Trepanning for Fun and Sport

We admit it. We arranged for her to break up with you, making sure that she did it in the most humiliating way possible. It wasn’t difficult. Lust is no mystery to a race that once made a star out of Styrofoam, just to see if we could. A few hits to the pleasure center when she was with your best friend, one or two to his—but fewer, because he’d always had a thing for her anyways—a late bus that left them alone together, and they took care of the rest themselves. Simple.

True, there are probably easier ways to drive a man to drink until he blacks out, but we believe that life’s about the journey, not just the destination. We’d ask if you agree, but we are perfectly aware that you do not. Instant gratification, that’s you.

We don’t intend any insult by that observation, just so you know. Quite the opposite! By your impulsiveness, you made yourself perfect for our purpose. We’d be hypocrites if we judged you harshly for that personality trait. And you really acted well, in light of the circumstances; you were angry, not violent; depressed, but not obnoxious about it. Very impressive.

But we can do better.

The key to a good trepanning is the personal touch, and that means hand-operated tools. While a power drill will of course cut through the skull in no time, it’s much riskier in terms of blood loss and accidentally cutting into the brain. We like to make a circle of holes and then use the saw. Things stay tidy, and we don’t have to worry about you forgetting your sixth birthday party or, you know, drooling.

The lack of electricity means that the whole process takes time, which is where your blackouts come in. Getting you blind drunk really was the best plan; you attributed your headaches to the alcohol and the hangovers. You didn’t want to look at yourself in the mirror, which meant we didn’t have to spend tedious time hiding our operations every night, and your funk kept other people with better eyes away from you. Short of dropping a bit of schizophrenia in the initial hole, there really wasn’t a better way to keep you out of sight and out of mind until we were finished.

Now that we are finished, we could get her back for you, if you like. It’s as easy as hitting the pain or revulsion centers when—no? Are you sure? Alright.

And thank you, by the way. Your—well, you don’t really have a word for it, but we call it a “nagush"—your nagush was delicious. It’s the part of your brain that allows you to travel between alternate versions of the universe, very rare in you people, only exists in about one out of every million, which is a pity. Makes you special, though! The point is that that it is an incredible delicacy, and you’ll never miss it. Traveling between universes is worthless anyways; all the other ones are terrible. Trust us—ours was a real pit.

Well, that’s about it. Any other questions? You should probably wear a helmet for the next couple months if you’re going to do any strenuous physical activity, go bike riding, that sort of thing. And avoid blows to the head. We left the hole so that when your nagush grows back, we can come take it out for you again, and it would be just awful if you injured yourself.

We would feel just terrible.