by Rick Badman

Created on: November 23, 2008

I have a friend who calls me up sometimes around 10 PM because he doesn't want to miss George Noory on the radio program "Coast-To-Coast." He has complained to me often about not enough coverage on UFOs and too much on silly things on the program. You could say he's a bit weird.

Often, weird friends don't want to be considered weird. They're actually normal people. (Yeah, and I guess triming your toenails with a buzz saw can be called good cuticle care.)

It seems most people have weird friends. If you see two people walking down the street hand-in-hand and one of them is holding hands with his invisible friend, he's most likely the weird one; unless the other one is arguing with HIS invisible friend, gets in a fight with him, and is beaten to a pulp by the phantom. Then that would mean he's the weirder of the two.

In high school it's easy to tell who the weird ones are. They are either such loners that the FBI has posted a potential mass murderer warning in the post offices about them, or they hang together as a group of misfits that are so strange that circus geeks wouldn't be caught dead near them.

If there is a girl (at least I think she's a girl since she has long hair and boobs) in the group, either the guys think she's cool (I didn't even think girls wished they looked like Klingons) or just one of the guys and is treated like a guy. (But playing nude bocci ball together in the rain is a bit questonable.)

Speaking of weird girls, what about those that call you up in the middle of the night wanting to talk. At first you think you're a lucky guy. A woman would call you up in the middle of the night to talk. (Too bad it's not to come over and maybe play some nude bocci ball in the rain.)

But then she talks about being so lonely (looking promising) and wishes you could come over (I'm about to grab the car keys) and keep her company (if I don't wear pants it'll be faster) so that her dead relatives don't try to take her to the cemetery to stay with them. (Click)

The Internet is a great place to meet people that you never need to see or even know who they are. E-mails are wonderful because you can lie like a rug that is so plush that jungle safaris could be lost in it. But no one knows who is telling the truth. For all I know, one of my best e-mail buddies could be an albino who slashes his cheeks to bring color to his face.

I might meet a beautiful woman (her friends call her Knuckles) who says she's young (compared to the pyramids) and intelligent. (She thinks the bar exam is what barkeepers take.)

She likes puppies and kittens, (especially if they're deep fried and rolled in bread crumbs) roses, (flowers removed to leave the thorny stems) long walks at night along a moonlit beach, (better time to spot alien starships coming over the horizon) and long drives through the countryside. (I didn't even think they allowed people to drive near Chernobyl.)

I might strike up an e-mail conversation with her. (Hey, I'm a lonely guy at times.) It might go on for an hour. (My UFO fanatic friend types so slow that I fall asleep waiting for his replies.) She might not even reveal her weirdness unless I ask the right questions.

ME: If you have any pets, what are they and how old are they?

SHE: I have a pet cat named Snurgle. I really ought to dust her off. She's been on the mantel since before Nixon resigned.

ME: Who is your favorite singer?

SHE: Elvis.

ME: I mean living singer.

SHE: Elvis. We just went grocery shopping at the Piggly Wiggly yesterday. He still likes peanut butter and banana sandwiches.

I would know immediately she's a friend who is weird. (I ought to know. Elvis and I went grocery shopping yesterday at the Safeway for moon pies.)

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