“In the old days, we used to drink water when we were thirsty. That’s the operant word, ‘thirsty.’ But now instead we ‘’hydrate’ and that is not a @#%*&#% word, WE JUST MADE IT UP.”

—Lewis Black.

ROLLING FORK—On Monday, I became Lewis Black.

You know, he’s the foul-mouthed, but really clever and funny comedian, whose act is to be truly angry and frustrated about much of life. I love Lewis Black. But I did not wish to become him. It was forced upon me and I transmorphed.

You will recall that we experienced a little thunderstorm event on Sunday, which deposited some rain, a small amount of hail and brought with it a brief period of somewhat powerful winds. And so, therefore, on Monday morning, I got up, awakened my grandson and after but a brief while, took him to school, which I found to be completely abandoned, save one nice lady who told me there was no school because there was no power there.

That was all right, and several people, it seems, had tried to inform me of that earlier. But I did not receive those messages, because I quickly discovered that both my home and my newspaper, with the exception of lights, HAD NOTHING. No phone, no fax, and but for a fleeting few moments, no Internet service.

That is not a good thing for a newspaper, so via cell phone, we contacted the nice people at the phone company to tell them. They said that all our service would be restored by 7 p.m. “at the latest,” and told us they would forward our office calls to my cell phone, which they did. We thanked them, because we did not know then that they WERE LYING.

About 30 minutes later, another nice lady from AT&T called my cell phone to “verify” her “order” to unforward the office phone calls. Still partially myself, I told her no, that was a mistake, to which she rather continuously said  to me, “but my order says.” I began to transmorph at that moment and finally told her, “Look lady, WHY WOULD I WANT YOU TO DESTROY THE ONLY WAY IN THE WORLD THAT ANYBODY, INCLUDING YOU HAS TO REACH ME?” I also told her that whoever had given her that order did not have enough sense to be giving anybody any orders.

She said she would make a note of that.

Then another nice lady from a funeral home called to tell me that she was having a hard time faxing an obituary to me. I told her why, to which she replied, “Well, when will I be able to fax it to you?” And to her, I replied, “YOU CAN FAX IT ALL DAY LONG IF YOU WANT TO, WHAT I DON’T KNOW IS WHEN I CAN GET IT.”

A scant 24 hours earlier, a truly dear, sweet lady had told me that she had been brought to tears when her  husband had dropped the F-bomb on her on his way out the door to go to church. You know, the two-word obscene combo that combines the F-word and “you” ’ to make sure you take it personally. I told that dear lady that for her obviously wretched and poorly bred husband to say that to her was horrible and I was sorry and while I had unfortunately directed that term at some men, I had never done so to any woman in my life.

However, had I been forced to talk to exactly one more idiot woman on Monday, I do not believe I WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN ABLE TO SAY THAT ANYMORE. Because I was, by then, Lewis Black.

I took the Lord’s name in vain on Monday, albeit creatively. At some point Monday, amid some small degree of what was legitimate anger and frustration, I exclaimed: “GREAT JUMPING JESUS ON A POGO STICK.” I am not proud of that. And that was not the first time I have cursed, occasionally creatively in my life. I was not proud of those times either. I do feel that this time was mitigated somewhat, however, because on Monday I had become Lewis Black, and Lewis Black curses just a whole lot.

And now it is well past 7 p.m., and as I gaze out my doors and windows into the evening’s gloom, I observe that the scores of repair people who all day on this Monday have scurried about town like ants are no longer visible. It is my conclusion that they have gone home and I STILL HAVE NOTHING.

And because of that, I am fearful. I am fearful because I have some reason to believe that now, rather than being maybe  just a little odd, different, perhaps a bit eccentric, the person formerly known as Ray Mosby, is instead tonight STARK, RAVING INSANE.

(Ray Mosby is publisher of the Deer Creek Pilot and was recognized by the Mississippi Press Association with the 2010 Oliver Emmerich Award for Editorial Excellence.)