There is a little man who lives in my lungs. His name is Mr.
Bluejeans lives inside my
lungs. His name is Mr.
Bluejeans although he wears a white
jumpsuit. He keeps my
lungs clean by scrubbing them with a
push-broom. I think he took a
vacation last week because I was doing a lot of coughing. I would
cough so hard I would get
headaches. That's no
fun. Or I would
cough so hard I thought I was gonna
barf.
In my feet there is a chimpanzee. He is the common root all human beings share. He is not really a chimpanzee, rather the humans' and chimpanzees' most recent common ancestor. To me, though he seems more like a chimpanzee, which is why I call him that. His name is Ralph.
There is a cowboy who lives in my neck. There is a doorway out of my neck onto my left shoulder. To the cowboy this is like a balcony/patio. He has barbeques. The cowboy tells me to do things in his delightfully westerny dialect. I am lucky that I don't have a cowboy who tries to make me burn down buildings and such. If I did, I would have to constantly be thinking in order to counter-act his commands. I mostly do what the cowboy says when I am zoning out.