Paranoia Will Destroy You

Funny, now that Twilight Parody Week is over, I'm having to resist the urge to post more parody. But I think we need to take a brief break so that my Fish Stick Jokeometer can recharge. It's been having problems with the battery; I might need to send it back to the manufacturer.

What? You thought I was making it all up? What kind of loony do you think I am?

Please don't answer that.

Anyway, more parody later on this week. For now, let's get on to other things. Like my general paranoia.

Every time I see the word paranoia, it makes me think of the role playing game. For you non-link-clickers out there, Paranoia is a game with very simple rules: if you show any indication that you understand the rules, the other players get to kill your character. Luckily, you've got clones. Every time we played, I ended up being the Happiness Officer, which means that I got to stuff brain-altering drugs with unknown effects down people's throats, all while singing annoying things like show tunes and Britney Spears songs. And if anyone refused my pills, I got to shoot them.

And if that's not fun, what is?

But that's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about your garden variety version of paranoia where random people keep parking outside your house to have lunch. You know, the kind of thing that happens to everybody. Right?

Right?

Seriously, we live on a side street not far from downtown (and when I say "downtown," I mean it in the quaint small town block with cutesy stores and lanterns instead of streetlights kind of way and not the gangstas and crack whores kind of way). It's not like we're in the middle of a bustling metropolis. But at least once a week, someone stops on the street in front of my house, turns off the car, and eats their lunch. And it's not the same person every time, either.

I wonder if this has anything to do with my practicing the Thriller dance in my front room every morning while wearing my son's Batcape and a psychedelic 70s print leotard.

Nah. Probably not.