Warning Signs of Insanity:

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 30-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.

You wear your boxers on your head because you heard it will
ward of evil dandruff spirits.

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

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

You have meaningful conversations with your toaster.

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

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

You have a serious fear of fabric softener.

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 ask to go into
another room to tell him because “the napkins have ears.”

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

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

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

You see migrating flocks of ducks in the fall and only your
attachment to the toaster keeps you from joining them.

The person you always talk to is invisible to everyone but
you.

You like reading lists like this.