No 'peckers this morning. Although I pretty much woke up at 5:30 anyway to see if there were any. THOSE BASTARDS ARE PLAYING MIND GAMES WITH ME! DAMN YOU, MY AVIAN ADVERSARIES!
I am so fried, I can't even tell you how fried I am... because I'm so fried. My brain is pudding. Pudding, I say. Hey, have you ever tried to say "pudding" while pudding is in your mouth? It sounds like this:
I can't form a coherent thought.
Here's a confession. When I started to feel like my memory was starting to fade (oh, say 15 years ago) I decided that I would think of a phrase, a somewhat challenging phrase, that I could use to test my memory. If I could recall the phrase, then my synaptic pathways were still flowing properly and all would be well. But if I couldn't recall the phrase, well, then that would be trouble.
I know, I'm a complete moron but this is the way I think. So the phrase I chose was from my advanced neuropsych days in college. I used to do brain surgery on rats and we'd stabilize their nasty yellowed heads in this draconian device called the "stereotaxic instrument." You would hook the rat's teeth over this loop, stick a couple of bars into its ears and, voila, you could bounce a basketball on its head. But we chose, instead, to shave its head, drill holes in its skull and insert electrodes.
Ahh, good times.
Anyweigh, I forget the point to this story. Oh, "stereotaxic instrument." Yeah, that's it, I guess. I still remember the phrase, so I guess the old gray matters still a-chugglin' along. Whew.
Wait, what was I talking about?