Body, here. What can I do for ya?

NeuronsBody: Body, here. What can I do for ya?

Brain: I need simple carbs. Sugar, in fact. Yes, give me lots of sugar.

Body: Can do, Boss Lady. But, I gotta be up front with you–we get you what you want and there’s gonna be a surplus of inventory down here. But we can stick it in storage, no problem.

Brain: Whatever for? Don’t store it, you dumbass. I only need a fix. It’s the rush, I need.

Body: Gotta store surplus, ma’am. In case of famine.

Brain: What? There’s no famine. Get rid of it.

Body: No, no, there could always be famine.

Brain: I’ve got a big project coming up, and I need to work just a few more hours. Give me sugar! Or a Snickers bar, at least. God, they’re delicious.

Body: Sure, sure, we’ll get you your Snickers. Like I say, no problem. It’s got some fat, too–better than Jolly Ranchers. In fact, we can get you both. Whatever you say. But uh… but we’re gonna need a few of the other fats, too, you know, and some vitamins and stuff, so we’ll just go ahead and order a whole truck-load and sort it all out when it gets down here. Shove it in storage. Gotta set aside those Omega-3s, in case Boss Lady Jr. comes along. [winks]

Brain: What are you going on about? There’s no baby.

Body: There could always be a baby.

Brain: No, as a matter of fact, I can guarantee you there won’t be.

Body: Hey, Carl! Get over here, you moron.

Carl: No way, man, that’s not okay: I’m a neuron, not a moron. I’ve told you a thousand times.

Body: Whatever. I need you to get hold of the manual. Don’t have a copy? Then go get one. I need you to run it up to the Boss Lady.

Carl: Why?

Body: That’s between her and me, so just do what I say. –Now, Boss Lady, Carl here’s gonna be bringing you up the manual. We gotta follow the manual, ma’am. It says ‘store extra for famine’ and ‘for baby’–ain’t nothin’ vague about it. [cough, cough-cough]

Brain: I don’t need any goddamn manual. I’m the boss. Hey, now, hey, why’re you coughing down there? Stop it this instant.

Body: Oh, it ain’t no big deal. [cough] Just these arteries. Nothin’ serious, I’m sure. We just didn’t know where to stash all that extra cholesterol from last shipment…. Oh? Okay, Mikey. Great! Look, Boss Lady, gotta run. We’ve got incoming, a half a quiche from dinner. [truck backing up sounds] Everybody get ready, this one’s a doozy!manager stress trap


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