A dybbuk (dibbick) is a malicious possessing spirit in Kabbalah and European Jewish folklore

So the Dibbick shows up. Enters your body. One day you’re good; The next day you’ve got this “Being” in your head. Tormenting you. Forcing you to do things you would never do on your own. Up till now you thought Ambition was a concept. Cold. Abstract. Representing a force or urge. Generated by your emotions. But turns out it’s a actual Entity. A Ghost. A formally living human being. This Entity is now inside of you.

Forget Psychology

So blame the chaos in your head on Mean Ass Spirits. Or midget devils. Mischievous little bastards. Motivating you to act, or holding you back. Pestering your thoughts. Disturbing your sleep, vexing your dreams. This is why you have good days and bad days. Psychology has nothing to do with your problems. You’re quite normal. It’s a Dybbuk, jangling the chains in the attic.

A Dibbick!!!

My dybbuk forces me to hang weekends at this frigid house. A pad with the Fox News crazies on the tube 24/7, a pack of lunatic Trumpies, thumping their bile…I’m freezing my ass off…not as bad as a couple weeks ago…but still…freezing my ass off cuz Joan don’t wanna run the wildly expensive heat…freezing my ass off with Trumpies vomiting fear and hate…what the hell am I doing over here?

Sunday morning 24 March

Hanging at Joan’s pad.

She’s got a Trumpie Dibbick rattling around in her head. Or she don’t. Not all Trumpy’s are cursed by a Dibbick. Plenty of Trumpies are Trumpies because…well, because they’re Trumpies!

Got my corner table set up. Yeti mug of hot coffee. Computer starts up real good in the cold. I’m working on my free booze sample gig invoices. If I don’t turn in the invoices, I don’t get paid. Gotta churn out a few bucks. What the hell.

My life could be worse.

I could be lying Naked in the Snow while a Old Dude with a knobby stick beats me over the head. Or…I could be living in Cancer Alley. Near the banks of the Mississippi river, beside a petrochemical plant. Wait’n to get ill and die. Or…I could be a lonely amphibian. Yeah! I could be a hibernating Toad…wait a minute! That aint bad, a hibernating toad. I wonder what they dream about down in their hole, sleeping the good sleep?

They wake up and think…whoa! Thank God I’m a Toad. I could be living in Cancer Alley.

Is a Dybbuk forcing me to hang at Joan’s pad on weekends?

Na, maybe not.

Joan’s my girlfriend. A Trumpy Dybbuk, sure. But nobody’s perfect. You kinda need a girlfriend in yer old age. Kinda takes the edge off yer misery. She don’t wanna hang on Scruffy cuz my toilets don’t work. And it’s not too clean. So I stay at her pad on weekends. Spending quality time, they say.

Who says quality time? Trendoid Fuck Heads. That’s who.

Plus, I got logistical reasons for hanging here. A day or two a week away from the Marina keeps me under the radar, sorta. No use rubbing my illegal liveaboard status in Raul the Harbormaster’s face. This way, I got a hose that don’t kink. So, yeah, I guess a Dybbuk’s got nothing to do with me hanging at Joan’s pad.

The alternative is live in a car two days a week.

Which I could do, no big deal. I haven’t decided on it yet. But I’m real close. Spring’s here. That means warmer days. All I need’s a minivan. Like this one.

Plenty of room to stretch out.

What’s the alternative?

This:

I told the dude I got dibs on this space. He said, fine, let me know when you’re ready to camp.

No problem.

I’ll be a seventy plus year old dude sleeping under a office building.

I love it!

How to tell a Dibbick

I don’t know. There’s no way of telling. You could be possessed by a Dybbuk. How do you feel? You feel the urge to whack somebody over the head? Is the Entity suggesting you commit heinous acts?

I believe I’m free of a Dybbuk. Because I have no urge to do anything period. Except maybe Blog. And Eat. And watch Youtube videos. I have no ambition. Nothing of any importance spurs my interest. I got very little MoJo. Shit. I could lay around Scruffy all day long. Maybe barbeque some jumbo shrimp. Drink Booze Sample wine. It’s like…all my used to be normal human urges kinda melted away as I drifted into old age. Now I’m old and I don’t care.

How do you tell somebody’s got a mean ass Dybbuk inside em?

We’ve entered perilous times thanks to the swarms of Dybbuks crashing into harmless bystanders. You can’t go out on the street these days without a Dybbuk accosting you. In light of this alarming situation, it might be prudent to have a means of identifying roaming Dybbuks. It’s like, if you’re driving in your car, stuck in traffic, as usual, and a perfect stranger rushes up to you, it’s fair to say this dude is possessed by a Dybbuk!

Course, by then it’s too late. You’ve been robbed.

So maybe you’re better off staying indoors.

Hide, like I do.

Okay…I guess I’m done here. It’s now late afternoon and I’m sitting aboard Scruffy. A tuna fish sandwich and a tall glass of free booze sample wine looms in my immediate future.

I gotta go.

Have a nice day!