I have these rules. Actually, there’s an entire user’s manual for me, but for the sake of space and time, we’ll discuss rules. Violation of these rules have been coined “Brad Violations” by my therapist. I actually like that idea. It somehow validates it all when your therapist gives it a name, doesn’t it? Some may call Brad Violations “pet peeves,” or other such silly catch-all phrases, but those are not for me. I like Brad Violations better. It makes them sound more severe, and in most cases they are. Let me give you a few examples so you know what I’m talking about.
1) Do not drop by my apartment unannounced. You may as well come over, take the foulest smelling dump in my bathroom, not flush and then proceed to urinate all over my floor. It’s just not right. You have a cell phone. Call from outside my door and tell me you’re there, but don’t knock or ring the bell unannounced.
2) Do not chew food loud or slurp your beverage within earshot of me. My dear father, I love him so, but the man cannot eat food of any texture without making me wish someone had a chalk board next to them to run their finger nails down. That would be more pleasant. When I eat with my father I have to sit on the opposite end of the table. My sister said that she taught him how to drink coffee. I love her.
3) While it may not be as serious of a violation, don’t wear a t-shirt to a concert that has the band’s name on it. It’s just gross. Sure, it may be convenient to wear the shirt you just bought at the show than to carry it, but just carry it. Don’t be that person. In addition to looking like a complete idiot, you are in violation.
I realize Brad Violations may seem trite to you, but that’s why they are called Brad Violations, and not just violations. Surely you have your own set. Use the comment link and share them with the world.
That’s what I go to therapy for. To get over it. All of it.
which brings me to my next point. by providing the kind of solution i just did, you should probably be paying me the insane amount you pay that quack of a shrink, since my solutions are much more to the point and effective. ok, great.
make check payable to: michael b. walsh
thanks! this rocks.
Wow. Amazing. Okay. Check is in the mail.
oh, brother. here’s what i think you should do. make a ticket book. go ahead and have a violations book printed up. and then, when these mutherfuckers perform their violations. ticket their sorry asses. yep, ticket them. go ahead and attach a fine to that ticket too. and i’m saying, like a hefty fine. bleed the dumbshits. then, wait- you gotta make sure there’s date they have to pay by. that’s how you’ll enforce this whole charade. then, when they don’t pay… first, get pissed off, like, real pissed off– throw something and break it! i mean, fuck’s sake they VIOLATED YOU, right? next, calm down and then figure out a really cool way these idiots can be publicly murdered. make it gruesome, really heinous and that way others will start to learn too. this really should solve most of your problems. if this seems like too much to go through, i can offer only one other option: get over it. doh! knock, knock.
(hi brad! hehehehe… )
Violations, expound: Yes, I am one of the few who cannot be violated by anyone but myself. I did have a girl “take advantage of me” once, but I was really acting like I was being taken advantage of and she was really not trying to take advantage of me being taken advantage of…so…symmetry. Isn’t that what “it” is all about. Brad was enlightening me the other night on the very deep nature of the word “it.” “It” seems to be the fault of nobody, and therefore I cannot be violated by anyone but myself.
The infinite pathogen: Illumination. Again, yes, Illumination is a way to violate me. But being that particles of light cannot be considered human to anyone but maybe Brian Eno and Count Dracula, I am still doing ok on the scorecard of Violations. I’ve always had an issue with the light switch. It doesn’t matter which room I’m in. The light switch prepetually causes me emotional stress and anguish. Example: I had a woman, once, back in the fuzzy days of occasional coitus, actually turn off the lights for me. Disaster abound. Next thing I knew I was prone, shirtless, and listening to the Beta Band perform “Monolith” while I was scoured with what felt like a squeegee…spelling not noted. The whole evening concluded when the sun creeped through the blinds and I got off the couch in the LIVING ROOM and checked on my one-night-apparition. With one hand in my hair trying to massage a thumping pumpkin that resembled my head I opened the door to my own room and noticed that there was still a woman there, supposedly “violating” my bed without my corpus. I did nothing but make coffee for myself and watch the glass on the television reflect me drinking coffee. There was no time for entertainment. I was wondering how the light switch got the best of me and how I rationalized sleeping on the living room couch instead of with the pseudo-naked body in my room. I will never know. However, as I sit here now in my suburban splendor and listen to the Police try to be mystical on “Wrapped Around Your Finger”…I think, “Fucking light switches,” and fiddle with a shaving cut.
Moral of the story: When in a pre-coital situation with a semi-strange human, get your own illumination under control or else you could end up on the couch with a book of poetry and your pants still on.
Brad, this is my story of “violations.” I have a set of things I don’t do to myself. But basically, anyone can do anything to me and I will probably find something worse to do to myself. I’m a creative guy.
–JD Stone