Build an Arc? Clean the guns? Eat that donut? I’m curious.
The voices in my head sing ‘You Are My Sunshine’. Over and over. Between sets they smoke and sometimes joke around for a few minutes. Then they tune their instruments and start again. Once, in the summer of 2003, they sang God Bless America", but just once, then they went back to “You Are My Sunshine”.
So how about you, fellow Dopers? What do the voices in your head say?
Usually it’s just my name. Or something else to get my attention like “Hey!” Not that they have anything else to say after that. I guess they don’t see the fun in burning things. Also, they’re usually the voice of someone I know, a friend or family member. But not always. Sometimes it’s neither a familiar voice nor my name. On one memorable occaison, it was the voice of a young girl saying complete gibberish. Also, I don’t hear them often. The last time was in November.
[Eric Idle in Drag voice] Boy we were mighty lucky to get this loft. It so nice and roomy and plenty of space [/Eric Idle in Drag voice]
BTW: what kind of “Arc” where you building?
Strinka: maybe you should get some help. Just saying.
Bad stuff, man. They are Not My Friend. They remind me of embarrassing stuff that happened a long time ago, until I feel like I’m reliving it. They also gripe a lot, and compare me to everyone they see, until I pacify them with beer. If there’s no beer, I often talk out loud to myself to drown them out.
They used to ask me what I thought about what everyone I saw looked like naked, when I was much younger. That was embarrassing, too.
You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat? You’re fat. What can I eat?
They never get to the part about what I’m supposed to be doing, though. For a while in the 1970s I assumed I was supposed to be killing people; but after I killed about 47 frogs for practice, the voices said I was going down the wrong path. Still haven’t told me what I should be doing, though…
AHH! Damn them! They never remind me to clean the guns - Thanks for reminding me.
Unreliable stinkin’ voices. What good are they? On and on with the “They’re watching you! They think you walk funny. Is that how you want to hold your arms?” I don’t really care what “they” think. I DO care about the barrel of my .308 - 2.5 inches at 500 yards and I don’t clean it.
You’re cold. You hate people. You aren’t nice to people. See, you weren’t friendly or approachable at all! You’re cordial and polite and that’s as good as it gets. You deserve to be alone and lonely. I’m surprised anyone likes you, you don’t like you, you don’t like being you, you are mean and selfish and you hurt people’s feelings and you don’t care, you don’t even notice, well just slink on off and go be by yourself somewhere.
Oh yeah, you’re functional, do you know where you are, did you miss your train stop? Can you manage to knock someone down while you frantically shove your way to the door? You’re a menace, the only reason you don’t do more damage to people is that you’re as inert as a toadstool. Except when you walk, you walk like the most OCD freakazoid in the world, trying to get from point A to point B in the shortest time & number of steps possible, not making eye contact and scowling at people who dare to get in your all-important WAY. As you shove past and through and over them sometimes with phony apologies, you’re sorry they got in your path and slowed you down, you call them cattle in your head dont you, yeah real nice you are.
Yes dumbass she was flirting with you, she thinks you’re interesting because she doesn’t know any better, and you were as warm and welcoming as a half-melted snowball, and then awkward and embarrassed, ooh she might be able to tell that you find her body delicious, and then she’ll think you’re a creep, yeah as if, what are you stoopid, it’s the expectation that women would think you’re some kind of creep if you dare to find them sexy and attractive that makes you a creep, and yeah you’re definitely a creep, not an ominous evil Darth Vader creep oh no just a nervous hand-wringing twisted self-effacing shy drooling ‘Gee I’m so sorrry I so desperately wanna do you’ kind of creep. Yecch, I’m sure you made her day.