Da-da is cursed. Sure, his children are incredibly cute and darling, but they're also such a goddamn 24/7 chaotic trainwreck handful that Da-da's brain is, he fears, irreparably damaged from being too close to the tracks. Case in point, Da-da was just on the phone, talking train metaphors or somesuch with an editor, when Bronko comes running full-tilt and half-naked down the hallway, peeing his pants and screaming, "GHOST FESTIVAL! GHOST FESTIVAL!" [Ghost festival?] Then, BAM. He goes down on his face and skids into the wall.
"Um, lemme call you back." Da-da calmly deals with Bronko's Bronkoness and returns to the phone some time later. Da-da asks, "Um, what was that question, again?" The editor answers with a stony silence. [sigh] Da-da will never have an adult conversation at this rate, not with this brain -- and not with this family -- unless he changes gears and moves into the janitorial or casket-testing industries. Alas, Da-da's thought train was derailed and hopelessly sunk long ago in some fetid mommy-brain swamp of redundant mommy-brain swampiness. It struck Da-da then that he doesn't have, "The Brain That Wouldn't Die." No. Instead, he has, "The Brain That Doesn't Know It's Already Dead." Welcome to the ghost of Da-da's brain, already in progress.