Is there a Vaccine for “Donkey Brains”?


The people of Boston weren’t on their “A game” this past weekend. Whatever the cause, whether it be the many drugs flowing through the city or just the utter lack of common sense, it was jaw dropping.

Once I stepped foot off of the plane I could smell that something was “off”. It could have been one of the many Boston sewers blowing steamy shit smelling gas into the air but that’s besides the point. Our first stop after breakfast was Boston Commons park. A skilled musician was playing a homemade instrument that looked like a cross between a xylophone and a harp. I heard a local Bostonian riding by on his bike call it a skin flute. He would know better than I ever would. The musician must have taken a long, deep breath of the local air because I know for a fact he had contracted what we later coined as donkey brains. A young tourist girl wanted to take a picture with the musician and his peculiar instrument. Right in the middle of the picture the musician stopped, reached in his pocket, and took a phone call. The poor girl just walked away with a tear in her eye. The musician could not have been human. He had a human’s body, but inside that buck-toothed head of his was the brain of a donkey.

On Friday I got a souvenir beer glass on the Sam Adams brewery tour. When I left the room on Saturday morning it was sitting on the table in one piece wrapped in some bubble wrap. When I got back to the room Saturday night it was sitting on the same table in the same bubble wrap but it was in a hundred pieces. The donkey brained cleaning lady apparently knocked it off of the table and didn’t care to leave a note. This same lady came at 8 am to clean our room. Heehaw! Anyway, I found out that the glass was broken when I picked it up and it rattled more than David Price in the playoffs. If you don’t get the reference here you go.


This wasn’t the worst part. When I told the people at the front desk they weren’t empathetic at all. They just gave me an email for the hotel manager and told me to tell him what happened. They didn’t leave me with the feeling of ever wanting to come back. Maybe these people didn’t nourish themselves with enough straw or hay to satisfy their dumb donkey brains.

One of the craziest donkey brains of all had to have been the creature I crossed paths with on the train on Saturday. The encounter, albeit brief, was one that I won’t soon forget. Once he stepped foot on the train he started screaming that he was “clinically insane”. He followed that up with “I’m not going to be happy if I don’t get my Skittles soon!” He heehawed his way off of the train after one stop never to be heard from again. I hope he got the Skittles that he so desperately needed or at least a sugar cube or two.

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