I want to return my brain.
The pan, the stem, and both hemispheres.
They gotta go. Pronto.
I’ll pay what I owe on the bloody thing.
Amex, cash, or check.
Cerebrum, cerebellum, the whole useless mess.
And I’ll happily implant a butternut squash.
Or a couple of turnips, a ten-pin, or a brick.
And who knows where that’ll lead.
Maybe CEO, on air at CNN, or the office of the President.
Either way, I’ll be leaps and bounds ahead and going places.
From yesterday to today, tomorrow for sure.
I can see it now, the fawning, adoring crowds.
Hordes, equally absent, vacuous, agreeably elastic.
Me, inert, plastic, my vacant smile on TV.
Hip, hip, hooray.
Hip, hip, yes-sir-eee.
My crash dummy skull, ear to ear.
Jam.
Packed.
With gravel and impenetrable cement.
Mr. President: I surely do love the sound of that.
Yes, the President of these here, United States.
I'll be that.
Just like magic, Jack.