Brain Spoon

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brain spoon n. 1. A device used by 4th century Quirinalian monks to exact revenge for crimes deemed monstrously immoral. The device consisted of a large scoop with razor sharp edges, fixed to bellows and a hollow tube, through which was poured a mixture of vinegar and molten metal intended to soften the skull, thereby facilitating cranial penetration and extraction of brain sections. 2. Any device which causes extreme pain in the craniocerebral region.

And now, for The Best of Wayne Moon, you'll have to weed through this mangled Myspace site that will need to be reconstructed after their attempt to keep up: Wayne Moon on Myspace.

Friday, May 08, 2009

Dream of the Week

While working in a darkroom, I accidentally call into existence a shark with human emotions and self-awareness. It swims in a pool outside, and realizes that I am the reason it is here. It tries to kill me, but cannot escape the confines of the pool. Standing a safe distance away from the pool, my wife and I watch in horror as the shark evolves. It grows legs, leaps out of the pool, and runs toward us. We find safety in a nearby house, and lock the doors and windows. The shark rages outside. With the family who lives here, we hide, but they don’t believe a shark is chasing us. “Sure,” they say. “A shark with legs.” When the creature breaks through the wall, we run into a field. People are seated at an outdoor graduation. We sit in the crowd, hoping to hide amidst the others. The shark, seething with anger, shouts, “I’m looking for someone who worked in a darkroom!” The crowd stands and the shark catches sight of me. It runs through the crowd toward me. I attempt to reason with it. As I’m speaking, I notice Brett, the director of our public library, standing near the shark. From the podium, he picks up a hammer and a roll of duct tape, and gestures to me, indicating that I should use the hammer to knock out the shark, and bind it with the duct tape. At first, I don’t get it. In his zeal to make me understand, Brett inadvertently hits the shark’s head with the hammer, but the shark, engrossed in my discourse, and probably too large to feel it anyway, ignores the hammer tap. But now I realize what Brett has been trying to communicate. Stealthily, I pick up the hammer, and crack the shark’s skull. A comic episode ensues involving my attempt to bind the shark. It escapes, of course. Time passes. The shark lands a job, meets a woman, the workplace pays for travel and training. And the shark goes off to live out its life.