Phrenologist

Went to phrenologist again today. Dr. Gall, once again a little tipsy, grasped my skull for further mapping. Seems I have a nice big bulge at veneration, a healthy indent at imitation and a veritable gulley at the Love of Approbation. So it’s all good so far, I guess. I asked if the softening and subsequent re-hardening of my fontanel (due to those damn Aardvark/Anteater/neither of those refrigerator magnets I got at Target) might impact the results. He looked me directly in the eye and said, “I don’t know, but what I do know is this: you are a beautiful, beautiful man with a sensitive beard, a grand sense of cheddar, and an exceptionally tall torso and I would be proud to call you friend...,” and then he added under his booze laden breath, “…or perhaps Louvre.”

Now those of you who know me know that I hear like a bat that’s lost a good deal of its upper register and suffers from mild tinnitus. So I asked him, “Do you mean the museum or the vertical blinds?”

Dr. Gall then stabbed me in the leg with the claw from a Maryland Blue Crab and began to weep in the arms of a small puppet he calls Milo.

I grabbed some gauze, my files and as many tongue depressors as I could fit and left the food court post haste.

So the moral of the story is never ever go to the mall for anything.