(As usual, an interesting number – look at those four 2s! – can mean a deviation from fictional story-telling into an autobiographical vignette).
I hate it when people make fun of me. I find it really depressing. I don’t know why some people have to put others down. In New Zealand it’s called the “tall poppy syndrome”; no one is allowed to stand higher than anyone else.
Someone told me that people are critical because they’re jealous. I’m not sure about that. I think they like making fun of me because they think I’m ugly or something. No one ever invites me to their place for a social occasion or makes a pleasant visit to my place.
It’s not just looks either. They make fun of the way I talk and the stupid things I say. Some even point and laugh. For example the lady librarian at our local library was hysterical with laughter when I took out a book on Greek Philosophy. She said, “What do you want that for?” I told her she wouldn’t know a quiddity from an oddity. I understand Greek philosophy quite well, thank you very much. That’s what I said to her and she screamed even louder with laughter. “What a Hoot!” she shrieked. “Toot! Toot! What a Hoot!”
I don’t like Planet Earth very much. When my leader asked me to represent Planet Hoot on Planet Earth I thought it would be fun. But as it has turned out, it’s the Earthlings that get all the fun; making constant ridicule of my eleven tentacles, five eyes, and twenty-two nipples.