what i wouldn't give for this kettle of a brain to quit whistling. you know i'm supposed to be in bed, algernon, baby. thats what i call it, algernon, as in flowers for. hey algernon kiddo, lay offa it with the frothing & gnashing, you rabid fucking hound. you know, if you cool your jets, there is this hot girl in just her underwear in the other room you could pretzal yourself around. but no, you've got to keep flashing me all these cracks-in-the-pavement signs. or more like shattered looking-glass, i guess, when you check out the colour palate. when you investigate the secrets algernon starts spouting. making me look like some kind of wonderful. i mean, some kind of crazy person. talking to my brain in a grade seven allusion. but these lazy-bones of mine are like ralston-purina for that chase macabre mutt. so go on & snap your jaws, algernon. i'll go brittle & crumple for you.