Crazy people are funny sometimes.

This morning, I was awoken by SERIOUS stomach pains, which were caused by the party trots. Then, just as I was falling back into a fitful sleep, my brother called from the loony bin.
Now, when I say my brother called me from the loony bin, that's no euphemism. I mean he's in an actual mental institution. He's thought people were after him for a little over a year now, and the fact that nobody has made an attempt on his life in that time is apparently not enough to convince him otherwise. At this point, however he thinks he'll be okay because he is "Jesus". I'm not kidding. He thinks that he IS Jesus.

Basically he's five years away from being Laura Linney's Brother in Love Actually. Except that I'm not passing up Rodrigo Santoro dick (or any other kind, for that matter) to deal with his crazy ass.

My mentally ill brother was calling to see if I would go to a gun range with him. Specifically, take him to a gun range. (If that doesn't immediately put you off, please read a second time.) So, bro thinks that people are doing voodoo to make his brain melt (because it couldn't be the PSYCHOTROPIC DRUGS), that he is Jesus, and that other people are out to get him. He has just told me a list of things that he thinks to be evidence that someone is performing voodoo on him. The list only proved that he is, indeed, fucking crazy. I'm talking about hearing voices and feeling people blowing on his face.

Am I crazy? Does he think I'M crazy (too)? Who would willingly take a crazy person to a gun range and then hand them a gun? Isn't there a screening process for that?!

He's lucky I even picked up the phone. REAL TALK. At this point, I'm not sure why I did. Maybe in my almost-asleep-haze I figured I'd get it out of the way while I was experiencing painful diarrhea, instead of doing something that I enjoy.