MC: Ever since high school, men have always been told to check their balls for all sorts of diseases: prostate cancer, hernias, and other rather gruesome and grotesque issues. But the one pair of balls 9/10 doctors don’t recommend checking thoroughly is your eyeballs. Besides the army of glasses wearers that get their eyes adjusted — what, maybe once or twice a year — there’s not much going on in the world of the visionary. Therefore, I’ve decided to spend this time under mandatory quarantine to do a brief check-in and see where things are at so far? Welcome to the transcript, my eyeballs…
Eyes (E): Thanks for having me! I’m so excited to be here, I’ve never seen such an excited crowd before. I’m ready to share my thoughts and feelings regarding the wondrous world of balls.
My Consciousness (MC): Alright, starting off, how do you feel about the constant barrage of Netflix 24/7? Is it worth the subscription?
E: Well, recently I was being subjected to three straight seasons of Riverdale in preparation to watch yet another goddamn season of that show. I keep trying to tell the brain using the nervous system, “FUCK! THIS PAINS ME TO SEE! HOW ARE THESE ADULTS PLAYING TEENAGERS! WHERE ARE THEIR PARENTS! WHY THE FUCK DOES NO ONE KNOW SHIT, YET EVERYBODY KNOWS SHIT! WHY IS ARCHIE A GODDAMN VIGILANTE! WHY DOES VERONICA KEEP SAYING ‘DADDY’ IN THE MOST SENSUAL WAY EVER!” But the brain keeps telling me, “Let’s think about this logically, and keep your eyes on the prize… the finale.” And every time, every finale, it’s another fucking disappointment as everything the season has built up towards is destroyed in just a few random moments, and then I feel like shit. But perhaps the worst crime of this whole quarantine was watching Tiger King… like what the actual fuck was that show. It’s something straight of a reality TV show — no, it’s something straight out of someone’s really weird furry animal fanfiction that people only read when they’re about to disappear off the face of the Earth. I was trying to sneak my way out of watching it by siphoning tryptophan to the legs and arms to make them sleepy, but then the brain just diverted all remaining energy to me… I hate life.
MC: I dunno man, I thought it talked about getting into some pretty hairy scenarios. Let’s see here… what is your favorite flavor of screen: laptop, television, tablet, phone, or other?
E: My favorite screen is the lid of my eyeballs, because this fool doesn’t know how to have a normal sleep schedule. Up at 6am in the morning, sleeping at 4 in the afternoon… he doesn’t know when to quit. Sometimes, I start losing the ability to process visual information. Last night, I accidentally sent a signal out to the brain that the shadowy figure in the night we saw was a bandit, and we ended up punching a chair. The most embarrassing part was that the chair was in the opposite direction of the figure, so now it seems like my depth perception is equally fucked up as well. Whenever I get to stare into the blankness of those eyelids, a great deal of relief shoots up my veins. See, the thing most people don’t know about eyes is that getting good sleep is like the cocaine of the optical system. Give us enough sleep, and we’re gonna be wide awake for the next few hours before yet another crash.
MC: How about the light situation? Without the natural sunlight reflecting off your lens, has it been difficult to adjust?
E: Difficult? Not really. Annoying? Very much so. So I gaze into a room the other day, and start groping around for a light switch. At this point I’m spending way too long trying to find this switch, and I’m already looking like an idiot (though I can’t really tell myself without a mirror, and also because it’s currently dark as a bat’s cave). Then, the right index finger hits me with a jolt of electricity and tells me about the impending flippity flip of the switch. I’m hyping myself up, doing my little eye jumping jacks by moving up and down. And BLAM! Now, I’m no expert on what they put in those little lightbulbs, but I’d have sworn I briefly saw heaven for a minute. It was that bright. Some people can be real dramatic and go out into the dark of night and complain about the brightness, but this was like physical castration of my eyes. I could feel the skin around the eyes peel away and lay waste to my bare naked flesh. It was so awful.
MC: Wow, I guess these are really dark times huh? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA*Jimmy Fallon*AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
E: You done?
MC: Yes, hahaha. What has been the best thing you’ve done this quarter with all that wasted visual prowess.
E: Recently, I’ve become a bit of a practical joker. The exocrine system and I are good pals, so lately I’ve been calling in a few favors to make the brain pay for humiliating me.
MC: Like what?
E: What I’ve been experimenting with is a way to make the brain keep releasing tears from the ducts at the worst possible moments. Last week we were all in the middle of a Zoom call, and one of the guys in the call was talking about how great it felt to be back at home, and I just sucked in my breath and sent a shit ton of signals to the brain. Feeling a little overwhelmed, and with a bit of a nudge on the exocrine part, we were both bawling like a little baby. Nobody on the call understood what they were bearing witness to. They gave looks of both intrigue and disgust. Best part was, as the eyeballs, I got a front row seat. It… was… marvelous.
MC: Seems pretty lame to me, man. Even my horrible jokes are better. The sky is blue. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAH I’m dying inside.
E: You know what, you wanna see some real shit. Last week we were cutting chili peppers for some homemade salsa, and I decided to be a bit naughty. Once again I spanked the brain into submission using my varied array of electrical signals, and he granted my wish. As the tears began to flow, I sent messengers to the fingers and hands alerting them that we had a fly on our face. Confusion from the cool sensation of tears combined with the lack of the other senses’ confirmation of a fly on the face, and the touch department decided to trek up to my domain to see for themselves. THOSE BUFFOONS! As soon as they were within eyes’ reach, I briefly convinced the brain we were a plant, and that moving towards the light would help us photosynthesize. And then I made contact with the chili soaked fingers.
And it hurt. It hurt like the day we got poked in my cornea in 7th grade. It hurt like the time we decided to experiment for how long we could hold our eyes open underwater without goggles. It hurt like the time Uncle Conjunctivitis visited us and started going crazy. And it hurt like the time we tried to do that cross-eyed thing with the pencil. But I loved it. It was like searing a steak on a hot-buttered pan: extremely satisfying.
MC: So you’re telling me that the eyeballs are the masochists of the body?
E: Yup, any body part that says otherwise is a complete sham. The brain? He’s just trying to imitate me. The heart? The heart is my bitch. When I get excited, I tell it to pump that blood through my veins. The skin? Please, the skin could barely tell the difference between getting whipped hard and taking a freaking bubble bath. The brain barely trusts them at this point, especially after they let us walk around with a crusty mustard stain around our mouth for two whole days before we noticed. I always say: Keep your eyes on me! If we’d just looked in a mirror, and allowed me to inspect myself, this never would have happened.
MC: That’s great, now let’s play a mindless game. It’s called COUNT THE NUMBER OF LAUGHS I CAN FIT INTO A SUPER AWKWARD CONVERSATION.
E: You realize I can’t actually hear you, I’ve been reading off the teleprompter because I’ve got no ea-
MC: HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH…wait, how are you talking?
MC: Oh my gosh, teleyepathy, it’s so hilari-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Bro, you gotta stop you’re gonna ki-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. You should become a come-HAHAHA-dien-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA. What does it eyeveyen meyean? Get it? I replaced the e with eyAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
E: It’s actually due to my third eye. All glasses folk know our glasses are really just devices designed to hide our exceptional tertiary deductor. In fact it’s been pro-
MC: Sorry, that’s all the time we have for today. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHALMFAO
E: But you didn’t even as-
MC: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Ladies and gentlemen… the Eyeballs, and some blatant promotion for his upcoming visual album: Eyelids-Blink Blink. Thank god my laughing was enough to keep an audience of 11.31 million viewers entertained, you certainly weren’t doing shit.
E: I beg your pa-