Written for a young lady (not named Jane Jameson) in the spring of 1996. There's a sad story here, but I won't put it in here. Needless to say, I invented the "brain gophers" for her & this is the first time I've shared them with anyone but her. I hope she forgives me!
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Denver, 1999. In the fairly civil Civil Engineering Lab of the famous Jane "Overpass" Jameson, sewage system designer to the stars, the Civil Engineer confronts Specula, leader of the Brain Gophers.
"What do you want?" says she. "Batteries not included."
"A cup of tea would be nice," Specula responds. Not even a little chagrined.
Pouring tea, Jane realizes that all these years just the hint of flowing liquid would make her have to go the bathroom. Even reading such a sentence, or a wonderful poem mentioning the lovely cascade of an elegant river, would trigger her urination fixation. She thinks she might need some sort of bladder control device, & thinks about designing one.
"Brain Gophers, despite what our name implies (& we didn't name ourselves, Ms. Jameson, our parents did)," says Specula, "don't need brains. We don't have brains. We certainly don't want human brains. We like to dig in them, it's true, but we'd rather have cake. Lots of it. With sticky candies on top. And a thin layer of candle wax & grime. And perhaps a little song."
Jane's ears perk up. "A bunny hop song?" says she.
"Of course not," Specula fumes. "A Brain Gopher song."
Jane consults her World Almanac. Nothing there about Brain Gophers. She watches a little TV. Still not a thing about Brain Gophers, not even on the Discovery Channel. She reads the complete work of Henry James, who, she realizes too late, actually just seemed to have a gopher up his ass, not in his brain. She comes back to find the Brain Gopher beating himself in a double-blind game of of Stratego.
"I have no song," she says, realizing the world is doomed & she made need to start packing, "but I have a rhyming couplet."
"Hit me," says Specula.
"Okay," says Jane. She clear her throat, which hasn't felt well since March of 1996, and intones:
"No one ever can begin to explain
Those pesky gophers of the brain
But we can use lemon juice on that stain."
"That's not a rhyming couplet!" the Brain Gopher snarls. "That's a rhyming triplet!"
"Would you like an overpass with that?" asks Jane.
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