Seconds, mere seconds, before I was to enter a blissful slumber, my brain generated the following:

I really want a tattoo that says, "NO USER SERVICEABLE PARTS INSIDE."

Within the next five seconds, I was simultaneously contemplating the marvels of the human machine and the terror of mortality.

So right now I'm thinking of voiding my warranty to see if I can turn off the "neurotic" option. While I'm in there, I'd also like to see if I can do something about my tendency to desire the improbable.

Insomnia is supposed to get worse with age? Put me back. Stuff me back in. I don't remember being asked about this. What great machine am I a cog in? Or am I even that important? What sort of celestial engineer would create self-replicating machines, make them self aware and then set them loose in a hollow universe?


Who needs a drink?

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