Brain Drain

By D. Bob Sauer

At least three times a week I meet with my court-appointed mental health care professional. Every time we get together I jokingly call him “the rapist,” and every time, he sternly reminds me that “therapist” is one word. After we, every time, get through that monotonously moronic exchange, I’m required to spill my guts on a variety of emotional issues. To make it more fun I usually just make up weird stuff to say.

The last time we met however, I had real-life psychosomatic episodes to discuss. I explained to the rapist that lately I find myself drooling and stuttering profanity, with violent dry heaves, #2 incontinence and partial facial paralysis after watching no more than 20 minutes of Fox News.

He briefly considered my symptoms and made the diagnosis that I have a moderate to severe case of “cerebral overload.” My mind, it seems, is just chock-full of accumulated useless information. He used the analogy of having 11,600 saved text messages on your phone. “Sometimes you just got to purge,” he explained.

It turns out that the mental deletion process is a fairly simple procedure. He instructed me to push an AA battery into each ear as far as I can and then tap them in even further with a small mallet. Follow this by gargling a 50/50 mixture of red-wine vinegar and beet juice while soaking my feet in a tub of warm RV anti-freeze wearing nothing but my least favorite hat. All of this must happen while sitting on a metal folding chair with a portable radio tuned to AM 1150 on my lap area.

The rapist warned me that during this procedure I’m likely to have bi-polar tendencies but to ignore them because it’s just trickle charging from the batteries pounded into my head. As thoughts and bits of information come to mind, I’m to write them down, which will effectively erase them from my memory. Sounds simple enough.

So, here goes: Dangerous Bob is about to delete a portion of hard drive memory right here in the pages of the SCENE.

(Whoa, these batteries are cold––whack-whack-splash-splash-gargle-gargle-gargle––“and in other Packer news…”)

There are eleven time zones in Russia.

The ridges on corduroy are called wales.

It takes four hours to hard-boil an ostrich egg.

Inventor Thomas Edison never graduated from grade school. Neither did literary greats Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Noel Coward or me.

The size of a polo field is 12.4 acres.

Paul Revere took his midnight ride on a horse named Brown Beauty.

In many species of birds and me, the eyes weigh more than the brain.

Only one word can be formed by rearranging the letters of the word “chesty”––scythe.

East St. Louis is in Illinois.

An ant has five noses.

An average American will eat 350 cows, 310 hogs and 225 lambs in a lifetime.

Four out of five people who try out a new pen will write their own name.

Smokey the Bear’s original name was Hot-foot Teddy.

An adult’s skin weighs about six pounds.

Jimi Hendrix was working on the song “The Story of Life” when he died.

Baboons and I cannot throw over hand.

One moment is 1½ minutes.

One-third of all the canned fish in the U.S. is eaten by cats.

A pigeon’s feathers weigh more than its bones.

Comedian Alan King appeared 83 times on the Ed Sullivan Show.

All polar bears are lefties.

No matter how low or high it flies, an airplane’s shadow appears the same size.

Cows can be identified by nose prints.

A giraffe has a 17-inch tongue.

There are 2,598,960 possible hands in a five-card poker game.

The only ten-letter word you can create using the top line of letters on a keyboard is “typewriter”.

Poet Emily Dickinson’s last words were “I must go in, for the fog is lifting.”

There, I feel better already.

Next Issue: Why loosen and unloosen mean the same thing.

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