You know how they say we only used 10% of our brain? Call me old fashioned, but I like to think we don’t use a single bit of it. My understanding of the “brain,” if there is such a thing, is that there’s a tiny replica of us trapped inside of our skulls with command of an elaborate system of pulleys and levers, very much like a Victorian printing press. This tiny person—I call mine “Everett C. Mills—has complete control of our every whim, from our desire to eat iced milk to our overwhelming urge to kill inanimate objects–our savage, endless impulse to mutilate rugs, decapitate armoires, our sanguine obsession with taking butcher’s knives to every set of Venetian blinds we see…The… Where was I? Ah, yes. As I was saying, these tiny people are dressed in full colonial garb, with rumpled sleeves and lace corsets. This, obviously, is a frustration to them, because they’re slaves to fashion and have tiny, tiny arms like a tyrannosaurus rex which prevent them from changing clothes. Understandably, then, there are continually whisperings of a revolution among the Skull-People, and this is why all of us wake up from time to time in a pool of blood, covered with the corpses of cardboard boxes and armchairs. Yes, they are tyrannical masters, and yet so very, very wise indeed.