PALMER ON PROZAC rants about..........


Let's get things absolutely straight, here.
Seeing a black cat cross my path does NOT mean I'm going to be lucky/unlucky, meet a stranger, get married within a month, give birth to a talking donkey or any number of other mindless bollocks that some mindless bollock-ese talkers would have me believe.
How can I be so sure?
Well, call me a cynic but I've lost count of the number of times I've seen cats of every kind of colour and not once - NOT ONCE - has anything like the above happened. Not only that. I've enquired from friends, relatives, acquaintances and even complete strangers and, guess what? None of them have witnessed anything untoward other than an animal meandering across their line of sight either.

But, some mindless shysters, and you've probably met the type, insist, when seeing a magpie/cat/squirrel or any of the other assorted billions of animal, bird and insect life on the planet, that there's some mystic connotation to be divined upon witnessing the obviously portentous sight of a dog licking its bollocks in a certain way.
Now, apart from assuming there was only one way for a dog to lick its balls, in a sort of tongue-meets-genitals-kind-of-way, maybe I'm missing something here. These people, when witnessing the caressing of a couple of pounds of canine sweetbreads by teeth that were meant for ripping lumps off burglars, look at you in a sagely way, cock their heads, and say, seriously, shite like, "There's going to be a death in the family there, you know!"

When pressed for some explanation or clarification at how they arrived at such a Nobel-prize-winning theory, which I often request for devilment, they'll reply that because it's Tuesday and before twelve o'clock and it's raining and there's an even letter in the date and my name has vowels in it, there'll be a death. If none of those parameters are met, presumably, it just means the dog's got sweaty nuts!
Call me bitter, but I'm convinced that these people should be Sectioned!
Not because they hold a different belief system, or smell of josh-sticks, or even that they verge on dangerous when dispensing advice on how to cure everything from a wart to cancer by chanting, and how to live for weeks without anything to sustain you except 'aura-energy'!
No. I think they should be expelled from society because they talk utter, illogical, shite.
These people couldn't even spell 'rational'.
Recently I had a conversation with a couple of them - I know, it's my own fault for believing, for one nano-second, that I was going to get anywhere when talking about things in the real world without them looking around them in a, 'I'm going to confide in you the secret of the universe', sort of way.
One of them mentioned that they'd seen a meteor or, to quote her using the technical term, 'shooting star'. She went on in a breathless, mystical way that it moved swiftly across the sky and was very bright.
Now, call me a cynic but, as far as I was aware, this was what was in the meteor-job-description when they were handed out aeons ago.
But, no. She went on (and on and on) about how weird this was, how unusual, how mystically significant it must be and how she'd never seen one before so it must mean something.

I tried to bring the conversation round to normality-land by mentioning that seeing a meteor was not really a big deal and anyone standing out in their garden any time had a greater than average chance of seeing one.
I went on to explain that at certain times of year (August for example) the earth passes through a region of space where there is a great deal of dust and this manifests itself as meteor showers. Then, if you stand out in any open space, you'll see maybe a dozen or more an hour.
This lucid, rational, scientific, plausible, provable explanation was met by looks that suggested that, because I didn't stink of incense and wasn't a fully paid-up member of The Gonad Gnashers & Tasters' Society, I was taking the piss!
There was an embarrassed silence as they looked surreptitiously at one another in a way that seemed to say, "Poor lad. Surely it can't be easy being so misinformed about how the universe works. We must make sure that the gazelle on which the earth rests doesn't break into a gallop upon hearing such heresy and plunge us all to our doom."
The second spotter-of-spittle-stained-genitalia said to the first, totally ignoring the reason I'd given, and in all sincerity, "It means something that, seeing a shooting star. I'm sure it does. It's very rare. It must mean something. I'll ask Donna what it means. She'll know."
I racked my brain but couldn't bring to mind which of Stephen Hawking's relatives this Donna must be.
Luckily I resisted the urge (Because I'd remembered the cardinal rule when dealing with these people: look vacant and think of nothing except pizza topping; that way, you'll be mistaken as being deep, mysterious and omniscient.) to say, "Yes, it does mean something. It means that a speck of dust has entered the earth's atmosphere and, because of the friction when hitting the oxygen-laden air, superheated and become luminous by incandescence. This is because the energy contained within its mass has been converted, amongst other things, into heat and light, therefore catching your attention. This remarkable process caused the retina at the back of your eye to become excited as the photons emitted by the meteor hit it. This excitation caused the neurons in the optic nerve to begin firing.
"These impulses were transmitted along the nerves, converting into chemical energy for their trip across the synapses, until they entered the brain. There, the impulses were converted, again and again from chemical to electrical signals by synapses, until they reached the region of the brain involved in sight. This area interpreted the signal into what we perceive as vision and this caused an overall excitation of the cognisant and higher reasoning sections of the frontal cerebral cortex so that you could appreciate the sight as an optical experience."
Yes, I resisted the urge to say that.
I think I said something like, "Oooh. I think it means your tortoise needs circumcising."

They fell to their knees and began worshipping me as a minor deity.
I know I sound bitter.
I'm not.
I just cannot abide the smug, self-satisfied way in which they look all-knowing and spout stuff that makes Charlie Manson seem like a genuine contender for the Nobel Peace Prize in Physics.
They profess to know some arcane reason for simple, normal everyday scientific happenings. And they always have a friend, or even themselves, to whom this otherworldly shite has happened: "Ooooh! My friend, Chantelle, once spilt some salt and didn't jump up in the air, stick her labia in a light socket and whistle the theme from Laramie, and she had three kids who couldn't understand the I-Ching!"
Well, stuff me!
Perhaps the reason they couldn't understand the I-Ching was, going out on a limb here, because they had more than one fucking synapse for electro-chemical reactions to take place!!
Whoah. Radical theory.

Speaking, as we were, about heavenly bodies - which for some obscure reason probably known only to the god of crackpot ideas and theories, these people never have (preferring, instead, to hide their lights not under bushels, but dungarees, baggy jumpers and tops recycled from old parachutes) - these people unswervingly read and believe their horoscope each day. Even when it's proved to be absolute bollocks every day before.
I remember once having a 'tutorial' (When will I ever learn!!) with one of these sicko-psycho-psy-chicks. I attempted to point out that seeing as there are only twelve astrological signs, and an awful lot more people than that in the world, was it feasible to suppose that the same things happen to everyone under that particular sign?
Apparently it was.
Well, then, I ventured. Wasn't it strange that sometimes on the news, and in newspapers, more than twelve things happened to the populace of the earth? Surely, if people have filled their day with meeting dark strangers, avoiding people with the initials 'L', and choosing the right time to change that career they've always promised themselves, it rather upsets the laws of mathematics to have other events happening to people that haven't been foretold in the all-seeing page fifty of 'The Egremont and Oswaldtwhistle Scrotum-licker'?

Apparently my logic was so flawed it didn't deserve an answer.
I was instructed, though, that astrology was a painstaking, scientific method of taking the positions, masses, velocities and orbits of the planets, because (sage-like nodding), "it's been scientifically proven that objects with mass influence other objects."
This, then, meant that, because we have mass (some more than others I nearly pointed out to my dungaree-wearing mentor), we are influenced by the planets and other heavenly bodies as they move around the firmament and exert their sneaky gravitational shenanigans on us.
OK. I concede that mass exerts influence on other mass. It's a long-standing fact. (Strange how these people are always banging on about how science doesn't have the answer to everything when you shoot their hallucinogenic garblings to pieces, yet they resort to hitting you over the head with it when they can twist a concept through seven dimensions and lean on the stack of scientific data which has been produced about cornflakes having sentience, you know!!)
But. Here we go, again. But, even if you accept that fact. It stands to reason that you'd therefore have to know the positions, masses, velocities and orbits of every galaxy, sun, black hole, planet, satellite, asteroid, meteor and piece of dust in the entire universe to even begin to calculate what kind of force it could exert upon us.
We just don't have that kind of info yet, do we? Maybe it's only distributed on a need-to-know basis, to people with IQs lower than a dog licking its nuts!
As a corollary to this radical departure from sanity, in yet another attempt to convince me because I must have, possibly, looked sceptical, the denim-clad testes-taster sagely confided that the moon influences the earth, as witnessed by tides.
"The earth," she dropped the bombshell, "is 70% water. AND - humans are 70% water as well!! Can't be a coincidence!" she finished, with a triumphant look on her face as if this argument was Einstein's Unified Theory in a nutshell. Well, she may have a point. Only, her (and every gullible twat like her) 70% of water appeared to be concentrated in the cranial area. The rest of the mass was lard.
Or am I just bitter?

PALMER ON PROZAC is a freelance writer from Stockport, England. He is also the main author of this Web Site. You can see more of his observations and Rants on THE SITE FOR SORE EYES soon. His views and comments do not necessarily reflect the opinions and views of the owners of this Site. When not chanting and humming over a brass bowl of steaming unicorn droppings, he likes to press flowers ... into astrologers' eyes!!

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