Brain Shits - Vol.1

Sometimes I think that I over think things, and this is much to my own detriment when I'm writing.  I find that I'll start with a joke that I'll write down, then I'll analyse it and think "will people get that?"  Then I'll try and elaborate around it so that people understand where I'm coming from, try a couple of different combinations, experiment with a synonym or two, and totally reword it.  Then I'll read it back and find a garbled mess where my joke should be.

That's why I decided to detox a little bit.  Basically, I decided to just write and see what came out.  Aside from the odd spelling correction and the addition of a couple of relevant images, this is an uneditted stream of consciousness I wrote in a short amount of time.  I promised to upload it regardless of the outcome, so here it is:

Today I went to the sperm bank to try and make a withdrawal. I’ve been depositing there for many years, so much so that I’ve been told that my account is literally overflowing. As a long serving customer I expected a much better level of service. I did not expect to be told that I couldn’t take back my sperm, and was asked a number of probing questions like “what do you need it for?”

It’s a disgrace. I’ve never been asked that question at the regular bank, even for mortgages and loans. My branch is down a dark alley and the manager is Tony “The Shark” Tickett. Some people think he is an unscrupulous character, but I see his breaking of knee caps as a measure of his drive and determination. That’s the kind of guy I want to trust with my money, someone who gets the job done. I once saw him beat a guy until he was a pile of mush with shards of crunchy bone in it, like a peppercorn poo. But hey, that’s what happens when you don’t keep track of your finances.

Backstreet bankers are just getting younger these days

I had a friend whose finances ran away with him. Oh wait, no, he ran away with someone’s fiancé. That explains the problems he had when they went on honeymoon to the Cayman Islands and he tried to deposit her into his secret, offshore, illegal bank account that I’m not supposed to tell anyone about. He tried that with his last wife too. He’s wanted by Scotland Yard for trying to embezzle women. If he ever approaches you and offers to take your wife/girlfriend/mother/brother turned sister on a relaxing spa break offshore, my advice would be to decline. I’ve lost too many girlfriends that way.

So what is a tax haven? By definition, surely it’s like heaven for tax, meaning that there’s going to be a lot of tax involved. Or is it like a relaxing spa resort for investment bankers? Perhaps it’s a cruise ship for bureaucrats. We’ll never know unless we kill someone in the financial sector, then bring them back round at the last minute. For science!

The science community tend to frown upon my methodology. They prefer to do “tests”, whereas I like to just jump straight in and find out, like a grassroots scientist. My biology teacher failed me when I tried to find out what his brains taste like. I only wanted to find out why zombies find them so appealing, and if there’s anything we can do to the flavour to put them off. I only wanted to (brain)stem their appetites! Har har!

We can do a lot with genetics these days, so my proposal would be make a person’s brain taste like a tramps trousers. Perhaps thinking alters the flavour of your brain, so it tastes like the thing you think of most. If so, mine would taste of honey. Albeit, honey smothered on naked women, but honey all the same!

Sweet dreams are made of this

But then, what happens if you think about abstract concepts? I spent a whole afternoon thinking about time once. Did my brain taste like time?

That’s impossible. The human tongue is unable to taste time, that’s why I’m not enjoying a fictional medieval banquet right now. If we could, history books would become playgrounds of taste as we explore plague victims with our mouths. Dysentery in the 100 years war would be alive and well on your tastebuds. Religious sacrifice would dance on your tongue like a fiery pixie. I think further research needs to be done in this field. I’ve always wanted to know why fried dodo would be like.

I’m sure people will think that a real time machine would be easier to develop. Quitters!