PSA

Comedy Relief Alert: Wander over to Cmdr Zero's blog. Your attention is directed to the comment stream - now closed - on the linked post. Put away any beverages beforehand, unless you have a spare keyboard.

Apparently, Micah Jones is off his meds, and doesn't care who knows it. And he's convinced that the entire internet is talking to him, and that everyone online needs to clear all information with him. He's helpfully let us all know that he's in Tampa, and knee-jerk posted his contact phone number everywhere, with all the thoughtful circumspection of a dog with diarrhea shitting wherever it walks. He's lonely, and apparently needs a phone buddy or three to give him a call. Up to you, gentle reader, to decide whether or not you need your own pet whackadoodle chat partner. To be fair, we're pretty certain Micah may already be having several conversations, before the phone ever rings. YMMV.

(Anyone who gets ChatGPT to start crank-calling him and occupying his time 24/7 with an endless AI PShrink convo is a tech wizard. Just saying. Failing that approach, perhaps Florida readers, being more familiar with Florida Man in his native habitat, could give a shout out to the local Tampa area mental health crisis team? Before Micah has a stroke, or ends up in a tower picking off random passersby...)

This is an actual - and frequent - psych diagnosis IRL.
If the straightjacket fits...

Micah went from zero to Psych Job in 0.2 seconds, with such regrettable single-mindedness, that CZ evidently felt there was nothing else to do for it but to close comments on a post, something AFAIK unwitnessed in living memory on CZ's blog.

Random whackjobs is why nearly everyone on every blog moderates comments, and as in this case, is proof of why we can't have nice things. The internet has proven, over time, to be a 100% predictor of the prevalence of undiagnosed psychiatric malfunctions in society, to six decimal places, and demonstrates to anyone looking that the greatest unaddressed market niche is developing a dart gun with ammunition that comes in human doses of Haldol, Geodon, Zyprexa, and Valium flavors. (Ruger, Smith & Wesson: I'm looking at you. Call your office.)

(Micah, Word To Your Mother: Lighten up, Francis. I know you've had quite a week, on your first three days on the internet. We all get that you're bat-shit cray-cray. It's okay, brother. Acknowledging the problem is the first step to solving it. But I'm heart-attack serious here:

The computer monitor is not talking to you, 

street drugs are not your friends, 

and getting back on your regular meds is the only way you're going to keep yourself out of the rubber room at the local hospital. Hand to God.

Do the hard thing, and get back on your meds, man. Srsly. It's going to be okay, if you just stop listening to The Voices In Your Head. No need to reply here. We've clocked out of work, and we don't do freelance mental health care and counselling on this blog. Maybe call the White House switchboard instead. (Or, not. Your choice.) Operators are standing by, and I promise if you do, you'll rapidly have all the attention you seek, and 24/7/365 access to the mental health professionals you need. Probably for the next 30-50 years. BTW, we heard someone at the White House has been fucking Jodie Foster. Are you going to let that guy get away with poaching your girlfriend like that?)