ME: (Tries to work)

MY BRAIN: I’m studying to be a particleboardcosmologist.

ME: Nice. And that is?

MY BRAIN: It’s someone who studies the constellations in imperfect drop ceilings.

ME: …

MY BRAIN: Turn off the lights and let’s study the skies.

ME: You mean the pinpoints shining through the drop panels?

MY BRAIN: Philistine. Oh look, there is Swingline, the stapler constellation. And that square shape over
there? Oweya, the Snack Fund God.

ME: And that water stain?

MY BRAIN: Unknown nebula.

ME: What’s the point in particleboardcosmology? Don’t tell me people navigate by drop ceiling constellations.

MY BRAIN: Why not? Walk toward the Black Hole of the Flung Pencil, turn left at the Sign of the Leaking Insulation, and go forward fifty feet. Where are you?

ME: … in front of the bathroom.

MY BRAIN: Take THAT, John Harrison.

What does YOUR brain say?

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