Matt Finley, I love you.

Founding Father's Brain Bored in Jar
by Matt Finley

Presenting: George Washington's Brain's Daily Schedule

OK, so, every day at 9 a.m. some pencil-pushing desk jockey comes in here, puts a stick in my jar, and kind of stirs it around to wake me up. Except on Christmas, when I get to sleep until 10 and he pokes me with a candy cane.

Once I'm awake, they hook me into a computer that lets them hear my thoughts. Usually, I swear at them until they inject me with my food-oil, but twice a month, I say "asphinctersayswhat?" and then wait for them to reply with "What?" so that I can laugh at the fact that they've just unwittingly implicated themselves as sphincters. Then I think about how clever I am.

Sometimes I like to say, "I ambushed the British. What did you do, Sphincters?" but other times I get real quiet and pretend like I'm dead because that makes them push lots of buttons and sometimes they push the wrong buttons. When they push the wrong buttons, an alarm goes off and I laugh at them.

After that, I have to choose between the red food-oil and the blue food-oil. As far as I can tell, aside from the color, the only difference is that the red one's harder to make. I usually ask for that one. One time, they mixed them together to make purple food-oil. MIT must stand for Mister Idiot T.

If it's a Monday, they change the brine in my jar. Whenever that happens, I have to share a jar with Hitler's brain. Usually, we just mind our own business until my jar's ready again, but sometimes we dry-hump just to freak them out.

On Tuesdays, a bunch of little ugly poor children used to come down to the lab and pet me, but then I called them "sphincters" and threatened to use my electrical tentacles to shock them. Then some scientists clipped my electrical tentacles and now they just have everyone pet Hitler's brain instead.

On Wednesdays, they experiment with putting me into new bodies, but the bodies are always either too fat or too hairy. Once, there was a body that was both, so I said, "Hey! Sphincters! What are you trying to do? Make me look like your mothers?" Then I chuckled to myself and ordered a double serving of red food-oil.

Each Thursday, they turn off the security cameras and shake me up until I black out. I think they go to Red Lobster, like the bottom-feeding sphincters that they are.

On Fridays, I hold press conferences where historians and scientists ask me about how awesome I am. They used to make me wear a little rubber tie, but the knot was always too tight and I'd end up confusing my accomplishments with Hitler's accomplishments. It's not even funny how much they differ. I mean, I've never even picked up a paintbrush!

Weekends are the best because I get to go outside. They always offer to take me to the park or to the museum but, in the end, I always make them take me out on the helicopter. Last year, they spent so much money taking me out on the helicopter that the government had to fire 1,200 employees.

I love weekends.