I’m worried about my brain. Not too worried, really—slightly concerned, is more like it. Usually when my brain isn’t making any sense, I’m in on it—like an inside joke that puzzles the rest of the world. Lately, my brain has been keeping the inside jokes even more inside than usual.
It’s been doing weird things. What reminded me of this was the song “Fake It” by Seether. Part of the song goes, “Oh, oh, oh, you’re such a fuckin’ hypocrite!” I was singing along with this a bit ago, and completely by accident, sang, “Oh, oh, oh, you’re such a fancy gentleman!”
I wasn’t trying to be goofy, but goofy is the only way to describe that particular phrase substitution.
This morning, I was driving to Krispy Kreme. There’s a coupon going around right now where you can buy one dozen donuts and get a second dozen for free. If you’ve ever seen me, you understand that free Krispy Kreme donuts are not something that I pass up.
As I was driving, a woman in front of me slammed on her brakes. “What’s this chick doing?” I asked. I was by myself in my car, so it’s not like I was asking the question to anyone in particular. This is one of those weird things that my brain does, but I’m with it on this kind of thing. I understand it.
The woman steered drastically to the right, then cut over to the left and performed an illegal U-turn, almost hitting me. As she did this, I explained, out loud to myself, what she was doing. Strangely, my behavior here isn’t the sort that normally bothers me.
Today, it did. Because instead of saying, “Bitch is doing an illegal U-turn,” I said this:
“Bitch is doing an ill-bred unicorn!”
It sounds funny, doesn’t it? I mean, thinking about it later, and typing it just now, it seems pretty freakin’ hilarious. But at the time, all I could think was “Brain tumor. I got a brain tumor. I’m going to end up like that chick in Green Mile, yelling at giant black men that I want to see their cock.”
The thought was not as comforting as you might think.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: Geez, Ray, there are easier ways to see a black man’s penis these days. Haven’t you heard of the internet?
And I swear to you, this isn’t a scheme.
Sure, man—what about that time you stood on a bench and convinced the blind guy that he was in a telephone booth?
That? That was a scheme. A scheme to trick a blind guy into talking to my asshole for thirty minutes, thinking he was telling his mother happy birthday. I admit it, okay? This is different, though.
What about the time you got that circus midget shitfaced-drunk and convinced her that PETA was raiding the place?
Oh, that. Dang—I had hoped you forgot about that. Okay, I’ll come clean—that was just me being a jerk.
You convinced her to try to hide the elephant in her vagina.
What can I say? I’m persuasive. Don’t act like you’ve never wanted to see elephant/midget bestiality.
I know, man—that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!
What about the time you made that pot of fake puke and you went to this movie theater, hid the puke in your jacket, climbed up to the balcony, and then made a noise like this: Hyuah! Hugyah! Hyuah! Hooaaaaaah! And then you dumped it over the side on all the audience?
Um. That was actually Chunk from The Goonies.
Oh, yeah. But still—you’re kind of an ass.
I know, I know. But you gotta trust me here. I’m worried about brain tumors, man!
And why are you telling us this?
I don’t know. I guess it’s just in case I end up totally losing my shit, and like, dressing up all the monkeys at the zoo like nuns and then catching them on fire, or reenacting the movie “Seven” with kittens and Care Bears. When the news people are all, “What could cause a man to do something like this?” You can be, “Brain tumors! Dude was fucked up! Did you know he put his finger up his butt when he masturbated...in the dolphin tank at Sea World?”
Oh. Yeah, probably you should ignore that last part. Look, let’s just forget this, okay? Can we pretend none of this happened?
You do understand that you’ve fabricated this entire interview, right? Like, it’s all in your mind?
Dirty rotten brain, always fuckin’ with me! Let’s see how you like Industrial Strength Drain-O in the earhole, you bastard!