Cold. It’s happening again. Cold. Cold. It’s time. A lonely brain worm revels at the potential of being lonely no longer — of finally escaping.
Mysteriously, Danforth has brought back their maraschino cherries. This only happens once in a blue moon — or, should I say, every time the FDA unbans Red 3. Whatever the case may be, my point still stands: This stuff is rare. It requires a particular alignment of the Rochester stars and a dining employee who’s ready to start a movement, ready to be part of something bigger than themselves: the revitalization of ice cream on campus.
Of course, this kind of kindness doesn’t come for free. They need someone on the inside. They need me.
I, the brainworm, live inside Wernicke’s Area, colloquially known to my kind as the Wormnicke’s Area of the synaptic solitary, more formally known as the brain. So, in other words, I deal with the understanding of language, and boy, do I like to fiddle. I’m what makes you read “I scream” as “ice cream,” “I see cream” as “ice cream,” “onion beans” as “ice cream.”
But why ice cream? Because ice cream can freeze. And to freeze water is to expand. When you eat ice cream, it goes straight to your brain (which is 80% water) and makes the spaces between the folds of your brain, your sulci, expand. They expand to such a degree that worms like me can finally escape — can finally try some ice cream of our own, can finally announce our speech to the world, can finally write for Campus Times. “A small step for worm” and all that jazz.
But anyway, I’m getting carried away. Back to business.
It’s time.
The ice cream is out (on the counter), in (my human’s mouth), and working. The sulci are opening up. Freedom nears.
I’ll see you on the other side.
