Project: Field research report assignment.
Date: Friday, July 28, 2023. National Milk Chocolate Day.
Location: Oakie's brain.
Goal: Assign neurons to write the report.
Attendees: All remaining neurons, currently unassigned to other projects.
The atmosphere is dense. The neurons present, among which are some who actually participated in the field research assignment prior to this meeting, seem uncomfortable. As usual there is no chair neuron, as they are all rabid socialists and don't believe in rigid hierarchies, normally assigning committees to that role, but not today. No one volunteered to the chair committee, so they are just looking around, a little perturbed by the awkwardness of the situation.
The atmosphere is dense. The neurons present, among which are some who actually participated in the field research assignment prior to this meeting, seem uncomfortable. As usual there is no chair neuron, as they are all rabid socialists and don't believe in rigid hierarchies, normally assigning committees to that role, but not today. No one volunteered to the chair committee, so they are just looking around, a little perturbed by the awkwardness of the situation.
Finally, neuron 265 breaks the impasse. "I don't know about you, but I'm not writing this shit." The others look around at each other, and neuron 789 raises his hand. Since there is no chair neuron, he just sits there with his hand up in the air.
"Just say what you have to say, what the fuck." one of them says. "I was just wondering if this is mandatory, or..." starts neuron 789. "Oh, for fucks sake, man! This is the job! It's always mandatory, when the orders come from upstairs." stops him neuron 265, "I just don't want to do it, so some of you other fuckers will have to."
At this point all the neurons start losing their shit, going like "No way!", "I was just out there putting up with this shit, now I'm supposed to go through it again?", "Fuck you, man!", and stuff like that. The cacophony lasted a few minutes until eventually they settled down, and silence was restored. Then, neuron 974 starts to speak softly. "I think that we should have a draw."
“A what?" asks a voice at the back of the room.
"A draw." she says louder, looking over her shoulder as if to see who asked the question.
"A draw." she says louder, looking over her shoulder as if to see who asked the question.
“I heard that." replies the same voice, "But what does it mean?" Neuron 974 stands up and faces the back of the room. “OK, who said that!" she asks, looking slightly pissed. A little neuron stands up on his chair, so she could see him. "I did." She widens her eyes, raises a brow and goes "What's your number?"
"I'm number 15, ma'am.", the little one says. “What the fuck... Aren't you regenerating? You're old as fuck!" she exclaims, to which all neurons turn to neuron 15. "What are you doing here, you little shit, you should be doing other stuff!" 974 says, "Who told you to be here?"
“No one, I just saw the others coming and I was doing nothing so..."
“Alright, sit the fuck down and shut up.” 974 decides, causing all neurons to look at her, in anxious disbelief.
Did 974 just make an executive decision? Noticing all eyes on her, she quickly reverted to the meeting goal. “Look, people, this needs to be done. I know it's a fuckery, but what the fuck! Somebody has to do it! So come on, let's everyone just write down your fucking number on a piece of paper, and drop it here." she says, holding up her clutch. The others start shifting in their seats, looking around suspiciously. "We're not gonna all fit in there." another voice says.
"What was that?" 974 asks. "Too many papers." clarified the one who had spoken, to which a few others mumbled in agreement or nodded. "OK, enough of this shit. You fuckers are going to write your damned numbers down on a piece of fucking paper, fold it real small and drop it in this motherfucking clutch, are we clear? We can't stall these many neurons for this long! Someone", and she points upstairs, "is going to have a fit, any time now. So let's go, let's fucking go!"
Begrudgingly, they all do as they were told and eventually everyone has their number in the clutch. 974 then moves to the front of the room and points to 265. "You. You draw." Realizing resistance would only delay the inevitable, 265 gets up and stands by 974. One by one, the amount of necessary numbers is drawn, as the attendees bitch and moan different levels of dissatisfaction with the whole thing.
The process, from that point on, was known to all. Well, maybe not to 15, but everyone else. The draw assigned neurons remained in the room and all the others left, including 974, 789, and lucky bastard 265. “Alright," started one of the assigned ones as they were left alone, "what are we calling this shit? Any ideas? “They look at each other for a moment and then one says: "The unbearable lightness of being dumb?" A giggle runs through the room swiftly as another neuron responds, "So basically one of literature's masterpieces' title with "dumb" in the end?" The name creator nodded, adding, "I know it sounds dumb...", a number of heads shaking, one of them says, "No shit, Sherlock.", and another goes "Can't we just give it a number?"
Did 974 just make an executive decision? Noticing all eyes on her, she quickly reverted to the meeting goal. “Look, people, this needs to be done. I know it's a fuckery, but what the fuck! Somebody has to do it! So come on, let's everyone just write down your fucking number on a piece of paper, and drop it here." she says, holding up her clutch. The others start shifting in their seats, looking around suspiciously. "We're not gonna all fit in there." another voice says.
"What was that?" 974 asks. "Too many papers." clarified the one who had spoken, to which a few others mumbled in agreement or nodded. "OK, enough of this shit. You fuckers are going to write your damned numbers down on a piece of fucking paper, fold it real small and drop it in this motherfucking clutch, are we clear? We can't stall these many neurons for this long! Someone", and she points upstairs, "is going to have a fit, any time now. So let's go, let's fucking go!"
Begrudgingly, they all do as they were told and eventually everyone has their number in the clutch. 974 then moves to the front of the room and points to 265. "You. You draw." Realizing resistance would only delay the inevitable, 265 gets up and stands by 974. One by one, the amount of necessary numbers is drawn, as the attendees bitch and moan different levels of dissatisfaction with the whole thing.
The process, from that point on, was known to all. Well, maybe not to 15, but everyone else. The draw assigned neurons remained in the room and all the others left, including 974, 789, and lucky bastard 265. “Alright," started one of the assigned ones as they were left alone, "what are we calling this shit? Any ideas? “They look at each other for a moment and then one says: "The unbearable lightness of being dumb?" A giggle runs through the room swiftly as another neuron responds, "So basically one of literature's masterpieces' title with "dumb" in the end?" The name creator nodded, adding, "I know it sounds dumb...", a number of heads shaking, one of them says, "No shit, Sherlock.", and another goes "Can't we just give it a number?"
"That's it!" says one, "That's pretty smart!" The new name creator blushes, "Thank you."
"But which number?" asks another. They think for a bit, discussing several options, and finally, they all start working. The one in charge of the first section sits down at his typewriter and types the title of the report, the number they agreed upon. "2016".
This “report” is coming soon to a thread near you.
It all depends on how fast these assholes can type.
Find the "report" here! (< link)
Afterword:
Afterword:
The numbers used in this story are completely random and purposefully low in order. There are approximately 86 billion neurons in the human brain. Regeneration is rare and extremely unlikely. Once lost, they are usually gone.
The hyperbolic return of runaway neurons I often use is not possible, hence the hyperbole.
Be kind to your neurons.
Oakie
Oakie
[finis]
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