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Arnold's brainkeeper, Zonk, sprung out of bed at 8am on the dot. It was time to wake the fat, lethargic slug up. Jumping across the corpus callosum[1] and climbing swiftly down a ladder, he reached the cerebellum and sent out signals to the rest of Arnold's body, begging him to have mercy on his poor brainkeeper today and to stop acting like an inanimate water buffalo.

There was no response, not even a twitch, as Arnold continued to snore, huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. Zonk sensed that it was going to be a long long day. He wrung his hands in frustration and finally sent out a different set of electric signals, this time to his master's right hand, which seemed to move of its own free will as it swung and made impact with his right cheek.

"Drooling monkeys!" he exclaimed in surprise. After the initial shock had passed, he moaned in pain. His entire body ached and he lay frozen in an uncomfortable position.

Now it was Zonk's job to help him recollect, so made his way back to the cerebrum and sent Arnold a rush of images through his head; memories of the previous night – A Catwoman costume. Arnold struggling to get into the Catwoman costume. Arnold in the Catwoman costume (with springy grey chest hair popping out) outside a diner. Arnold in the Catwoman costume outside the diner, trying to seduce a Doberman that reached his enormous belly, which bulged obscenely out from his costume. Zonk turned off the mental projector. Arnold had seen enough to infer what happened after. Obviously, the dog's owner thought he was some twisted sexual deviant and pounded the living daylights out of him.

Arnold willed himself to crawl out from under the sheets, but a catch in his back prevented him from doing so. It would've taken Zonk just two minutes to hop on to the Synaptic Rollercoaster, make his way down Arnold's spine and fix the glitch, but he chose not to. Let the slob suffer, he muttered under his breath. It was time to have a tête-à-tête with this lunatic of a human being, inside whose head he was forced to live.

Arnold, this is Zonk, your brainkeeper. Can you hear me?

Huh? Oh no, I think I'm hearing voices in my head again. Or maybe that spineless rubber duck struck me on the head as well last night.

No, you asinine pile of composted garbage, you are not hearing things. My name is Zonk and I happen to live inside your head. I single-handedly run the entire machinery of your nervous system and my job includes having to keep you from becoming senile. Quite obviously, I seem to have failed.

Senile? Me? What are you talking about, Plonk?

It's Zonk, you half-brained maggot. You've been oblivious to your mental condition for far too long now. You're fifty-something and over the past decade, things haven't been so great up here. I tried, I really did.

Ok... But I still have no idea as to why you think I'm crazy.

Why? WHY?! Arnold, if I had to list out every crazy thing you've done over the past ten years, the list would be thrice the length of your spinal cord. What about that time when you repeatedly chewed on a piece of gum for two days, then shaped it into a llama and worshipped it on a full moon night? And the time you stole Mr. Martin's golf set and used the clubs as stilts even as they instantly snapped under your weight? Or the time when...

Stop it! I'm not as crazy as you make me out to be. I was only paying my respects to the Llama God who is going to take over the world, and I used the clubs as stilts because there was a flood warning and I didn't want to get my feet wet.

See what I mean. You aren't just crazy.. you're.. deranged!!

Alright, even if I was deranged, what can I do about it?

Now we're getting somewhere. It's easy. You have two options laid out before you – you either go check yourself into a mental institution where you can seek further help, or you shoot yourself in the head and end my misery.

Oh c'mon now, is it that bad being my brainsweeper or whatever?

Yes.

Oh no. I'm so...

Sorry?

*silence*

Umm hello? Arnold?

*snore*

Aaaaaaaaargh!!!!! *takes a nerve fibre and strangles himself*

So there we have it. A day in the life of the brainkeeper of a deranged middle-aged man.

[1 - Corpus callosum is the thick band of tissues that connects the left and right hemispheres of the brain.]