I know that I should have used my muscle of thinking more efficiently, and therefore it pains me to confess what I was trying to do with it yesterday.
My wet noodle was surfing the Internet, hoping to find the 1st edition of a book---signed by Albert Einstein---called DRIVING MR. ALBERT : A Trip Across America with Einstein's Brain by Michael Paterniti.
My poor brain…
My poor, puny belfry…
My impuissant encephalon
Forged ahead on its futile quest to find such a book!
After about five minutes, bright lights began to flash inside the gray, wrinkled minutiae of my noggin, and I realized that Mr. Einstein could not have signed this book, because his brain was inside the title…
I mean, his brilliant but defunct brain was inside of a Buick Skylark, traveling across the United States.
I was disappointed.
I was embarrassed.
I now had to settle for a new hardback edition as a substitute for the sought after tome.
I am hopeful that I can obtain some of Einstein’s brilliant brain, and transplant his ingenious cells into my own head.
IT’S THE BRAIN STUPID!