Probably not the best idea the night before you have to take the Minnesota Multiphasic Personal Inventory test, but I saw Fahrenheit 9/11 tonight. (Bad idea, because now my paranoia is running pretty high.)

I’m almost looking forward to taking the test. I’m wondering if it’s the same inventory I saw in a movie in a Psych 101 type of class many, many moons ago. In that test, the clients were being asked true/false questions and the one that stands out to me now years later is “Do you sometimes feel like your ideas are turning into insects?” While I in no way believe I have had a psychotic breach and I don’t want to have one any time, I have always wondered what that must feel like — having your ideas turn into something tangible like that. It’s an impossible place for my head to wrap itself around.

Of course, I aslo did a little reading and found out that there is some controversy in using the MMPI in employment evaluations. I’m trusting I won’t be scoring major freak scores in hypochondriasis, depression, hysteria, psychopathic deviate, paranoia, psychasthenia, schizophrenia, and hypomania. I’m also trusting that the guy knows what he’s doing, and it’s the new modern version that doesn’t test “Masculinity-Feminity” schales that score faggedyness as clinically problematic and pathological.

Meanwhile, Fahrenheit 9/11 should be mandatory viewing for anyone who is intending to vote. Maybe everythijng isn’t truly a conflict of interest, but fucking Bush should try openness and full disclosure every now and again to keep the light of honest glowing. Hard to not conclude he’s dirty and corrupt as can be given the cloak of darkness Bushie and the gang work in… Why aren’t they subjected to the same level of information gathering the Patriot Act is hip with, huh? Why’s that, huh?

Bringing Michael Moore and my woes together, there have been a lot of folks hearing about my problems who instantly react — Patriot Act, chilling effect, modern-day censorship, political correctedness run amok. Freedom’s just another word for something we used to have but are lulled into thinking we must give up.

VOTE. FUCKING VOTE. AND GET RID OF THE A-HOLE WHO STOLE THE WHITEHOUSE AND DRAGGED IN HIS RAGBAG POSSE OF DICKWADS. (By the way, the creepiest moment of the flick is before the opening credits start to role — watching Wolfowitz sucking on his comb to get it good and spitty to work through his hair. What the fuck, grotesque old dude? You’re not friggin’ Alfalfa.)