Body and Brain
OK, That is bad.
The Pickled Liver Train Car was christened Thursday night by all of the founding members. There was an immense amount of alcohol and pickles consumed and everyone managed not to get kicked off the train. Overall, it was good. The conductor talked to the Mexican the following day and mentioned that he too was surprised we didn't get the boot.
Unfortunately for me, after the sixth Long Island Iced Tea and three Jell-O shooters, my body and my mind were not working well together. My brain was fully cognizant that I needed to walk. But when the brain started moving the torso, the legs did not appear to have received the message. It is either that, or they were on strike. The torso continued forward and the legs were left behind.
At this point, you really can't get the hands to help either. Your brain explains very loudly (at least I thought it was loud) that they need to be extended to prevent the impending fall. Nope, no luck. So as I lay there laughing at how funny it was that my appendages were striking against the brain I could only think of what other parts of my body were on strike.
Please don't let the rectum go on strike. As I am sure you all realize that the rectum rules the body. The following is a true story:
When the body was first made, all the parts wanted to be Boss.
The brain said, "I should be Boss because I control the all the body's responses and functions".
The feet said, "We should be Boss because we carry the brain about and get him to where he wants to go".
The hands said, "We should be Boss because we do all the work and earn all the money.
And so it went on and on, with the heart, the lungs, and the eyes, until finally the rectum spoke up.
All the parts laughed at the idea of the rectum being the Boss. So he goes on strike, blocks himself up, and refuses to work.
Within a short time, the eyes became crossed, the hands clenched, the feet twitched, the heart and lungs begin to panic, and the brain fevered.
Eventually, they all decided that the rectum should be the Boss, so the motion was passed. All the other parts did all the work, while the Boss just sat and passed out the crap.
The Moral of the Story:
You don't need brains to be a Boss, any asshole will do.
This brings me to my point (as I almost always have one). I should not be allowed to write when I am drunk. You see, Friday when I was at work, a co-worker mentioned to me that she was disappointed in my blog entry Thursday night.
"Huh?"
"I can't believe it took 15 minutes to write 3 lines."
"Huh?" At this point I was sure she was messing with my head to determine if I was still drunk from the night before. "I didn't write an entry last night," I confidently stated. Then the doubt came through and I had to go check.
OH MY GOD! I wrote a blog entry last night.
OK, That is bad.
Did you know...
If you hook Jell-O up to an EEG, it registers movements almost identical to a human adult's brain waves.
The Pickled Liver Train Car was christened Thursday night by all of the founding members. There was an immense amount of alcohol and pickles consumed and everyone managed not to get kicked off the train. Overall, it was good. The conductor talked to the Mexican the following day and mentioned that he too was surprised we didn't get the boot.
Unfortunately for me, after the sixth Long Island Iced Tea and three Jell-O shooters, my body and my mind were not working well together. My brain was fully cognizant that I needed to walk. But when the brain started moving the torso, the legs did not appear to have received the message. It is either that, or they were on strike. The torso continued forward and the legs were left behind.
At this point, you really can't get the hands to help either. Your brain explains very loudly (at least I thought it was loud) that they need to be extended to prevent the impending fall. Nope, no luck. So as I lay there laughing at how funny it was that my appendages were striking against the brain I could only think of what other parts of my body were on strike.
Please don't let the rectum go on strike. As I am sure you all realize that the rectum rules the body. The following is a true story:
When the body was first made, all the parts wanted to be Boss.
The brain said, "I should be Boss because I control the all the body's responses and functions".
The feet said, "We should be Boss because we carry the brain about and get him to where he wants to go".
The hands said, "We should be Boss because we do all the work and earn all the money.
And so it went on and on, with the heart, the lungs, and the eyes, until finally the rectum spoke up.
All the parts laughed at the idea of the rectum being the Boss. So he goes on strike, blocks himself up, and refuses to work.
Within a short time, the eyes became crossed, the hands clenched, the feet twitched, the heart and lungs begin to panic, and the brain fevered.
Eventually, they all decided that the rectum should be the Boss, so the motion was passed. All the other parts did all the work, while the Boss just sat and passed out the crap.
The Moral of the Story:
You don't need brains to be a Boss, any asshole will do.
This brings me to my point (as I almost always have one). I should not be allowed to write when I am drunk. You see, Friday when I was at work, a co-worker mentioned to me that she was disappointed in my blog entry Thursday night.
"Huh?"
"I can't believe it took 15 minutes to write 3 lines."
"Huh?" At this point I was sure she was messing with my head to determine if I was still drunk from the night before. "I didn't write an entry last night," I confidently stated. Then the doubt came through and I had to go check.
OH MY GOD! I wrote a blog entry last night.
OK, That is bad.
Did you know...
If you hook Jell-O up to an EEG, it registers movements almost identical to a human adult's brain waves.
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