Combobulate: To organize or pull together.

The word discombobulated is thrown around a great deal in modern society. It is widely accepted to mean disorganized. Thus if there are those that are unorganized there must be those that are organized, or combobulated. But who are these combobulators? Lets list some people off and see who's who.

Most accountants: combobulators
Most Plumbers: discombobulators
Harriet Tubman: Great combobulator
President Bush: Great discombobulator
The Mafia: Bad morals, great combobulators
Teenagers: Bad acne, great discombobulators
Donald Trump: One of the great combobulators of our time
Optimus Prime: The greatest Transformer of our time (unrelated but true)

But that's not where the story ends. Actually it is. Thanks for reading.

Matt Hatter's: #2

Matt Hatter's: Home for the Troubled
Name: Jason Withersteen (Maybe)
Possible Aliases: Alexander Wilhelm, John McCarran, Julius Caesar, Julius Irving,
Orange Julius, Fred Anthony, Antonio Fredrickson, Oscar Wood, Woody Woodpecker, and Juliet Sanchez.
Age: Estimated 24
Status: Declining

Oh, well hello there. My name is Jason; I've been here for four years though to be honest I have a hard time remembering so it could have been more like six months. Actually, I don't even really know if that is true because I pathologically lie to myself in my head. That is to say that I have dishonest thoughts. Maybe. I only say maybe because it is entirely possible that I have been lying to myself about lying to myself, which I guess would mean that I am thinking the truth, though it sure is a deceptive way to go about it. These circular thoughts can be so confusing sometimes.

I remember once for three days trying to figure out if the pants I was wearing were clean. I convinced myself that they were, then that they were not, then that I had lied about them being clean, then that I had lied about ever thinking about it in the first place. You don't even want to know where that worm hole leads. Best left that after three days the pants were dirty anyway so it sort of became a moot point. I don't really know if the point is moot or if I am just telling myself that so I will quit thinking about it. Maybe I haven't even thought about it all. Wild stuff right?

Oh well, what am I telling you all this for? There isn't anything you can do about it. My only hope is that this doesn't get posted on one of those pathetic sites that have made up stories. The morons that run those things are such losers. What do like three people visit a month? Idiots. Anyhow I hope that I can get help soon. Either that or I am lying now and I don't want any help. Who's to say? I gotta go try to think about it, I think.

NOTE--Matt Hatter's Place: Home for the Troubled is an on-sight therapy institution specializing in unique psychological quirks. if you or someone you love suffers from some form of psychosomatic condition, please seek proper, professional help.

Matt Hatter's: #1

Matt Hatter's: Home for the Troubled
Name: Brian Torce
Age: 34
Status: progressing

I sometimes forget what I look like. It really isn't a big problem until I go to the public restroom. I feel like I'm always barging in on strangers. "Sorry, sir, I didn't see you standing at the sink." It's embarrassing--for both of us.

I had the hardest time one Halloween. I put on my mask and headed for the party. Three keg cups later, I headed for the bathroom. I strolled in and BAM! Staring me in the eyes was non other than Jason the horror flick guy. Nearly peed myself! I knocked the Glade Plug-in from the wall as I struggled for the door. The mask came off--Holy Crap! I saw his face! The image haunts me to this day. I can't look in a mirror without seeing those evil eyes...

NOTE--Matt Hatter's Place: Home for the Troubled is an on-sight therapy institution specializing in unique psychological quirks. if you or someone you love suffers from some form of psychosomatic condition, please seek proper, professional help.

Our First Error

To the Readers,
I would like personally to thank Joe K. for bringing a serious matter to the editor. Joe is on the ball, but the editor is not. He let a grave spelling error slip in our mission statement. Truth be told, I don't worry too much about the error--mostly because Greg and Michael have no real mission...

Hitherto, our mission statement read "...we don't right about dentistry". This is not true. We do right about dentistry...wait...we don't right about dentistry? Oh, we write about dentistry. Well, we may not actually right about dentistry, but we don't write about it either!

More importantly, however, is that The Odd Thought readers are the kind of people perfectly willing to tell us when we suck! Unfortunately, this could make for a lot of work in the future! We reserve all write to make fundamental errors.

In conclusion, we at The Odd Thought will always right our wrongs, but will always write them too!

The Editors

My Will Be Done

Self Reflection
A couple months back, I decided to make a striking change in my life. After some self reflection--and crying--I began to wonder if the unhappiness that had so perfumed my world could somehow be my fault. Never!

There is a prayer said by many with the line "...thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven". Never really thought much about it, I always sloughed it off as more religious rhetoric. But now I understand the symbolism. Earth: the physical world. Heaven: the spiritual/mental world. Thy: old speak for you. So... you will be done in the physical world as you will be done in the mental. Snap! That is, however you think, that is how you are.

This actually makes a great deal of sense. Don't you think about what you want for dinner before you order it? Don't you decide what to say before you say it? Don't you have to buy women's shoes before you can wear them? Wait--you don't? Yeah, me either...

This may sound like more tree hugging hippy crap--and it may be--but none the less, it may be true (don't kill the messenger, but you can give him a job--if he cuts his hair!).

First and foremost I consciously stopped myself from saying negative things. No more "today sucks" or "I hate this..." or "Greg's a jackass". Amazingly, like a raging ego maniac, the negativity in my mind shriveled at the silence of its own voice. About a week into my adventure, I had little negative emotion left.

Since, the world is a much nicer place. I don't expect people to be mean to me. Snide remarks and attitudes don't offend me. I don't shiver in the pit of my soul at the thought of going to work, and my purple flats look spectacular--ehr, I mean, no...

Look, I'm not worried about the prayer or anything; it ain't the way I groove. But it may be more than just some dumb line. More importantly, it offers us a powerful truth. The world may only suck because you think it does, and it may stop sucking if you stop telling it too.

Dumb Is My Mecca

Dumb is my Mecca…
For every person, for every human, there is a point at which fulfillment is sought. People strive towards this goal for a lifetime. It is the greatest quest of all, the literal pursuit of happiness that our forefathers spoke of. Some take the route of mental gains. More still try to reach this brass ring via career success. Good for them. As for me, I make less than most pan handlers, Can't even spell philosophy without a dictionary and the last potluck I went to gave me gas. No joke, there was a lot of celery in that stuffing. (I know the last statement is unrelated but if you learn nothing else, take from this that celery is a spice not a staple. Not now, not ever.) The search continues. One thing is certain though, there has to be something to hang the hat on right? 

Five automobile accidents, the destruction of two staircases from Tupperware sleds, a chronic shoulder injury from an incident involving sumo suits on a hockey rink, and the removal from a very classy restaurant after what can only be classified as "misuse of beer foam" have taught me two things. One, I'm really only a partridge in a pear tree away from having my own holiday song. Second, I seem to have an ever-growing knack for idiocy. 

It wasn't until my neighbor politely informed me that although glare may prevent me from seeing them, they were not affected the same way and would appreciate if I could close the blinds before showering, that it hit me. Dumb is my Mecca! It is where I like to hang out. Now don't go getting all doctor Phil on me just yet. These acts are not a cry for attention. Hardly. I tend to be amply loud enough to get by without gags for effect. Theses samples provided above, and believe you me they are just that, a small sample, serve no other purpose then to enlighten you to what is frighteningly my truth. I'm dumb… I just try to be smart about it.

Thank you.

Porn Ography

So I'm thinking today about stuff as I do. You know, general philosophy of life kind of stuff. And then it hits me: if oceanography is the study of the ocean, then is pornography the study of porn? Finally, a question that deserves a real answer.

Although I have yet to find a University offering a degree in Pornography, I did find the root of the word. It comes from the Greek pornographos: porne meaning prostitute and graphein meaning to write. That is to say, pronography literally means "to write about prostitutes". Go figure! 

By the same logic, a bio-porn-ography would be a writen work about the life of a prostitute and an auto-bio-porn-orgraphy would be a self written piece about the life of a prostitute. Biopornography: a torid tale of sex, money, and the quest for fulfillment... A soon-to-be best seller, I'm sure...


1. Idiots make the world go round; unfortunately they are rarely wearing pants when they do it!
2. Saying “I told you so” makes a horrible icebreaker for a frank conversation on venereal disease.
3. Cows may have more nipples, but you have to ask yourself “without opposable thumbs to pinch them, what’s the point?”
4. If the early bird gets the worm…I’m just gonna sleep in and catch lunch.
5. Fishermen are hookers, you know, if you think about it.
6. Writing is for suckers, but I just wrote that so…you know
7. Six is definitely enough, seven is almost too many.

The Psychiatrist

Smoking Brain
A man goes to his psychiatrist for some advice.

“Doctor Jerry,” he says, “there’s something wrong in my marriage.”
“What’s that?” the therapist asks.
“It’s the sex—my wife insists on turning off the lights.”
“And this bothers you?”
“No, it doesn’t bother me. I just makes it hard to see her though the window.”
“The window?”
“I see,” the therapist pauses. “How do you feel about your wife having sex with another man?”
The man answers: “I don’t know—Jerry is a pretty nice guy…”
Frustrated, the therapist shouts: “Sir! Your wife is cheating on you—wait, my name is Jerry…”
“Oops, I’m sorry, did I say my wife?”