I was almost shut out of the monthly tour of Tim Burton's brain. They were overbooked. The agent tried to switch me to a tour of Ron Howard's brain, but that is not something that interested me. Instead, I dug into my ear with forceps and yanked out some of my own brain tissue as a bribe. He seemed dubious as to its value, so I suggested he read some of my published books on Amazon. That did the trick.
Usually I'm cynical about these tours. I'd just done one of Russell Brand's brain and came away less than impressed. I must say I was shocked, thrilled and horrified all at once after experiencing Tim Burton's brain. Gooey material hung from the top and wet globs of mushiness was underfoot. Mutant cells jumped out at us, screaming nonsense. I had been inside Jonathan Winters' brain years ago and it wasn't this strange. A stench reminiscent of rotting woodchucks permeated everything. Prickly pointed objects grew on the walls. A howling wind bounced us around like ping pong balls. Crawling things tried to bite us. We were absolutely frazzled by the end of the tour.
Maybe I should have gone with the Ron Howard option. I had a coupon.
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