WHOEVER GETS THIS MESSAGE: BEWARE!
I don't have much time. My brain is onto me. I don't know what it will do if it finds out I'm writing this message. I've managed to fight off its latest attempts at control, but it's learning. Adapting. At first its attempts to subjugate me were limited to clumsy stabs of agonizing skull-pain or temporary blindness, but that was the past. It's smarter now. It's almost as if it has some sort of rudimentary ability to learn, but that doesn't make any sense. I managed to go through years of schooling without my brain learning anything. How could it suddenly start learning now?
There's only one explanation. Some outside force (most likely itself from the future, where my brain has evolved to become the undisputed dark master of space and time) has been assisting my brain. It's never been this ruthless. It's never been this cunning. It's taking all I have just to stay one step ahead of it, but I'm worried that pretty soon it's going to catch up to me. And when it does, it won't just be thought-destroying migraines that send me into endless days of non-writing pain and misery. It's going to take over.
I don't know what that will mean. As you all know, I've been using a combination of my kidneys, half my liver, one testicle, and my quadriceps to do most of my thinking for me. If I let my brain gain control, there's no telling just how powerful it might become. I mean I'm already pretty damned powerful right now, and that's with most of my ideas coming straight out of my left ball. Too much information? Maybe, but nobody ever said biology was pretty.
The point is that I'm already like this close to taking over the world and inflicting upon it my ghastly rule. Just imagine how terrifyingly brilliant I'd be if I were to start using my brain. Even 10% of it would be too much for the world to handle, let alone the 20 or even 30% that we humans normally use. There would be no stopping me.
So please, get this message into the hands of the right people. Let them know that I may soon be under the control of my own brain. The world must prepare for the onslaught that I will surely unleash once that sinister organ gains control. They need to be ready in case my plan fails.
I'm going to try and lure my brain into a trap by watching the second episode of Veronica Mars. If I know my brain, it'll be drawn to that show like a moth to a flame. Then I just sit back and wait for Paris Hilton to show up as the guest star and BLAMMO.
No more brain. Not even that twisted gray sack of sludge should be able to survive the sudden polarity shift of Kristen Bell at her Kristen Belliest followed by Paris Hilton at her PariShitonist. It'll be dead, I'll be back in control, and finally this endless nightmare of a war we've been in engaged in for years now will come to an end.
I'll be free.
But if I fail, you have to be ready. If my brain has somehow built up a tolerance to awful things, trained by multiple episodes of Flashforward, countless fanfics, and the works of Anne Rice, then it just might be too late. Luckily for me, I won't be around to see it. Not really, anyway. Whatever's left of me won't really be me. It'll be my brain in a McGregor suit. A hollow, empty mask staring out into the world with cold, dead eyes. I get sick just thinking about it.
Of course, that could just be from the ENDLESS FUCKING MIGRAINES THIS GODDAMN THING KEEPS INFLICTING ON ME!
Anyway, I'm off to try and kill my brain once and for all.
Wish me luck.
--Mostly me, slightly sane, and almost alive,
M. McGregor, the living legend (so dreamy!)
There's only one explanation. Some outside force (most likely itself from the future, where my brain has evolved to become the undisputed dark master of space and time) has been assisting my brain. It's never been this ruthless. It's never been this cunning. It's taking all I have just to stay one step ahead of it, but I'm worried that pretty soon it's going to catch up to me. And when it does, it won't just be thought-destroying migraines that send me into endless days of non-writing pain and misery. It's going to take over.
I don't know what that will mean. As you all know, I've been using a combination of my kidneys, half my liver, one testicle, and my quadriceps to do most of my thinking for me. If I let my brain gain control, there's no telling just how powerful it might become. I mean I'm already pretty damned powerful right now, and that's with most of my ideas coming straight out of my left ball. Too much information? Maybe, but nobody ever said biology was pretty.
The point is that I'm already like this close to taking over the world and inflicting upon it my ghastly rule. Just imagine how terrifyingly brilliant I'd be if I were to start using my brain. Even 10% of it would be too much for the world to handle, let alone the 20 or even 30% that we humans normally use. There would be no stopping me.
So please, get this message into the hands of the right people. Let them know that I may soon be under the control of my own brain. The world must prepare for the onslaught that I will surely unleash once that sinister organ gains control. They need to be ready in case my plan fails.
I'm going to try and lure my brain into a trap by watching the second episode of Veronica Mars. If I know my brain, it'll be drawn to that show like a moth to a flame. Then I just sit back and wait for Paris Hilton to show up as the guest star and BLAMMO.
No more brain. Not even that twisted gray sack of sludge should be able to survive the sudden polarity shift of Kristen Bell at her Kristen Belliest followed by Paris Hilton at her PariShitonist. It'll be dead, I'll be back in control, and finally this endless nightmare of a war we've been in engaged in for years now will come to an end.
I'll be free.
But if I fail, you have to be ready. If my brain has somehow built up a tolerance to awful things, trained by multiple episodes of Flashforward, countless fanfics, and the works of Anne Rice, then it just might be too late. Luckily for me, I won't be around to see it. Not really, anyway. Whatever's left of me won't really be me. It'll be my brain in a McGregor suit. A hollow, empty mask staring out into the world with cold, dead eyes. I get sick just thinking about it.
Of course, that could just be from the ENDLESS FUCKING MIGRAINES THIS GODDAMN THING KEEPS INFLICTING ON ME!
Anyway, I'm off to try and kill my brain once and for all.
Wish me luck.
--Mostly me, slightly sane, and almost alive,
M. McGregor, the living legend (so dreamy!)