Me And My Big Head

ME AND MY BIG HEAD
by Matthew Sanborn Smith

My head was throbbing, like my brain wanted to squirt out of my eyeholes. Sorry about the graphic description, but if you don’t like reading it, imagine what feeling it is like. Aspirin
wasn’t helping a bit. It was a pressure thing, so it needed relief. With my dad’s ball-peen hammer I carefully cracked my skull in two and let the halves separate a bit.

Ahhhhhhhhh. That was nice. Good to air out the old thing every once in a while. It was starting to smell of mildew. Things were all gumdrops and golden showers for a day or four until the hurting came back. My brain was getting larger. I ditched the old skull completely and formed a new one from papier-mâché that was two feet in diameter.

“You’re gettin’ a big head, boy,” my mother said. True. Big brain too, because it soon grew to fill the old head. You’d think I’d get smarter, with all that brain going on, but I just had a lot more of the same old crap running through my mind. Instead of thinking, “I’d like some mac and cheese,” once like I normally would, I thought, “I’d like some mac and cheese” about
thirty-seven times.

The ending was gross, so you may want to stop here and go read your e-mail or something. I was strung up by my ankles by a group of Mexican children and beaten about the head for eighteen minutes until it burst open. That’s what I got for painting my new head in rainbow colors. The kids rushed forward, but when they realized that it wasn’t candy that spilled out, but brains, their party broke up rather quickly.

As for me, I was grateful. My headache was gone and I was sure that once I retrieved my old skull from the wastebasket, I could fit into it once more. I looked at the mess the kids had
left on the ground. I had no regrets, just a powerful craving for some mac and cheese.