The Great ILP Insanity Contest.

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So - Who’s the biggest looney…?

  • Tabula "No zombie’s gettin’ into my Mall" Rasa
  • Creation "I can make a weapon outta my ass" Imperfect
  • Bess- "It takes six men to get me there" -y
  • Shy- "Excuse me - could I sniff your armpit…?" -ster
  • Krist "I am The Grim Reaper’s hobby" West
  • Someone "Take my muck chippy-girl !!!" IATD
  • Peter "Is that a pan I hear clanging…?" Kropotkin
  • Blind "One gazillion and one, One gazillion and two…" Seer
  • Krista- "I’ve got a present for you" -lyn
  • Embrace "Virtual Nymphomaniac" Trees
0 voters

[size=200]OKAY !!! LET THE VOTING BEGIN - WINNER GETS CUSTOM DESIGNED SIG GIF TO SHOW HOW MAD THEY ARE.[/size]

(Due to poll length restrictions - the simply slightly disturbed among you have been culled.)

Since ILP’ers are by and large people of huge intellect, and it is well known that a certain degree of madness usually walks hand in hand with genius…

… I thought I’d give you all a chance to show your peers just how Goddamn eccentric you are.

You’ve a week to post an example of your weird personal idiosyncracies, after which point I’ll add a poll to the top of the thread, so people can vote on who they think is the biggest loonie.

[size=75](Please don’t post about how you like to pin a picture of Tyra Banks to the fridge door and look at it whilst briskly sticking your penis into a suitably carved melon, or something else along those lines, that’s not madness, that’s sadness.)[/size]

Tabula Rasa: Disorder: Romero Syndrome.

Romero’s classic “Dawn of the Dead” was the first horror film I ever saw. Even now, at the tender age of 37, some 25 or so years on from then, it sticks with me. Whenever I visit a large shopping centre, part of my mind automatically starts to assess the place for “zombie-proofness” just on the off-chance that the undead should start rising from their graves whilst I’m pushing the shopping cart round the aisles.

It gets quite involved, for example: The Local shopping centre I’d most like to be caught at in the event of a zombie holocaust is Chile-Kipa, about 10 minute’s drive from my house. Why…? I’ll tell you why. First up, it’s built on stilts - where the ground floor would have been is a car-park running the length and bredth of the whole building. Those zombie bastards would have a hard time jumping high enough to reach us in our haven. There are stairs however - 3 normal foot, and 2 moving. These would have to be taken out. No problem - plenty of buses come by, hotwire one or two or three - and use them to batter down the stairwells. Siphon off the petrol from most of the others - Molatov cocktails anyone…?

Inside there are three floors, again connected by escalators, stairwells and lifts, plus concealed stairs in some sneaky split-level shops - Sledgehammers and elbow-grease to destroy those. Start out on the lowest level and raid the giant supermarket for tinned goods and other imperishables, plus ad-hoc weapons from the gardening dept. There’s a gun shop selling shotguns and ammo on the second floor which would form the arsenel, and the food court + multiplex is on the top, for a final fall-back position. There is a central shaft running top to bottom for rope-lowered “pot-shotting zombies from complete saftey” when you get bored of eating old MacDonalds burgers and watching the same 8 films over and over again. This place was simply made to resist zombie onslaught!!! Access to the roof for final gun battle and daring helicopter rescue.

I’m sick. Please help me.

Tab.

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well this sounds interesting. let’s see… (this goes back to another thread of mine.)

um… creation imperfect: disorder: …i dunno what to call it. sorry.

i have never been in a real fight.
i have only been attacked …twice. once by a friend, once by an enemy.
the time i was attacked by an enemy i managed to talk my way out of it. so nothing happened.
however:

to date, i have… made 9 and bought one shuriken (throwing stars, though not all are star-shaped), i have made 3 and found the equivalent of one throwing spike, i have made 3 chain weapons, i have bought a grappling hook, i have invented no less than three different tools for breaking into locked doors without picking the locks, i have made two blinding powders (one temporary, one permanent), i have bought throwing knives, and i own 6 or 7 other knives, i have made two swords, and i have plans to make a third, i have made a tonfa (like an older police nightstick), i have bought 4 tsubute (a flat disk thrown to stun or knock out enemies), i have made two blowguns with real darts, i have bought and trained with nunchucks, i have made two three-foot staffs, and i have invented a new weapon that is a variation of a small club, though better designed and much better looking. i have made a 12 foot whip, i have made a set of lock picks, and there are probably about 50 more weapons i have bought or made that don’t even come to mind right now. all of it is meticulously hidden within my room or house (mostly my room), so well hidden that i doubt the police could find it.

all of it i have trained with and i commonly carry at least one thing if not 3 or 4 things concealed on me. i teach myself how to use weapons and i seem to be good at it. when i am unarmed, i rely on resourcefulness, something else i have taught myself. i can turn almost anything into an effective weapon. hell, i can jump up and throw a folding chair somewhere between 15 and 25 feet in front of me with one foot (from standing in front of it) in about a second.

every building i’m in for any legnth of time i try to learn everything about. even in my school, i know where every security camera is and which direction it points. i know that the security tapes are recorded over every 24 hours, and they only rewind and watch them if something happens. i have been in almost every room in my school and in the catwalks over the auditorium, under the stage, and in the tunnels underneath it. i know the place better than the janitors. when i stay in a hotel for a weekend i find and explore: every hallway, every stairwell, every level, the roof, the staff hallways, the kitchen, and i go in every bathroom i’m allowed in, just to get to know the place.

when i pass someone in the store i wonder if they were going to jump me how they would do it and how i would react.

it’s really quite amazing. my parents and friends (well most of my friends) don’t have any idea. all this. and i would never attack anyone unless they attacked me or my friends or family first.

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in fact, in the middle of writing that i just threw a knife into the wall across the room from me.

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Be nice to your walls, and they will be nice to you. I think you call that disorder krazisykoninjamannism.

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Tabula, that ‘insanity’ may one way save your life! I’ll post some of my own craziness tomorrow, don’t let me forget.

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Hello insane wannabes…

Most of you know some of my craziness, but I will expound for your listening pleasure. I am a passionate artist. I thrive on the process of my art foregoing anything “normal” as seen by the average joe or josephine. Most people bore the shit out of me including the man who is my husband, but we share history, a home, and many children… so we, at the moment are fine. Kinda. Roomates though we have become, we stay together for practical reasons, but admit to each other that we have little in common. He is a wonderful cook and remembers to pay the taxes and take the trash out weekly to the curb. I am far too busy creating something or writing music to consider hausfrau-ness, but I have come to appreciate and respect his normalcy, something that I would never remotely care about other than when it is not done. Do we have balance in our home? Absolutely. Do we have passion? Intimacy? Nope.

Now the question is: have I found that intimacy elsewhere? Completely. In several relationships one of whom feeds me daily with tenderness, passion and warmth. Do I adore the ground this person walks on? Yes, I do. Is this crazy? To some, yes. Do I remotely care? No.

I am a musician. Are the men in my band passionate about our music? Yes. Does this feed my passionate side like no other? Yes. Sooo, I have 5 other men whom I consider my surrogate husbands. Singing with them, recording and performing live is better than mind blowing sex. Gets me hot just thinking about it.

Is this insane? Not to me. Do I sleep with them all? No. I sleep with my dog most every night. Who is deeply enmeshed inside my brain during my most intimate and private moments? One of the men I mentioned above. Is this normal and utterly fulfilling? For me, yes. Is it insane to outsiders? Sure. Do I give one big rat’s ass about ousiders? Nope.

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=D> Man, this is better than Desperate Housewives! Please tell us more Bessy! Or better yet, can you just start a whole new thread and make it a day-to-day diary? This is gold! =P~

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after reading creation’s thread, i dont see a reasong for others to even attempt, though i will probably try o post anyways.

p.s. PG is really onto something, what do you say Bess? :smiley:

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What a cool thread…you have to like that Tab…a full flavour cola with only 1 calorie…remarkable.

I’m bizarre. Most days, I dance from room to room while performing mundane tasks…and I whisk deftly through crowds…even if I have to climb over things…I stand on my tiptoes or like a crane (foot on opposite thigh) while cooking.

I’ve spent many hours performing tasks with my eyes closed to try to have a small understanding of what life would be like without being able to see. Touch (primarily) and hearing take over.

Smelling my man’s armpits gets me aroused.

I see dead people…everywhere…( not really :laughing: )

I pee sitting down…but I know how to pee standing up.

I can write my name with my right foot. I thought it would be useful in case I ever lost my arms.

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Insane huh,
I live with a darling man that I have loved for 22 yrs. A 21 yr old son, a young man who needs a place to crash, 30 feline kids, 8 canine kids in a 1200 sqft. home on 10 acres.Not crazy yet, wait, My family each has their own wierdness which piles up to eccentric. I drive a hearse as an everyday car, (except she is is not working right now) I named her Tippy.
For every great thing that happens 3 crappy things happen. Yet we prevail. In my 42 yrs of life I have almost died or been killed about 25 times. I have been shot at ,run over, tree fall on me, death by illness almost took me as a kid several times. Gone over cliff in a truck, It goes on like that. Death walks with me it seems. Yet I have guardians that grab me from the brink everytime it seems. People around me die, since the age of 14 I average burying someone I love once to 2 times a year.
Insane yet? no not yet, wait for it,
My family is enough to drive one insane and resentful, Example: around 29 yrs ago, Mom ran off with brother-in-law and now nephew is my step brother. I have sibling inlaws that do not even know there is a half sister in our lives.That is just one small example the rest are too numerous to list here.
I am sane I think, but who knows, I hide from the world as much as possible, real live humans scare the crap out of me, I am afraid of the pain of getting to know them and then the inevitable loss. Yet I still meet them and get to know them and care for them.
where is the eccentricity or insanity?
I have not given up, I smile, I laugh ,I argue, I fight. Even though I know the worst pain, fear and agony has yet to come, I still wake up everyday ready to forge ahead and make the most out of a life that is more a frightening dangerous rollercoaster, then, a merry go round. I know that I will have more fear and pain then the rest of the folks and I know why, there is always a price to pay, and these horrible things are the price I have to pay. And I pay, just so that I can wake up next to my beloved.
I know I am the luckiest human in the universe, (thats the insane part.)

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Beautiful, Kriswest.

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With posts like these you are really gaining my respect, I think that I’m going to pay more attention to you from now on…

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Eccentric may be a better way to decribe me than insane. I am not even 20 yet, but many of my friends call me an old man; I have a bad back, use hankies not tissues, scorn at youth and immature behaviour, ironic given my immaturity, and don’t like to let people leave a room without turning off the light. I am, however, generally light-hearted. I am a bibliophile, keep a list of my books and order them, like to argue with people, even just for the sake of it, when I’m way out of my depth. Often I work hard, sometimes I do no work at all. I love backstage work and used to be really into computers, but my subject interests are far from technical and instead more abstract. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a wierd mixture of things. Mad? Maybe not. Eccentric? I think so.

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Don’t we all live in our own private world of craziness? And what is eccentric for some may be perfectly normal for others. No, I haven’t been shot at or drive a hearse, but I stand like a crane when I cook and can pee when I stand up (loved that Shyster). I have absolutely worshiped and adored the man I now need to leave and find more warmth from my golden retriever. Is this insane? Maybe, but it is sadly true.

A better question would be: what IS sane? Because absolutley nothing I have read here so far seems insane to me. If I told anyone (ANYONE) my private thoughts they would think I needed to be put away in a strait jacket. But I think most of you are the same way. Insane? No. Human? Yup.

I thought of one more. Most of my childhood my father took lost souls off the street to work around our house. He brought homeless bums into our basement apartment. He cleaned them up, gave them shelter, delicious meals and kept them warm all winter. My favorite was a huge black man named Jimmy. I came home from school and hung out with him every afternoon for several years (to the dismay of neighbors and concerned relatives, I might add). Eccentric? Sure. Insane?

As I look back, it was the most sane and human thing I have ever experienced. I am a different person today because of it.

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I think maybe thats part of the point Bessy, If we can look into another life then maybe we can see that which we can’t see in our own or maybe apreciate it more. No human can be sane, for sanity only exists in our mind. The poor soul that is in a rubber room with a straight jacket on perceives that he/she is the sane one. Perhaps they are.
Humans rely on averages the average human is safe to another. but, safe is not the same as sane. When we start observing the human tree some branches are vibrant, some are dead, most range between.
I think sometimes justifying what we perceive as sane or insane releases the mundane issues we deal with on a daily basis. I for one have never met a normal human, Average maybe but, normal no. Applaud the differences and eccentricities here because, out there people will fear it. Here we have certain freedoms denied us in our noncyberlives.
Give way to what we are, so that we can grow and add to our normal lives.

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I have always, ever since I can remember, looked directly into the eyes of strnagers, friends, passersby…I feel this is necessary…to hold the gaze and have a brief, often unregistered, moment of acknowledgement…

‘Looking is an acknowledgement before any recognition’ - Thomas A. Clark

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Dammit Tab! You hadda bring this up! I’m perched on a slick rock as it is and you come along to remind me…

Sanity is a choice. A choice to live in other people’s reality. To some extent, it makes sense. Community and all that. We all live in our own self-imposed straight jacket, comfortably esconsed in our rooms with padded walls and chintz curtains at the windows. And why not? The psych ward beds have hard mattresses and thin blankets - errrr, so I’ve been told.

A plain fact: Most of us live in a sea of abstractions where sanity and insanity are both a figment of the imagination. You’re sane? You know this how? Insane? By what perfect authority is this discovered?

What is the difference between daydreaming and our reality? That which we do, and nothing else.

For me, looking at the world upside down is ‘natural’. My friends stop short of calling me loonie, preferring the gentler term of “eccentric”, but they’re just being kind. But if you were to meet me on the street, I’m the most conventional, boring, non-descript person alive. That is by choice, as it is for all of us.

So how do I enter this contest? In truth, I can’t. I lost track of what is sane and insane long ago, and as long as I don’t have to look out upon the world through iron bars, I’m OK.

JT

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Enjoying stroking your oh-so-wonderfully-queer egos, my friends ?

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Simply, I’m obsessed with imagining sex. Not actual sex, just imagined sex. I couldn’t give two shits for actual sex, which never lives up to the dream. Either my dreams are too ambitious or my actual sex life is just embarrassingly poor, it’s your call.

An example: a girl in a local chippy (Fish and Chip takeaway venue) once wrote her name onto the paper used to wrap the food that I ordered. I’ve no idea why she wrote it - perhaps she wanted me to know her name, perhaps she was bored, perhaps she needed to get a biro running after the greasy atmosphere had clogged it, perhaps she was a closet illiterate who had only recently learned to write her own name and was just getting some practise in. But I took it to mean that if I wanted I could have dragged her by the ponytail out of the shop, round the back to an alley, bent her over a wheely bin and sodomised the senseless sow before spewing ball juice all over her pale, oily face as her spiritless doe eyes stared wide in amazement. She might not have meant anything of the sort, but that’s the game you play.

Of course I’ve never actually spoken to this girl, merely kept the scrap of paper and ejaculated over it on a daily basis. I may one day return the scrap to her, stained and illegible, as a token of my affection. In all likelihood I’ll never manage such a gesture and will simply envisage doing it a thousand times over…