The Oracle

Have you ever met a person that is so infuriatingly rude and biased that your mind cannot fathom how karma hasn’t hit them with a truck yet, and how it’s possible for them to live in their own little fantasy land where pixies kiss their ass on the hour, every hour, while dancing a little jig?

I met that person last weekend.

“If you’ve never been in a psychiatric ward, you don’t know about or understand life.”

That pearl of wisdom was forced upon everyone at my fathers birthday party last weekend by a drunk lady, lets call her The Oracle, who was far too opinionated for a relaxed Sunday BBQ. Sarcasm barred no place in her mind. She was too busy contemplating pointless philosophical questions to ask everyone and officially win her the ‘ruin the relaxed vibe of the party’ of the year award. She started off the evening, fag in one hand and drink in the other, by informing everyone that all university students only ever reply ‘maybe’ to questions, which bewildered my brother, given he was the only university student at the party. She then mesmerized us all with her intelligence by telling a vapid story of how a class was asked to read a 25,000 thesis on learning and then asked to paraphrase it in two words. After preaching about how two words are more efficient than 25,000 over her 50th cigarette of the night, she asked my brother and I what two words we thought would best describe learning. All I could think of was, “not you” but before I could answer she cut me off, as if the voices in her head had already answered for me. At this point my brother started using his ‘I want to stab you with something sharp and rusty’ toned voice and began a one sided conversation with her, that involved her telling him that every thought he possessed was untrue, as she was The Oracle, and he was a mere university student, so he best not bother arguing.

As I ate my dinner – that consisted of chicken, salad and a roll – it was brought up about how I do not eat meat and various other foods at this point in time, due to my motility disorder and malabsorption. Normally, people nod knowingly and drop the subject to talk about birds or how nice the weather is, because sane people know poking into a strangers health problems is rude. But this woman should be listed in Wikipedia under rude so everyone knows what rude looks like. She started asking probing questions, questions I personally could not be bothered answering so I just phased out for a moment thinking of bunnies and pirate ninjas… Until she started ranting on about how there are precursors responsible for illness. And if I was to go to an old nonspecific Japanese man, he could look back into my family history and find a relative that has been exposed to a nuclear bomb at some point and that, dearest internet, that would explain why I have been unwell and once I knew this information my doctors would rejoice and be able to treat me for every illness I encounter in life. Even decapitation or zombiefication.

I just looked at her for a moment. Wondering what kinds of drugs she was on and if I could tap her veins for said drugs and sell their pure opiate form on the street. I nodded in reply. As much as I would love to explain how ancestral exposure radiation couldn’t possibly cause C.Diff to a batshit crazy women that needs to stop giving out unsolicited advice to strangers, I seriously could not be fucked. I would rather explain how to code a website to a coked up Paris Hilton who is trying to solve a rubik’s cube, while her pet monkey flings poo at me, and I sit in a tube of ice cold water with some pissed of penguins made to wear little penguin hats while dancing the Macarena.

As I stabbed my food, imagining I was stabbing her in the face, I was trying to figure out what she did for a living, what career had made her feel justified to force her opinions upon others. Then she answered my question…

“You see, I’m a journalist…”

Suddenly, everything made perfect sense. She probably writes for some fine publication like ‘Lactating Cats Monthly’ or ‘Alien Anal Probe and Autopsy Weekly’. No, wait. Assumptions… biased views… lack of fact… I bet she works for a tacky current affairs show like Today Tonight. After her confession, she went on to tell everyone about the K.I.S.S technique. According to The Oracle, it can be applied to everything in life and everyone should use it, even doctors performing intricate brain surgery, “screw wimpy little burr holes, lets keep it simple stupid and rip this skull a new one and see what is really under the hood!” Clearly, she forgot to apply K.I.S.S to social conversations at parties.

As the night wore on I went inside to find some the bag of potato chips which I had brought and disappeared mysteriously once I placed them down, as I searched, someone brought up the topic of how I am involved and interested in the internet and HTML/CSS. Upon hearing this, The Oracle decided to impart some wisdom upon me…

“I once did a course in HTML, it was very hard, but I passed of course… You don’t look like someone who would be good at that kind of thing.”

Anyone who knows me knows that when I’m really pissed – I want to rip your head off and shove angry bees down your oesophagus pissed – I have a pissed off face. It pretty much consists of raised eyebrows, pursed lips and narrowed eyes accompanied by sighing in a bid to stop myself from killing you. Very few people have ever been graced by the presence of the pissed off face, in fact, not even the boyfriend nor most of my family have yet to meet it.

As I held a stray bottle opener in one hand, that was the face I was giving her, and for a moment in time she shut the fuck up and walked away.

14 Comments on “The Oracle

  1. Those uni students are obviously smart: faced with a dear old lady like this one, I think I’d be diving for the nearest safe non-committal answer I could find as well.

  2. If I were you I would be picking up litter on a highway somewhere after the judge reminds me that karma isn’t in my hands.

  3. Whoa… dying to know if she was a local journalist, like a real, real journo or a wannabe. The corkscrew thingy (aka the one you were holding and failing to use) in the arm usually dissuades people from continuing any sort of diatribe. Love your blog by the way. It’s mint.

  4. You have a lot more patience than me! I’d have initiated eye-gouging procedures fairly early on in the evening I think…. πŸ™‚

  5. I love to read you blog. Its seems that you vent your anger well through it. I envy the people that get to know about the positive side of you life. But maybe its the unknown that makes me read. Or maybe I only remember the parts that make me feel normal. Thanks for the blog Kitta.

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