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August 11, 2011 / iainnd

My brain is broken

Right now, I am envisioning a window displaying an all white room, empty save for a conveyor belt running across the floor. Each time the belt moves, a different variation of Star Wars storm trooper comes into view, waves, then moves along. The soundtrack to this scene is the intro to Lady Marmalade, with the lyrics identifying what class of soldier is appearing.
Scout trooper, snow trooper
Storm trooper, clone trooper…
On and on.
This has been going through my head for the last half hour.
This is because I am insane.

This…this picture is presented out of context…

See, part of being hilarious all the time means you look for jokes anywhere, even when – especially when – they don’t make sense. It is for this reason that I should be kept away from all words, all the time.

I like to pronounce the word “one” in songs and common phrases as “Juan.” I don’t know why. I’m an idiot. I sometimes even think up elaborate stories in order for the changes to make sense. For instance, I imagine Metallica’s One to be about a Latino reverse-Superman character. He was an Earth-born Kryptonian, getting his powers from the yellow sun. When the sun exploded and destroyed Earth he was sent in a rocket to a far-off planet, where he lost his powers and became just a regular guy. He laments; “Now the world is gone, I’m just Juan.”

I’ve recently acquired another nasty habit, this one involuntary. Whenever I have a song stuck in my head, every other word or two-syllable combination is replaced with “boner.” And just like adolescence, the boners get more frequent as time goes on. While a small town girl living in a boner world might have taken the boner train going anywhere; a city boner, boner raised in south Detroit, would take the boner boner going bonerwhere. Eventually it’s just all boners. It kind of makes me get mad at myself.

Last time I drove from Dubbo to Wollongong, I was listening to Alice Cooper. I was by myself, and my soothing baritone was all the company I needed, so I was singing along. During No More Mr. Nice Guy, though, I decided to change one word. See if you can guess which:

My dog bit me on the leg today
My cat clawed my eyes
Mom’s been thrown out of her social circles
And dad has to hide
I went to church incognito
When everybody rose
The Reverend Smithy, he recognized me
And punched me in the dick

I laughed all the way from Orange to Bathurst.

These horrible, horrible things that go on in my brain most often happen while driving, but they don’t always involve songs. They can sometimes be inspired by road signs. Whenever I encounter Highway abbreviated as HWY, I read it as someone over-pronouncing the word “why.”
“Mitchell, HWY?” I imagine a heartbroken lady pleading. “HWY, MITCHELL?”
The Great Western HWY, of course, was the name given to a great milestone in philosophy, when all of the Western world simultaneously pondered existence – billions of people, all at once asking; “Hwy?”

When encountering the word “queue,” I choose to read it as “que,” as if a Spanish-speaking fellow has misheard me. “Do not que across intersection? Please que here?”

And of course when reading some signs, I like to imagine encountering anthropomorphised versions of them in other situations, in which they are very hostile:
“Hey, buddy, you think you can turn just a bit so I can get past?”
“No, U turn!”

Then there are some signs that I can’t help but read in a noir-style voice, and then offer some faux-witty response to them, pretending that I am a Frank Miller character:
Police enforce roadwork speed limits in the Illawarra. I’m glad someone does.”
Speed cameras used in NSW. Yeah, in some parts. Not here. Never here.”
I’m actually considering writing all of them down and having them published as poetry. Idiots would buy it.

One Comment

Leave a Comment
  1. Mellor / Nov 10 2011 12:10 am

    Holy shit. This is awesome.

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