| Humor Fiction posted October 31, 2022 |
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Lunacy dwells within ...
A Fallow Mind
by Tom Horonzy
Hey Brain! Are you here today? I parted my hair, and you didn't stir? Has this weather got you down? Is that why I am wearing a frown while waltzing about in a hospital gown listening to Lawrence Welk on teevee? He could be the master of disaster in this asylum if he could escape from the box hung on that wall. He could also win our Friday night dance contest, hands down, should it feature a polka. The man has magical feet, even while waving his baton when leading his orchestra, beginning with "a one and a two."
Hmm. I never gave a thought that he never got the answer he kept asking for. I guess he never mastered arithmetic, but we know, don't we? One plus two equals ... three.
Good job, even though you used my fingers to figure it out. Thank god the answer wasn't twenty-one, for it would have required more digits than I have. Could you have figured it out on your own?
The fruitcakes here about are looking at me as if I am crazy, but we know of the two of us which has the greater degree of insanity, and that would be you, for whatever I get to choose to do cannot be done without your insisting in taking the lead. Imagine me without you, Brain. I might as well be a cumquat or, better yet, yes, a passion fruit. You know how I like sex. You too? Good.
Where did you come from? Were you adopted from Leslie Stevens, the creator of the Outer Limits, when he died on April 4th, 1998? He better stay where he lays, for if he arrives here, he won't survive. I will make sure of that simply because, if you had not come along, I could have Pinnochio's mind, for there is a man in the basement, a Disney retiree named Geppetto, who has been working with a solid block of wood ever since he arrived in chains decked out in a jacket, complete with restraints, and smudges of blue, gold, and red paint. Then, I would be in control. No?
Brain, now fully awake, creates a vision. First, I see this boy attached with strings, doing a jig. Then, he pans over to where his father is in charge, not the kid with no brain, as his head is made from solid wood.
Why do you have to spoil my party whenever I venture on my own? It's a safety precaution? Who taught you that?
Oh, the superintendent. That makes sense. He has a Ph.D. in psychiatry, has he? And Psychology? Wow. That's impressive. But let me ask, is he board-certified? I wouldn't want to be deemed certifiably crazy by someone with but an undergraduate degree in criminal justice.
That's what put me here in the first place. I take issue with the decision of the court. Streaking the fans showing my tan while running amok in New Orleans' Superdome during a live broadcast to one-hundred-million-plus viewers wasn't proof-positive of any insanity. Did the jury even consider that broadcast was the highest rated of the previous forty-eight contests? I felt like Rodney Dangerfield when the verdict was proffered. He, like me, never gets respect.
What's that, you say? You respect me? Brain, you made my day. By way of mental telepathy, your message has been received, and because of it, my frown has turned around. Now, let me return the favor.
Look through my eyes. See. The weather is improving. The clouds are lifting. The sun is warming our noggin, putting us in better spirits. Seeds of thought, once on fallow ground, are beginning to sprout new ideas. Congratulations!
Let the Lunatics Run the Asylum! contest entry
Hey Brain! Are you here today? I parted my hair, and you didn't stir? Has this weather got you down? Is that why I am wearing a frown while waltzing about in a hospital gown listening to Lawrence Welk on teevee? He could be the master of disaster in this asylum if he could escape from the box hung on that wall. He could also win our Friday night dance contest, hands down, should it feature a polka. The man has magical feet, even while waving his baton when leading his orchestra, beginning with "a one and a two."
Hmm. I never gave a thought that he never got the answer he kept asking for. I guess he never mastered arithmetic, but we know, don't we? One plus two equals ... three.
Good job, even though you used my fingers to figure it out. Thank god the answer wasn't twenty-one, for it would have required more digits than I have. Could you have figured it out on your own?
The fruitcakes here about are looking at me as if I am crazy, but we know of the two of us which has the greater degree of insanity, and that would be you, for whatever I get to choose to do cannot be done without your insisting in taking the lead. Imagine me without you, Brain. I might as well be a cumquat or, better yet, yes, a passion fruit. You know how I like sex. You too? Good.
Where did you come from? Were you adopted from Leslie Stevens, the creator of the Outer Limits, when he died on April 4th, 1998? He better stay where he lays, for if he arrives here, he won't survive. I will make sure of that simply because, if you had not come along, I could have Pinnochio's mind, for there is a man in the basement, a Disney retiree named Geppetto, who has been working with a solid block of wood ever since he arrived in chains decked out in a jacket, complete with restraints, and smudges of blue, gold, and red paint. Then, I would be in control. No?
Brain, now fully awake, creates a vision. First, I see this boy attached with strings, doing a jig. Then, he pans over to where his father is in charge, not the kid with no brain, as his head is made from solid wood.
Why do you have to spoil my party whenever I venture on my own? It's a safety precaution? Who taught you that?
Oh, the superintendent. That makes sense. He has a Ph.D. in psychiatry, has he? And Psychology? Wow. That's impressive. But let me ask, is he board-certified? I wouldn't want to be deemed certifiably crazy by someone with but an undergraduate degree in criminal justice.
That's what put me here in the first place. I take issue with the decision of the court. Streaking the fans showing my tan while running amok in New Orleans' Superdome during a live broadcast to one-hundred-million-plus viewers wasn't proof-positive of any insanity. Did the jury even consider that broadcast was the highest rated of the previous forty-eight contests? I felt like Rodney Dangerfield when the verdict was proffered. He, like me, never gets respect.
What's that, you say? You respect me? Brain, you made my day. By way of mental telepathy, your message has been received, and because of it, my frown has turned around. Now, let me return the favor.
Look through my eyes. See. The weather is improving. The clouds are lifting. The sun is warming our noggin, putting us in better spirits. Seeds of thought, once on fallow ground, are beginning to sprout new ideas. Congratulations!
Hmm. I never gave a thought that he never got the answer he kept asking for. I guess he never mastered arithmetic, but we know, don't we? One plus two equals ... three.
Good job, even though you used my fingers to figure it out. Thank god the answer wasn't twenty-one, for it would have required more digits than I have. Could you have figured it out on your own?
The fruitcakes here about are looking at me as if I am crazy, but we know of the two of us which has the greater degree of insanity, and that would be you, for whatever I get to choose to do cannot be done without your insisting in taking the lead. Imagine me without you, Brain. I might as well be a cumquat or, better yet, yes, a passion fruit. You know how I like sex. You too? Good.
Where did you come from? Were you adopted from Leslie Stevens, the creator of the Outer Limits, when he died on April 4th, 1998? He better stay where he lays, for if he arrives here, he won't survive. I will make sure of that simply because, if you had not come along, I could have Pinnochio's mind, for there is a man in the basement, a Disney retiree named Geppetto, who has been working with a solid block of wood ever since he arrived in chains decked out in a jacket, complete with restraints, and smudges of blue, gold, and red paint. Then, I would be in control. No?
Brain, now fully awake, creates a vision. First, I see this boy attached with strings, doing a jig. Then, he pans over to where his father is in charge, not the kid with no brain, as his head is made from solid wood.
Why do you have to spoil my party whenever I venture on my own? It's a safety precaution? Who taught you that?
Oh, the superintendent. That makes sense. He has a Ph.D. in psychiatry, has he? And Psychology? Wow. That's impressive. But let me ask, is he board-certified? I wouldn't want to be deemed certifiably crazy by someone with but an undergraduate degree in criminal justice.
That's what put me here in the first place. I take issue with the decision of the court. Streaking the fans showing my tan while running amok in New Orleans' Superdome during a live broadcast to one-hundred-million-plus viewers wasn't proof-positive of any insanity. Did the jury even consider that broadcast was the highest rated of the previous forty-eight contests? I felt like Rodney Dangerfield when the verdict was proffered. He, like me, never gets respect.
What's that, you say? You respect me? Brain, you made my day. By way of mental telepathy, your message has been received, and because of it, my frown has turned around. Now, let me return the favor.
Look through my eyes. See. The weather is improving. The clouds are lifting. The sun is warming our noggin, putting us in better spirits. Seeds of thought, once on fallow ground, are beginning to sprout new ideas. Congratulations!
The picture is of me, running free, in Cuyamaca State Forest, Southern California, back in '73. The park didn't have many trees taller than me. I think it goes well with this piece submitted.
Before commenting, on what may be seen wrong, remember the character has bats in his belfry, and his elevator does not reach the top floor. Thank you.
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and 2 member cents. Before commenting, on what may be seen wrong, remember the character has bats in his belfry, and his elevator does not reach the top floor. Thank you.
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