A minor yet definitely possible chance genetically exists that I will eventually succumb to a textbook craziness. Unfortunately people can't choose the nature of their insanity.

I would want to be under the delusional state that I am constantly vacilating between fugue states of mild drunkeness, stoned out of my gourd, and occasionally brief psychedelic trips of the cartoon visual kind. But always one of those three, all the time. Preferably on some commune or forest, where the other residents of the area use me for their nightly entertainment.

I have actually dealt with a chick who suffered with schizophrenia. I definitely prefer fucking crazy chicks. Crazy in the sense they will hop up on the local bar and start taking their clothes off, not rubber room dragged kicking and screaming by large men in white suits crazy.

Luckily I was not the one boning the schizo. My former roomate in Hell's Kitchen, and at the time good friend was. I remember she compulsively would vacuum. Which really distracted me from the bong we continually were sucking on. She would also do impromptu stage numbers in front of the television. Talking with her was a hurculean labor. Her logic flow chart looked like a spider web generated by a gimpy arachnid with Down's syndrome.

Of course the fact that my friend's penis entered her vagina on several occasions caused her to believe that he was conspiring to give her AIDS and force her into a life of white slavery prostitution. The night she snapped still makes me shiver to relive it. Ick. She was dragged away and stuffed into Belleview for the good part of a week. She physically assaulted my friend, accusing him of rummaging through her possessions looking for private items he could use against her. A vase near her window was knocked over by the wind, which for her was evidence enough. She calmed down some when I talked to her, cause she trusted me. Why? In her own words she claimed that since I didn't fuck her after she had repeatedly offered her cootchie up to me ( this fact went completely over my head, as I had no idea she had ever done that, but she was right, my cock wanted nothing to do with her ) that she could trust I wasn't some AIDS junky pimp whore.

He actually let her back into the apartment. They released her, sedated beyond recognition. She mewed outside of his window. And then, he fucked her again!

I was actually safehousing his dog during this whole ordeal. Her parents were threatening all kinds of shit. So I offered to keep the dog out in Brooklyn safe from harm. He spent the night a couple of times too, frightened for his own safety. It was real sketchy and skeevy. Then one night carousing in the East Village with a bunch of peeps, he unfurls the tale of him letting her back in and fucking her. Stunned at first at his lack of self control, and angry that he further aggravated the situation, just stood there speechless staring at him. Then I kicked him extremely hard in the ass twice, and walked away. I heard him mumble apologetically to the quizzical crowd of friends "I deserved that".

I think I have talked to him maybe four times since then. That was three years ago. Involving me with some clinical crazy can be forgiven, but if your gonna be retarded, I'm Audi five. Last I heard he was living in his parent's basement in Omaha Nebraska working at a Red Lobster. Every loser I encounter upgrades my social mudflaps. Right now I got the ones with Yosemite Sam sporting two six shooters and saying "Back off ya varmint!".