ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: Oh Mr. Howell
You were kind of an airhead
And you called your wife Lovey
Oh Mr. Howell

ME: ?

MY BRAIN: Oh Mr. Howell
You were pretty much useless
Worse than Mr. Magoo
Oh Mr. Howell

ME: Why are you cracking on Jim Backus?

MY BRAIN: Oh was it class warfare?
Was it sharp satire?
Or was it just TV
Oh Mr. Howell

ME: Congratulations. That almost scanned.

MY BRAIN: Oh was it a metaphor?
Had it no purpose?
Did you inspire Ginsberg?
Oh Mr. Howl

ME: Wait. What?

MY BRAIN: I saw the best minds of my generation shipwrecked on islands, on three-hour tours
Equipping themselves with coconut-based technology, looking for radio communication
Floppy-hat-headed savants ignoring boat holes for basketball players, fiends, liars and robots,
whose socioeconomic status could be mildly amusing or the illuminati-eyed stuff beneath the skin of ten thousand sound stages
depending on whether or not your weed is any good —

ME: That’s it. I am pouring this entire pot of coffee down the sink.

MY BRAIN: Spoilsport.