I feel like I’ve been able to scrub the goo from my brain. The fog is gone, and it’s last smoky tendrils dissipated from within my neural network at some point last night to allow my synapses to begin firing as usual. I’m back to being my indefatigable self (with regards to blogging, at least) and the unwholesome union of languidity and lethargy have left the building.
No longer is my brain searching for words like, “gasp” or “hush” or even “spill”. Believe it or not, but those words were all elusive to me a mere 12 hours ago. This very paragraph would have taken me hours to complete, and would not be nearly a fraction as literate. Teaching a monkey sign language comes to mind.
That said, I punished my brain again last night, but luckily the effects wear off as soon as the television is rendered to a state of inoperation. Kmart and I watched the last 2 episodes of 24. Well, I puttered around the apartment and did laundry while Kmart watched the last two episodes of 24.
It’s not a particularly riveting show, and I wasn’t a big fan of the shows’ characters adopting the benighted patois of W in the pronunciation of “Nuclear”, nor his administration’s dismissal of the inherent wickedness of torture, but it did make for some interesting jokes about next season.
Maybe 8 episodes would focus on Jack sleeping. You could have 1 whole episode devoted to him getting something to eat. Maybe you could have an episode where Jack takes a walk. It would be a Seinfeldian drama meets avant garde television. It would be groundbreaking.
Unfortunately, I feel most of the American public’s brain functionality is equal to that of mine after a night of drinking, so I don’t think they’d get it.
