially running over 5-year-olds with your Chevy pick-up is just fucking hilarious and if you touch my steering wheel again I will be forced to honk its horn 56 times using your head.

Back to me in my car. Sitting there. Wanting a piece of gum.

This is another reason as to why I am going insane. I always WANT something. I want a Red Bull, I want coffee, I want 12 Splenda to put in my coffee, I want that man to spill coffee on himself because that would be funny, see there I go again I WANT to laugh so I WANT that man to burn his pecks with the South American blend, now that I'm thinking of South America I want some blow and now that I want some blow I want a nose bleed and now that I want a nose bleed I want to meet Robert Downey Jr. and maybe star in the Iron Man sequel with him...I'm like the mouse who got given a cookie. If you give Natasha 12 Splenda, she's gonna want Robert Downey Jr....it's ridiculous. I. AM. MY. OWN. ENEMY.

See? I don't even particularly like Robert Downey, Jr., and yet I just went on and on about him as if I'm infatuated with him. I think he seems like a cocky asshole and I hated Less Than Zero and he sucked on Saturday Night Live the ONE season he was on it and what 40-year-old man still goes by Junior?

And, for once, I actually have gum, and not just any gum. I now know exactly what Fred Schneider meant by Good Stuff; he meant...Passionberry Twist. I mean this gum is---

Gum. Gum. Gum...there's some song about gum that I used to sing about when I was little. Bazooka Zooka Bubble Gum? No, even earlier than those years. Wait, why am I trying to think of a song with gum in it? What made me think of that? Gum. Gum. Gum...

And then I see, for once, I actually have gum! Oh, and not just ANY gum. Because of this gum I know now what Fred Schneid---

Wait. Have I already said this or am I having severe deja vu? Someone tell me! But wait, no one can tell me because this is blogspot, not a chatroom! FUCK! I'm going crazy! FUCK! I'm going crazy! FUCK! I'm becoming redundant! It's the fear of all writers! Wait...I can probably just go back...and re-read...what I wrote...to see if...yes...yes, I am an idiot.

See. Exhibit A, mother fuckers. Insanity In Action.

So I pull out a piece of gum, but with it, another piece comes flying out of the box.

Box? Container? Package? Holder? Coozie? What the hell do you call the thing that gum is in? Box makes me think of a giant cardboard box filled with millions of those itsy bitsy chewing rectangles we all just can't get enough of; container makes me think of tupperware which makes me think of women in aprons smiling and holding up pies; package makes me think of...just nevermind if you're not thinking what I'm thinking then praise you you're a saint blah blah blee blah you're never gonna get laid; holder makes me think of Molder and I don't think David Duchovny has anything to do with Trident; coozie is just flat-out wrong I just wanted to use that word because it's awesome.

So this other piece flies out, and for a split second I think nothing of it. The two wrappers just got stuck somehow and it unlatched when I took it out and went plunging into my lap. I take the original piece out of its wrapper, pop it into my yapper, pick up the other piece, and put it back in the...pouch? And THIS is the precise moment I knew a lobotomy was in order:

Wait, what if that piece of gum flew out on purpose? What if it really, really wanted to be chewed so it tried to get my attention because it respects me and wants me to enjoy him because he knows that's his purpose in life? And now that I've put him back, what if all the other pieces of gum are laughing and making fun of him and saying, "Told ya so! Told ya so! She doesn't want you nanny nanny boo boo!" And poor little Hank is just sitting there crying his aspartame out and here I am, chewing the piece that knew he was going to be chewed. The cocky one of the bunch. The one that egged poor little Hank on in the first place, saying, "Natasha doesn't chew puny pieces like you, Natasha wants a big, strong piece of gum that will make her happy while also strengthening her teeth and you could never be a piece of gum like THAT." And poor little Hanky Poo was just trying to prove himself to me, and I rejected him without even giving him a fair chance. And now Sleez Ball is in my mouth livin' the good life and BLAH!

This is the moment my insane thoughts became my insane actions, making the insanity a reality. I spit out the piece of gum I was chewing, debated on giving it the finger, frowned at it instead while thrusting my head forward at the same time, rolled up my window out of anger, rolled it back down so I could instead rub it in his face, grabbed my Hanky sweetheart, and put him in my mouth. (this is gum we're talking about, you perv heads) I then felt guilt-free, regret-free, and cavity-free.

And that, my friends, is the end of my story.

Cuckabeara! That's the song! Cuckabeara sits in the old gum tree...la la la la la insaniTY...laugh. Cuckabeara laugh. Cuckabeara this song is creePY. HAHAHAHA!