Hypno-Coin

No. 24 of 31 - Thermometer series

Note: I do not fully endorse the use of hypnosis to bend people to your will. Not fully. But what practical good is it if you can’t bend them a little, if it’s something harmless, something beneficial to yourself, and something they would likely do in their normal consciousness if you wasted the time and effort to convince them with wheedling and reason?

Do I have a Hypno-Coin? Did I ever have a Hypno-Coin. I do not have a Hypno-Coin now, not at the present moment. It’s gone, being held for evidence. My only hope is that the little plastic overlay, which doesn’t have a flat surface but grooves that gives it its distinctive hypno flavor and look, will not yield good prints. Meaning that if the ladies follow through on their threats to sue the pants off me, it’ll be their word against mine. And who would anyone believe, a guy smart enough to hypnotize people with a cheap toy “coin” (It’s not a coin, just a circle) or two dizzy girls up all night after a slumber party and a bender at that. Under those conditions I could’ve yelled at them from the spire of the courthouse and they’d have been hypnotized.

Full disclosure on what I did: They were going to run away with nasty boys. I flipped out a Hypno-Coin and persuaded them -- only reinforcing their deeply-held sense of right and wrong -- to go back home and live happily ever after.

But I can see how people might be suspicious, an old man on top of the courthouse with a Hypno-Coin. We hear of nasty stuff all the time. Pictures in your yearbook, being drunk and out of control, wild and crazy guys. Sure, I have secrets, but nothing too bad. But I have a reputation to keep. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, tell my secrets, you know I must ... not. Ha ha, the funny part is ME with SECRETS. What could I possibly have done? Make the list. I’ve been a church mouse, and what happens in church stays in church. In the secure confines of the confessional: “Father, I have sinned ... Seriously, it's all quite benign."

I’d never want relationships or subscribers from some weird hypnosis, drawn away from their own clear and respected will. There’d be no point, because it'd be all me. The result is bad. “I waved a coin in front of this person and got a subscriber for life.” That’d be meaningless. The only ones I want are those who willingly choose, then cut thickets away with machetes, then crawl over broken glass, then raise their hand and without force, say those tender words: “I swear on my life to read your blog everyday, to meld my mind with it and follow its benevolent dictates, to distribute its teachings, and to insinuate myself, without force or coercion, into the lives of others, that someday of their own free will, they too would be in your thrall.” Then we bandage their knees and I'm suddenly out 40 bucks for a new pair of pants. Hit those thermometers!

But their eagerness is flattering. Still, though, I’m waving my hand like “That all?” ... “And furthermore, to pass on the same imperative to them, that their minds might also be guided by your superior knowledge, not limited to the trivia you know about chickens, roosters, Hypno-Coins and Abraham Lincoln, but encompassing your deep and rich knowledge on all other subjects under the sun, the sun we see in our common sky, and the suns of other worlds too.”

OK, we’re getting there, but there’s one more vow I think you'll want to make: “And lastly, I will forbear reading the blogs of Pastun and Iraqi bloggers, knowing that their opinions, while valid in their surroundings and for their people, do not make fun reading for people around here with a totally different upbringing.”

Very nice. Our minds ... now ... slowly ... and with your own will remaining ... do part.

Newsletter -- Mother Whistled For Me

Friends, I'm sorry to report, this is going to be bad news. I've lost -- I'll repeat that -- I've lost all control of the newsletter. It is now in the hands of my former staff lady, Myra Kula Electra.

This is a disaster of the most gigantic proportions, not to be equaled (in my opinion) by anything in all of recorded history. I'm thinking of the time I fell through the ice when I was about 12 and almost froze to death. This is worse. Because I loved my newsletter, I gave birth to it, I expected to grow old with it. If you were lucky enough to get a subscription, I'm sorry, it's gone, finito.

I've been out of touch on the blog -- and I know you've been wondering what's going on -- but it was through no fault of my own. I was more or less unconscious (in a hypnotic stupor) for the last few days. Yes, I have had scattered moments of normal consciousness, which I have had to use wisely, leaving no extra time for blogging. In a stupor of this sort you lose control of certain bodily functions, which means extended periods of unpleasant clean-up. Made worse in this case by having to go out for baby wipes and not making it home till the next day.

Here's what happened. One, Myra Kula Electra is one duplicitous so-and-so. I suppose I should've seen it coming when she was willing to have sex in public with four prisoners on July 4. I don't know what I chalked that up to entirely, although I saw the prisoners as the aggressors. It looks now like she wanted me to get mad at them, as I did, and send them back to the work release farm, as I did, leaving the field to steal the newsletter wide open for her.

With the prisoners gone, she and I had a good couple of days, growing in a tender friendship, I thought. Once I have a relationship like that, I'm very open; it's a family weakness. I want to make a good impression and I see total honesty as the way. So I went on and on, sharing the stories of my life. Not even once thinking she might ever use it against me.

What an idiot I am! This was Myra Kula Electra I was dealing with! THE Myra Kula Electra! Who writes the famous scandal stories in the Daily News, front page stuff. Teachers seducing students, treasurers embezzling millions, deals made through bribery, penis pictures in the legislature, children cheating in the spelling bee, sordid, lascivious, disgusting, terrible stuff, you name it. Why would a guy in his right mind -- me -- feel comfortable telling someone like her his weaknesses? He'd have to be an idiot!

I told her how easy it is to hypnotize me, which was my biggest mistake. Because who better to misuse that information than a strong scandal-mongering woman like her. We're not talking about a fainting violet in Myra Kula Electra! No, she's as tough as they come and she knows it -- compared to her nails are spaghetti. So I'm easy to hypnotize. And then I gave away the whole store, revealing that "Whistler's Mother" is my Kryptonite. If I just glance at "Whistler's Mother" I feel faint, but I still have the power to turn away. But if it's right in my face, let's say, I'm a goner, open to anything that ... say ... someone with an evil agenda might suggest.

Thank goodness I didn't tell her the one thing that brings me out of it! Because that's what saved me. And I'm only glad I even got hungry, because the short periods of consciousness were getting fewer and farther between. Mostly taken up, as I said, by personal hygiene. But after a few days of it I was mostly cleaned out, and feeling hungry again. When I instinctively opened the freezer and caught a glimpse of freezer-burnt round steak, and that was it -- I completely snapped out of it! That's the only antidote I know of.

The whole thing was now instantly clear to me. Like the guy on Queensrÿche's Operation: Mindcrime album, "I remember now..."

Myra had gone out on errands, I was in the house. I saw her pull in later and go into the garage. She messaged me to come out. And when I did there were large copies of "Whistler's Mother" hung everywhere, with Myra blocking the door. Then when I was in a stupor, she directed me, "Sign here," etc. Which were legally binding contracts, signed unwillingly, yes, but I can't prove it! I'm stymied! I'm looking at my copy right now. Fortunately she stopped at just the newsletter or I wouldn't have a place to sit my butt, as I am now doing, to cry.

I know I let everyone down. You were expecting a newsletter, and now what? It's gone! She even thought of a non-competition clause, that I can't start a new newsletter or serve on the staff of one till my death, at which time, face it, it'll be moot.

I hate, despise, loathe, and curse the name of Myra Kula Electra. She disgusts me like few things do. But I won't allow her to get the last word. I'm cancelling my subscription to the Daily News. Putting a dagger in that puppy right now...

THE END.

I Command You!

We're going to do something that will do you a lot of good. From now on, for a while, you're going to take your orders from me.

First, let me say, Thank you for your lack of sass. It wasn't entirely expected, although of course it was my hope. Docility gets a such a bad rap, I like to call it trust instead. You are to be commended, praised for it. Don't let anyone get you down.

Seriously, don't let anyone get you down, that's an order.

OK, a few ground-rules just to settle any reservations: 1) I command you to reserve enough of your own will that your obedience will be completely voluntary. 2) When in doubt, obey me without question. I mean you no harm. No harm will come to you from me by malicious intent. You are entirely safe (from me) while under my control. Naturally, I can't be responsible for unscrupulous associates who may come into our association, although it is my vow that if I ever take on associates, I will adhere to the most stringent standards relating to background checks and the likelihood of their perfect obedience to me.

You've had a hard life, you told me. You've had troubles making wise decisions. According to you, you've seldom -- perhaps never -- made one wise decision. Don't worry, you're not alone. Most of my cases are like that. But look, you're off to a good start already! Because in submitting to me, you've already made one good decision! So that's one good decision in a row, or one with which to start your row. I will see that you make good decisions all along the way. With perfect obedience, you will make many good decisions.

Now, what are we to do about your family? You told them something of the nature of our relationship. I wish you hadn't, but now that it's done we have to deal with it. You may be surprised to hear me say this, but you do not have to cut them off. Not entirely. Periodic visits and calls are allowable, given sufficient cause and advance notice. In part, it depends on the influence they have over you, whether it's healthy. If it's healthy, who knows, you might see them every fifth Christmas, or every third funeral for verifiably close loved ones.

But enough about you. What am I getting out of this relationship? Of course there is the satisfaction of knowing I could be of help. As the careful apple picker gently removes the worm from the fruit and eventually sets it free to live the rest of its life in peace, so you can look forward to many years of fruitfulness and good things. Then there is, more selfishly, the growth in my own spirit, as the exercise of my personal power has been vigorous, sustained, and successful. I have both done good and received that benefit.

You are a nice person. Thank you for coming to me. In the kitchen -- if you just go through that door you will see it -- is a sink full of dishes. There's soap under the sink -- just open the cabinet and look down. Do you know the steps to washing dishes? If you do, I dismiss you to go do that job. If not, I will sketch them out for you point by point. You do not have to dry them by hand. Just put them in the dish-drainer. I'm thinking it will take you around 35 minutes to get done. I will be in my study, relaxing. When you get done, please come to my study, knock and wait for me to tell you to enter. You will be told then the next chore on the list.