Puns seemed OK at first. It was very quiet and relaxed. I thought Puns had it together.
I was wrong.
Usually I wouldn’t blog about experiences like this, but this was definitely the band-aid in the soup.
I have broken my experience down into three parts:
1. Physical
2. Emotional
3. Social
Physical
I am in no place to judge the physical appearance of anyone, but I do feel entitled to an opinion.
Puns seemed to take care of its personal image quite well. It had neatly cut hair and a well groomed and clean appearance.
It had no repulsive and/or unpleasant smells; it expelled no stimulating and/or engaging smells either.
Its eyes were awake clean and were absent of redness, weariness, and/or laziness.
The one thing that ruined my perspective of it was the way it carried itself and the way it walked.
It stands short but is desperate to be tall. It hunches like a rounded-off and slightly less acute ‘7′. It carries the body language of a giant passive-aggressive baby waiting, with its neck outstretched, for a breast to plump into its mouth and fill it with milk. During its standing self-ovations its eye-sockets transform into horizontal ellipses, scanning for that breast to come and make it healthy and strong, yet the breast never comes.
It never glances down at its feet nor takes any effort to be an innovative, creative, or independent walker. It simply walks parallel to whomever it is walking with and manages to follow whomever it is shadowing; though it never is followed nor does it make it an effort to be the one who is followed.
The last thing that bothered me about Puns’s personal image was that it did not wash its hands after using the bathroom.
Emotional
Puns was poorly trained to be an ignorant laugher. It did not find humor in what its brain thought was too far on the unfamiliar or rejected side. Puns’s laughter was a series of capital punishments by thickly tied nooses with Bert and Squidward as the chief executioners.
Puns would be the soldier to peep the premature battle cry and charge into the pits of hell by itself with a feeling of invincibility while its fellow team of preparing strategists would be laughing their asses off watching and waiting for Puns’s skin to return loosely draped over a defective battle-steed.
It is not a matter of were squeaky and unsettling emotional outbursts occur but instead is a timer that goes off and resets itself every time it detects a chance to be heard from the Who-hills of a snowflake. I like to think of Puns’s emotional outburst timer as an embedded piece of embryonic sludge that accidentally got stuck between a hunk of Thymine and Guanine somewhere in a double-helix as a developing Zygote.
Social
One of the things that we all learn as people (with the exception of Puns) is to avoid stating the obvious. This urge to suppress stating the obvious is especially prevalent when the ‘obvious’ is something that the ‘thing’ being observed is trying to suppress saying aloud. Puns does not have difficulty fulfilling the role as the exception to this rule. Not only that, but Puns enjoys a good chuckle after saying something everyone has suppressed and digested. This can be compared to a person that ignores the urge to poop just to poop more later so they can be more efficient with utilizing the toilet and conserving its precious fresh water.
Puns also has no ability to discern when other people are laughing at something it has said or if people are laughing at something that occurred that was humorous either unrelated to Puns’s verbal contribution or in response to Puns’s verbal contribution. Instead of even guessing, Puns simply chooses to mail-order a thousand additional bags of salt to rub into the abysmal gash in my comedial well-being by perpetuating what was already the closest thing to the extinction of laughter. On top of this delicious pile of anti-communication skills is Puns’s inability to know how horrendously those around it suffer by the perpetuation of its vocalized genocide. Instead, Puns goes about interpreting even a death-threat as a request to keep contributing loud and unexpected announcements of that which has long been obvious to everyone else.
Lastly, Puns does not know how to greet people. Its greetings and introductions are off-colored, unnatural, and untimely. One is more likely to end up with a broken wrist, severed spine, and/or a feeling of being violated than a handshake or a hug upon meeting Puns. It greets others with far too much animation and artificial self-confidence. This spirit is thinly masked by a facade built on hours upon days of people pleasing and disparity for attention.
…I give my deepest sympathies to the time that has the job of enduring and carrying on the dysfunctional behavior of such a creature as Puns.
