Crazy is as Crazy does
You know the thing about crazy folks, they often have no idea they're crazy. I'm not talking about the man screaming "why are you such a whore?" as I walk fully-clothed down 47th Street, nor am I speaking of the woman at the crosswalk having an argument with her invisible friend. Those are regular crazy folk, and they can be found at any bus stop, post office, and park bench in America. Granted, they have become more difficult to detect ever since the invention of the cellphone head set, which makes everyone seem as though they're talking to themselves, but they're relatively harmless.
Now your average delirious oddball is necessary for society, they keep things balanced and are fun to talk to if you're ever alone at a dive bar. But the full-out, totally twisted, psychotic lunatic... not so much. I have been accused of telling a tall tale every now and then, and to be sure I have been known to exaggerate in the past, but as long as I live in New York I will NEVER have to make up a story again in my life!!
Now I have recently encountered the most normal-seeming person who has subsequently introduced me to four different identities, each with their own voicemail! I mean it's one thing to wave at ol' Crazy Bob stilling fightin' Charlie's from the war and working at the gas station, but it is entirely another to unknowingly carry on communications with folks who don't exist. It could make one doubt their own sanity. And I know you're sayin," Queenie, how stupid are you to fall for this?" But I am telling you, in New York everyone's just a little bit crazy, so sometimes it's just hard to separate the Carrot Top's from the David Berkowitz's. You know ol' Ted Bundy was considered quite the nice guy, up until they found all those body parts in his back yard.
I guess that's the thing about sociopaths, they're great dinner companions, just so long as you dine in very public places. But, again, if not for the truly crazy, how would the rest of us excuse our little idiosyncrasies? God bless the crazies... but keep them on the other side of the street!
Now your average delirious oddball is necessary for society, they keep things balanced and are fun to talk to if you're ever alone at a dive bar. But the full-out, totally twisted, psychotic lunatic... not so much. I have been accused of telling a tall tale every now and then, and to be sure I have been known to exaggerate in the past, but as long as I live in New York I will NEVER have to make up a story again in my life!!
Now I have recently encountered the most normal-seeming person who has subsequently introduced me to four different identities, each with their own voicemail! I mean it's one thing to wave at ol' Crazy Bob stilling fightin' Charlie's from the war and working at the gas station, but it is entirely another to unknowingly carry on communications with folks who don't exist. It could make one doubt their own sanity. And I know you're sayin," Queenie, how stupid are you to fall for this?" But I am telling you, in New York everyone's just a little bit crazy, so sometimes it's just hard to separate the Carrot Top's from the David Berkowitz's. You know ol' Ted Bundy was considered quite the nice guy, up until they found all those body parts in his back yard.
I guess that's the thing about sociopaths, they're great dinner companions, just so long as you dine in very public places. But, again, if not for the truly crazy, how would the rest of us excuse our little idiosyncrasies? God bless the crazies... but keep them on the other side of the street!
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