Conversations with my brain: A Conversation with my brain

For the uninitiated, Wrinkles is my brain.

Wrinkles: No it’s not.

Me: I’ve already opened your dialogue tag with that. And I have no plans to change that.

Wrinkles: You think it’s a clever and taunty name for me, but it’s not.

Me: Hmm. Maybe I should do like an anagram of the word ‘Brain’. How about Brian? Top marks for not tryin’?

Brian: Pot, kettle, black.

Me: Brian, being, racist.

Brian: See, this is what you keep doing in every one of these: you pretend to take an idiom literally and then it’s like hahaha, so funny. If anyone’s “not tryin'”, it’s you.

Me: Oh, hon, I don’t need to try to insult you. You just inspire mockery by virtue of your very existence.

Brian: And so, by definition, do you.

Me: Oh my. Look at that. You’re agreeing with me on something. I can feel the historicity of this moment radiating like a museum’s.

Brian: If disagreements piss you off that much I don’t get why you even bother writing these ‘conversations with my brain’. All you ever write in them is me judging your bad life decisions and you trying to be funny by humiliating me.

Me: You judging my life decisions and me humiliating you isn’t restricted to the written word.

Brian: To be fair, that was only the last one’s pattern. All the others are practically me annoying you and you annoying me in return.

Me: A proper symbiotic relationship indeed. And as a gesture of good faith I will start retitling your dialogue tags.

Brian: For real?

Me: Hey, I don’t say things I don’t mean. There you go.

Wrinkles:

Wrinkles: No.

Me: I did what I said. I followed through, see?

Wrinkles: You know what, fine. Whatever. You’re a lame excuse for a human being.

Me: I’m not to blame if you’re not planning on changing that.

Wrinkles: Takes two to tango.

Me: Curtains, I hear, are good stand-ins if you’re single.

Wrinkles: So is your blog’s tagline.

Me: My blog’s tagline is… single?

Wrinkles: No, dumbass, a stand-in. You proclaim it to be ‘a workshop of ideas’ yet five years of blogging later you dredge up the same old things you pass off on every blogversary.

Me: There is one anniversary post which was a conversation with you.

Wrinkles: Not to mention another one which wasn’t a conversation but did feature me in its starring role.

Me: You just did.

Wrinkles: What?

Me: You just mentioned it after saying ‘not to mention’.

Wrinkles: And you just did it again.

Me: What?

Wrinkles: Pretending not to know—

Me: It’s not an idiom, it’s a figure of speech.

Wrinkles: Potayto, potahto.

Me: The rest of the English language feels excluded.

Wrinkles: So does the rest of your body. I wonder, why don’t you ever write, say, ‘a conversation with my diaphragm’?

Me: Because it’s busy working?

Wrinkles: So am I.

Me: Take a moment and think about what you just said.

Wrinkles: No, the reason you don’t talk to your diaphragm, you moron, is because it’s not capable of such complex functions as I am.

Me: Mm hmm. I’m sure you could plot your conversational abilities on the Argand plane.

Wrinkles: Nerd alert! Nerd alert!

Me: You’re one to talk, you—

Wrinkles: I’m the only one to talk, hon.

Me: Unfortunately. Poor mouth and larynx are stuck being your slaves.

Wrinkles: If they weren’t you’d be a feral screeching capybara.

Me: Puh-retty sure capybaras don’t screech.

Wrinkles: If they did, that’s what you’d sound like.

Me: And how are you so sure about that particular hypothesis?

Wrinkles: Considering the folds of your voice box, and the structure of your mouth—

Me (taps forehead): I see now. This is why no work ever gets done here. Because you’re too busy contemplating an alternative rodent existence.

Wrinkles: No, the only aspect of the capybara I’m talking about is the voice. The existence under contemplation is that of a cherry blossom tree, not a rodent’s.

Me: Wrinkles, for the last time, you can never be a tree, get this through your thick head. My thick head. My head.

Wrinkles: It’s like I don’t even have to try.

Me: Pretty strong, coming from someone who calls himself a tree.

Wrinkles: Flamingos.

Me: What?

Wrinkles: They have a nice pink tint as well.

Me: Why are you hyperfixating on pink things?

Wrinkles: Because I have a little something called integrity, and I don’t wanna stray too far from my own nice pink tint.

Me: Let me get this straight— retaining your physical colour while wanting to change species is your idea of ‘integrity’.

Wrinkles: Finally, the vegetable understands.

Me: God. You are one big hypocrite.

Wrinkles: The tune of most nursery rhymes is exactly the same. Twinkle twinkle, the alphabet song, all of them.

Me: What are you doing.

Wrinkles: It’s true, isn’t it?

Me: You’ve finally gone balls-to-the-wall insane. You’re just spouting random things now. I don’t know why you couldn’t remember our fifth blogversary like a normal brain so we could do something nice and thoughtful like what my sister did instead of… this.

Wrinkles: Okay first of all, that was her first anniversary post so she’s a wide-eyed beginner with hope and joy in her heart unlike us: of course she remembered it. Plus, I specifically remember listing non-sequiturs as a technique for good humour in one of your stupid anniversary posts.

Me: Don’t use it in this stupid anniversary post, though.

Wrinkles: I don’t know why you still continue with this annual ‘tradition’. And why people seem to enjoy them. You’re not even funny.

Me: The likes counter seems to disagree. And so do the comments.

Wrinkles: Star Ninja‘s the only one who ever comments. And he only does that because he’s nice. He’s basically your sole reader now. I say we abandon this altogether lest we drive him away as well.

Me: Uh… that’s true of regular posts, not blogversary ones.

Wrinkles: Hmm. People do take pity on you and drop congratulations in the comments, I suppose.

Me: They don’t take pity, it’s—

Wrinkles: Basic courtesy with the expectation that it’ll build their own readership?

Me: Wrinkles, at this rate, you’re gonna drive away what little audience I have left.

Wrinkles: Good for them.

Me: Okay, so I’m not funny, you’re not funny. What are we still doing here?

Wrinkles: We’re not.