My brain does not like me.

BRAIN.

“Psst. Neil. Oi. PHYLLIS.”

“What? This better be important. I’m writing tweets about a man breaking down in public.”

“It’s your brain. I’m hungry. Can we have some food?”

“Sigh. Okay, what do you want to eat?”

“Super Noodles.”

“Super Noodles. You wouldn’t like to eat some fish. Perhaps some vegetables, grown organically, in a field. Or perhaps some good, healthy salad?”

“No. Super Noodles.”

“Oh come on!”

“Super Noodles. Like we used to eat in 1994 when you were unemployed and playing DOOM all day. Super Noodles. “

“Fine. Super Noodles it is then.”

LATER

 

“Ok, brain. I’ve fed you. We need to do some writing now.

“Oh. Ok. Dogs with human feet.”

“…no. I want to write a song about the feelings of desire that threaten to consume the soul in a lustful blaze. When a woman makes you feel like a tall building, a breeze, when they very sight of her makes your gut ache with her smile, your hips move with a loosened, pulsating rhythm, your pupils dilate in an age old primal dance.”

“Still think it would be better if we wrote about a dog in a hat chasing a naked man around a supermarket.”

“I’m NOT FUCKING WRITING THAT!”

“How about a man, naked apart from a hat, chasing a cat around a merry go round?”

“….fuck off, brain. Just fuck off.”

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About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. http://www.amazon.co.uk/frozen-fridge-Zoomeister-Diaries-ebook/dp/B00C426DD0/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366481719&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=a+frozen+turd+in+a+hot+frudge It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
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