There was a woman from Newbiggin-On-Lune who kept her brain in a hat. She put it on a high shelf in the downstairs lav.
In this way the woman succeeded in meeting everyone’s expectations. In the hat in the lav the brain lived contemplating, concluding, combobulating. The brain grew tired of the indoor life and longed for the taste of the open road. With its hat already on it set off and it did not take long to find more stimulating occupation.
When the woman returned to find it gone she did not have the wit to mourn it’s loss.
Author’s Note: Newbiggin-On-Lune sounds like the kind of place where strange things happen, I’ve built a cast of curiosities around it. I drive past it often but never stop as I’d only be disappointed.