On my daily walk to the post office/bank/Register of Deeds yesterday, I came across this:


Actually, what you see above are the remnants of what was there yesterday.  I took this picture on my walk today because I am an idiot and only decided to blog today about what was there yesterday.  “Of course it’ll still be there!” I said to myself.  Idiot.

Yesterday the above was a piece of letter-sized paper duct taped to the side of a building.

That’s duct tape, by the way.  Not duck tape.  There is, to my knowledge, no such adhesive.  But, if there were, would it be for ducks or made from ducks?  Why and where would you tape a duck?  Would there be PETA protests over tape made from ducks?  I want to shake PETA people.  Paul McCartney is a member of PETA.  I don’t like him much anymore and I used to lurrrrve Paul.  He named his daughter Beatrice.  I wanted to name Eve Beatrice and call her Bea, but my friends rolled their eyes at me. 

Did I mention that these are daily walks I take?  Daily, loooong, loooonely walks.  

So, on the piece of paper was neatly typed a full page of crazy.  I wanted to carefully read and study this wonderful treasure, but I felt kind of awkward standing there in the middle of the sidewalk.  And, oh, how I wanted to rip it down and take it with me.  I almost, almost did it — stuffed it into my manila folder and scampered off, making eye contact with no one.  But what if I got a paper cut from it and the same microscopic exotic organisms that had invaded this once sane person’s brain through their ear canal and driven them to raving lunacy a la Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan gleefully entered my bloodstream?

I have a family to think about, after all.

Anyway, this diatribe was basically rambling nonsense, but the gist of it was that a person named Patricia had infiltrated the person’s family, stolen all their money and foretold in a sinister manner that the author would be an alcoholic because he/she liked crushed ice from a blender.  Or…something like that.

But my favorite part, oh, my absolute favorite part was this:  affixed with the aforementioned duct tape to the top center of the paper was…wait for it…a single-serve Food Lion tea bag.  String and all!  I mean, y’all, this tea bag was pointedly attached.  It meant something.  It hammered the point home, man.

So, I’ve drawn three possible conclusions from my latest adventure into Downtown’s streetside mental ward.  One: this poor soul, is, in fact, mentally ill.  He or she has probably been abandoned by or abandoned his or her family, is homeless and has no idea how and/or desire to obtain proper care for his or her illness.  He or she is probably also addicted to alcohol and/or substances and lives a very sad and dangerous life on the street.


The craziness on the paper was typed.  So, this leads me to Two:  the author of the paper obviously has access to a computer.  Therefore, he or she has it together enough to find a computer, find paper, open up a word processing program, type using pretty much proper punctuation and sentence structure (which is more than I can say for some “sane” people I know) and print it out.  They also had the mental fortitude required to find and make use of the duct tape, as well as the highly symbolic tea bag.  This leads me to believe that the person is either a high-functioning crazy person or a government worker. 

Finally, Three:  the paper/tea bag manifesto was written and assembled by the CIA.  The language on it, while seemingly innocently insane to the casual passerby, is actually instructions for an international spy (code name: Patricia) for her next underground mission.  The fact that it’s gone today only furthers my theory that the message meant for “Patricia” was usurped by her nemesis, “Barbara”, so that “Patricia” must now rely only on her own cunning to complete the mission, as she is a secret double agent and will not be recognized or claimed by her own government.

Loooong walks, people.