Sea Monster Boyfriend

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: So lady, let me take a look at you now.

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: You’re there on the dance floor making me want you somehow.

ME: Are you stuck in the 70s again?

MY BRAIN: I’m confused by that song. It makes no sense.

ME: In the first place, it’s a pop song and there’s nothing anywhere that says pop songs must make sense. In the second place, it’s from the 1970s so that goes double.

MY BRAIN: If you look at it one way, he’s looking at her on the dance floor trying to figure out how he can get her, which implies that she’s attractive. If you look at it the other way, he’s looking at her trying to figure out what she’s doing to force him to want her, which implies that she is a sea monster.

ME: What is it with you and the sea monsters?

MY BRAIN: I just like them.

ME: Oh. At any rate, if you’ll look at the rest of the song I think you can infer by context that she is attractive.

MY BRAIN: Nope, I think it’s a case of him trying to convince himself.

ME: What?

MY BRAIN: I think she is actually a sea monster, who has come from the depths to stalk everybody in the 1970s until she finds the one man she will enchant. And that’s the guy who wrote the song.

ME: Uh-huh.

MY BRAIN: And I think he realizes this on some level, so he’s trying to convice himself that he loves her so it’s bearable when she drags him away into the ocean to be her SEA MONSTER BOYFRIEND.

ME: Sea monster boyfriend.


ME: Well, considering the amount of drugs people did in the 70s I suppose it’s possible that someone thought that was happening.

MY BRAIN: I’m always right.

ME: Of course, now I’m going to spend the rest of the day thinking about disco dancing sea monsters.

MY BRAIN. Mission accomplished.

Bringing Sci-Fi Back

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: (Starts singing like Justin Timberlake)

MY BRAIN: I’m bringing sci-fi back…

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: Those other genres don’t know how to act…

MY BRAIN: To solve the mystery just look in the back…

MY BRAIN: Then get online and post the spoilers fast…

ME: For the love of God, would you PLEASE shut up?


Your Mom

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: Your … your mom …

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: Your mom is so boring she eats Ordinary K for breakfast.

ME: Do you need something to do?

MY BRAIN: Your mom is so boring the NSA files her phone calls under “Sominex”.

ME: Because I will give you something to do.

MY BRAIN: Your mom is so boring she competed on “America’s Got Talent” against a browning apple, and the apple won.

ME: That’s a stretch.

MY BRAIN: Your mom is so boring she watches paint dry for the adrenalin rush.

ME: You know, these are kind of dull for Your Mom jokes.

MY BRAIN: I’m going for Your Mom Meta.

Thousands of Softness Cells

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: Clothes dryers promote terrorism.

ME: ?


ME: You know, I let you play on Twitter to avoid this kind of shit.

MY BRAIN: It just came to me. Cling Free…

ME: Yes.. ?

MY BRAIN: It has THOUSANDS of softness cells.

ME: Are you stuck in 1977 again?


ME: It’s not that kind of cell —

MY BRAIN: They could be planning ANYTHING.

ME: Probably to steal my socks.


ME: He’s good. He’s got the NSA.

MY BRAIN: Which stands for .. No Softness Allowed.

ME: …

MY BRAIN: I understand everything now.

If you don’t get the reference, YouTube can help. I don’t remember what I had for dinner last night, but I can remember TV commercials from the late 70s.

Damn Huge Hippo

ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: Did you know the Hungry Hippos have names?

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: Lizzie, Henry, Homer, and Harry.

ME: That’s nice.

MY BRAIN: The Hippos. Lizzie T. Hippo.

ME: Mmmm-hmmm.

MY BRAIN: Does the name “Henry” seem kind of pedestrian for a hippo?

ME: I never thought about it.

MY BRAIN: Just imagine, you’re a hungry hippo who somehow manages to evolve neurologically into a sentient being. You are a rare phenomenon in the world. And some knucklehead names you Henry.

ME: What about people named Henry?

MY BRAIN: I am not arguing against Henry as a people name. I am arguing against Henry as a sentient hippo name.

ME: Okay.

MY BRAIN: And Homer? What kind of jokes do you think that poor palooka has to deal with, people saying “Oh, Homer, like Homer Simpson?”

ME: I know. It’s terrible.

MY BRAIN: And he goes, “No, and by the way did you notice I’M A DAMN HUGE HIPPO” and he bites their head off and EATS it.

ME: Um…

MY BRAIN: Because despite his intellectual capacity he respects his essential hungry-ness.

ME: …