Thursday, December 18, 2008

It's Time We Talked About This

I'm sure by now you've heard of this baby born with a grab-bag of extraneous anatomical features embedded in his brain. There are links ricocheting all over the place. Weirdhunters and spookaroos are drooling over this one like so many thousands of eternally hungry teratomata drooling at the thought of sweet freedom.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? About brains. What if enough extra brain survives to support a whole other consciousness?

With normal multiple personality disorder, you have two minds--one good, one evil--wrestling for control of the same body. That is the medical definition as far as I know. These two minds are usually intellectual equals; separate processes with access to all the same hardware, if you will. The evil mind might be fraction more devious. It will prefer the cloak of night. It will know exactly how to talk to women, and exactly when to stop talking. Medical literature records a number of cases where the good or 'daytime' mind only became aware of its mirror self after developing an inextricable case of triple herpes.

But in this case, you have two separate brains, connected perhaps by a few knotted braids of nerve tissue. Communication between the brains would be minimal, like brothers separated by fifty miles of rural telephone line, estranged for years after all the hateful business over the younger brother selling his half of the farm to Big Corn.

One brain is normal. The other is like the moldy Halloween walnut you find at the back of the cupboard in May. This is not the classic good, evil split; this is a functional, severely retarded split. You could be driving to work some mild morning in spring, completely unaware of this extra brain just above and behind your right eye, then a stray spark in your brainstem passes control over to it, and when control is restored you find yourself in a crowded supermarket with your penis out, your car upturned in the trolley bay outside, wheels still turning. You smell petrol and urine. A feral scream dies in your throat.

Jesus. It could happen any time.

2 Sub-deposits:

Blogger Neil Struthers Blurted...

Just think of the possibilities here.

It actually explains quite a lot. The entire Not News section of Fark, for example.

And every time I've blacked out and woken up in the woods with a dry mouth, everything smelling faintly of roast chicken.

Friday, December 19, 2008 12:46:00 AM  
Blogger Elimare Blurted...

LMAO, brilliant.

Saturday, December 20, 2008 1:09:00 PM  

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