The Sanity Survival Guide
They say it’s a mad, mad, mad world. I say: understatement.
Take this morning. I woke up to my neighbour serenading his bonsai tree with a ukulele rendition of “ Bohemian Rhapsody” . He insists the tree grows better when exposed to operatic falsetto. I don’t argue. I just water my cactus and whisper encouraging haikus.
Then I went to the supermarket, where a woman in aisle three was debating loudly with a packet of quinoa. “You’re not “ real” protein,” she hissed. “You’re a “ concept” .” I nodded sympathetically. I once had a philosophical disagreement with a tin of sardines. It ended badly.
At the checkout, the cashier asked if I wanted my receipt. I said no. He winked and whispered, “Good. That’s how they track you.” I didn’t ask who “ they” were. I just smiled and paid in exact change. Coins are harder to bug.
Back home, I tried to relax. I turned on the news. Mistake. The anchor was wearing a pirate hat and referring to the economy as “a tempestuous sea of doom.” I switched to a nature documentary. The narrator was whispering seductively to a sloth. I turned it off.
I decided to go for a walk. Fresh air, I thought. Sanity. But the park was hosting a “Silent Disco for Dogs.” Labradors in headphones were grooving to beats only they could hear. One poodle was breakdancing. I applauded. She bowed.
On the way back, I passed a man shouting at a lamppost. “You never listen!” he cried. The lamppost said nothing. Typical.
At home, I made tea. The kettle whistled like it was auditioning for a horror film. I poured the water and stared into the mug. The teabag floated ominously. I whispered, “Don’t judge me.” It sank.
I sat down and opened my journal. I wrote:
“ To survive this world, one must embrace lunacy. Intelligence is a liability. Rationality is a myth. The truly sane are those who know they’re not.”
Then I doodled a giraffe in a top hat.
My phone buzzed. A message from my friend Greg: “Just saw a squirrel steal a croissant and ride off on a skateboard. You were right. Reality is optional.”
I replied: “Welcome to the club. Membership includes free existential dread and a complimentary kazoo.”
Later, I stood at my window and watched the moon rise. It looked suspicious. I waved. It didn’t wave back. Rude.
And as the stars blinked above and the world hummed with glorious nonsense, I felt oddly at peace.
Because in a world this mad, the only sane thing to do… is laugh.
They say it’s a mad, mad, mad world. I say: understatement.
Take this morning. I woke up to my neighbour serenading his bonsai tree with a ukulele rendition of “ Bohemian Rhapsody” . He insists the tree grows better when exposed to operatic falsetto. I don’t argue. I just water my cactus and whisper encouraging haikus.
Then I went to the supermarket, where a woman in aisle three was debating loudly with a packet of quinoa. “You’re not “ real” protein,” she hissed. “You’re a “ concept” .” I nodded sympathetically. I once had a philosophical disagreement with a tin of sardines. It ended badly.
At the checkout, the cashier asked if I wanted my receipt. I said no. He winked and whispered, “Good. That’s how they track you.” I didn’t ask who “ they” were. I just smiled and paid in exact change. Coins are harder to bug.
Back home, I tried to relax. I turned on the news. Mistake. The anchor was wearing a pirate hat and referring to the economy as “a tempestuous sea of doom.” I switched to a nature documentary. The narrator was whispering seductively to a sloth. I turned it off.
I decided to go for a walk. Fresh air, I thought. Sanity. But the park was hosting a “Silent Disco for Dogs.” Labradors in headphones were grooving to beats only they could hear. One poodle was breakdancing. I applauded. She bowed.
On the way back, I passed a man shouting at a lamppost. “You never listen!” he cried. The lamppost said nothing. Typical.
At home, I made tea. The kettle whistled like it was auditioning for a horror film. I poured the water and stared into the mug. The teabag floated ominously. I whispered, “Don’t judge me.” It sank.
I sat down and opened my journal. I wrote:
“ To survive this world, one must embrace lunacy. Intelligence is a liability. Rationality is a myth. The truly sane are those who know they’re not.”
Then I doodled a giraffe in a top hat.
My phone buzzed. A message from my friend Greg: “Just saw a squirrel steal a croissant and ride off on a skateboard. You were right. Reality is optional.”
I replied: “Welcome to the club. Membership includes free existential dread and a complimentary kazoo.”
Later, I stood at my window and watched the moon rise. It looked suspicious. I waved. It didn’t wave back. Rude.
And as the stars blinked above and the world hummed with glorious nonsense, I felt oddly at peace.
Because in a world this mad, the only sane thing to do… is laugh.
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