Warning Signs of Insanity, anonymous

Your friends tell you that you've been acting strange lately and then you hit them several times with a sledgehammer.

Everyone you meet appears to have tentacles growing out of places that you wouldn't expect tentacles to be growing from.

You start out each morning with a thirty minute jog around the bathroom.

You write to your mother in Germany every week, even though she sends you mail from Iowa asking why you never write.

Every time you see a street sign, you have the tremendous urge to relieve yourself on it.

You wear boxers on your head because you hear it will ward off evil dandruff spirits.

You're always having to apologize to your next door neighbor for setting fire to his lawn decorations.

Every commercial you hear on the radio reminds you of death.

People stay away from you every time they hear you howl.

You laugh out loud during funerals.

Nobody listens to you anymore because they can't understand you through that scuba mask.

You begin to stop and consider all the blades of grass you've stepped on as a child, and worry that their descendants are going to one day seek revenge.

You have meaningful conversations with your toaster.

Your father pretends you don't exist, just to play along with your little illusion.

You collect dead windowsill flies.

You like cats. Especially with mayo.

You cry at the end of every Gilligan's Island because they weren't rescued.

You put tennis balls in the microwave to see if they'll hatch.

Whenever you listen to the radio, the music sounds backwards.

You have a predominant fear of fabric softener.

You wake up each morning and find yourself sitting on your head in the middle of your front lawn.

Your dentist asks you why each individual tooth has your name etched on it, and you tell him it's for security reasons.

Melba toast excites you.

When the waiter asks for your order, you go into the other room to tell him because "the napkins have ears."

You tend to agree with everything your mother's dead uncle tells you.

You call up random people and ask if you can borrow their dog, just for a few minutes.

Nearly everything you say involves the word "P-toing!"

You argue with yourself over which is better, to be eaten by a koala or loved by an infectious disease.

You like to sit in cornfields for prolonged periods of time and pretend you're a stalk.

You think that exploding wouldn't be that bad, once you got used to it.

You try to make a list of the warning signs of insanity (cough).

People offer you help, but you unfortunately interpret this as a violation of your rights as a boysenberry.

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Act V. THE TRUTH. (Love is hard work. And, sometimes, hard work can really hurt.) Love is a game. If they didn't tell you before, we will tell you now. Love is a game and if you play you either win, lose, or get ejected before the game is over. There are no ties. Maybe you'll lose and learn some great, meaningful answer from it all (like if it looks to good to be true, it is). It's easy to love something when you don't have to work at it. It's harder when it asks something of you. You just might be afraid to give. Give it anyway. The heart is the most resilient muscle. It is also the stupidest. So if this love you've found is good to you, hold it, keep it, shout about it. If it isn't, then maybe you should just become very good friends.