The Most Sane Madman in the Maddest Madhouse

*Ladies and Gentlemen, Dragons and Wolverines, give a warm mad genius club welcome to a budding writer (I don't care what he says, you judge!) making almost his debut appearance: my son, Marshall Hoyt. (And sorry this is so late. He and I had a miscommunication about where this was).*



If you’ve never heard of me, or are unaware of my existence, I can clear that right up for you. Sarah A. Hoyt will often make references to family members, including the cats…
Unfortunately, the cats are the ones that get called by their actual names. My brother and I, instead, are referred to as the infamous #1 son and #2 son (Respectively).Now, you’ve undoubtedly heard something from #1 son (Or, Robert, as the mentally stable like to call him), but probably have never read anything of mine unless you stalk Mike Kabongo and remember who won his little “Letter to the Editor” contest two years ago. If this is the case, you’re creepier than the guy I portrayed in that letter.

Now despite my mother’s many objections to this point, I am actually not that good of a writer. I either hit upon a very funny style, or an analytical, serious tone in my work. I have tried this “Write from the heart, express your emotions, snort rainbows and kiss unicorns” method that they often insist we use in school (Except in Chemistry, they don’t like it. If you’re getting emotional about the Periodic Table and start crying whenever you hear the name of certain elements they get you put away), but it just doesn’t suit me well and I often go overboard and make it sound like I sacrif iced a goat to the book they assigned us.

Despite this, at the request of my mother, I am your guest this morning… Or afternoon. It really depends on when you people read this, I have yet to observe the migration patterns of writers – one of the deadliest species on earth – so you’re all still such a mystery to me.

Let me just say this right now before any confusion arises: I AM NOT A WRITER. Yes, I am perfectly aware that the other three members of my family are happily in their rooms beating their characters over the head with a stick and writing them into novels and short stories, but I do not do such things with my time.

I refuse to write; mainly because I do not have the aforementioned “Talent” my mother believes I have. Instead spend my time doing things other than writing… like telling my parents I’m not a writer.

Unfortunately, despite the fact that I am NOT a writer, and the only one in my family who is not, I do get invaded by characters from time to time, and they bug the crap out of me, especially considering a lot of them are my family’s left-over characters. I have no clue what story most of these characters belong in, some of them are so strange and unearthly they couldn’t possibly be put into any logical story, which is probably why they were discarded.

Some of them, it’s easier to tell where they were meant to be, and which family member cast that character in my way, such as the shape shifting, time travelling musketeers (I’ll give a prize to whoever can correctly guess which family member(s) created them, and how the idea came to be in the first place).

My characters, the few that I have, are easier to place, such as the man who attempts to break the infamous “Time Loop” that supposedly can physically never be broken. But despite all this, I usually keep these characters under control and locked away in my closet (Fear not S.O.C.P., Society Of Characters’ Protection, they are well fed), and move on with my day.

Now, although I’m the sanest of my family (Quite obviously, since I’m the one that’s not a writer), I have scared many people who’ve only met me when I tell them that I am in fact the most sane one in my family.

“Why?” you may ask. Because in all truthfulness I am utterly insane, as is. Im like a monkey who believes he’s a human double agent needing to pretend he’s cat in order to properly protect the earth from the attack of space cats.

I do not take pride in the fact that I’m insane, last time I did that I was sent to the school phsycologist. Instead I let my family show by example how truly insane a person can get, so that I look greatly sane in comparison.

Now, I do love my family dearly, but they are the oddest bunch in the world, and I imagine that anyone else in my position would have jumped out the window long ago. I have a certain amount of tolerance, and I can stand my brother’s characters tripping me and laughing, and my mother’s characters getting into constant fights, and even my own characters poking me relentlessly. But this makes family dinners slightly unpleasant, and family outings a long trip with everyone (And their characters) in the car… But despite all this it is quite fun to watch the characters duke it out every five minutes, and it creates for a wonderful afternoon.

When I started writing this, I expected to write something interesting, perhaps something explaining why, as much I love “Back to the Future” and its two sequels, their logic is overly flawed and leaves several timelines without a Marty. But I suppose I ended up writing completely random and unimportant drivel. And if you’ve managed to read up to this point without having walked away in boredom, than I congratulate you, and insist you seek help.

If I am ever forced to write here again, I’ll be sure to have one of my family members put up a one day’s notice so you can avoid my post at all costs, and have a pleasant, not-so-boring day. Till then, here are your morning selective seratonin reuptake inhibitors and coffee, now go enjoy yourself you wild thang’.