I Accessed the Other 90% of My Brain

Summary

The author's experience with unlocking the full potential of their brain, as inspired by a Morgan Freeman infomercial, resulted in a mix of unexpected and underwhelming abilities.

Abstract

After watching an infomercial featuring Morgan Freeman, the author decided to unlock the supposedly dormant 90% of their brain by making a $19.95 purchase. The results were a combination of enhanced cognitive skills, such as memorizing pi to twelve decimal places and improved grammar, and bizarre physical changes like growing a non-prehensile tail. The author also developed a deep empathy for reality show contestants, engaged in complex revenge plots, and acquired a taste for jazz. However, the experience was not without its drawbacks, including an inability to perform extraordinary feats like telekinesis or resurrection, and a newfound obsession with trivial personal memories. The author, while initially excited about the potential of their brain's untapped capabilities, ultimately expresses dissatisfaction with the outcome and contemplates leaving negative reviews.

Opinions

The author is ambivalent about the results of accessing more of their brain, describing both positive and negative outcomes.
There is a sense of humor and sarcasm in the author's recounting of their experiences, suggesting they don't take the infomercial's claims too seriously.
The author seems to have enjoyed some new abilities, such as memorization skills and a deeper appreciation for human emotions and jazz.
The author is disappointed by the lack of extraordinary powers like telekinesis or the ability to resurrect the dead, which were possibly implied by the infomercial.
There is a hint of regret expressed by the author over the financial investment and the time spent on these new abilities.
The author's mention of Morgan Freeman suggests a playful critique of celebrity endorsements for pseudoscientific products.

And it’s a dump

I decided to move beyond the usual 10% of my brain after watching Morgan Freeman’s infomercial on Friday night, and phoning in my $19.95. I wasn’t entirely pleased with the results, I have to say. Some of it was cool. For example:

I memorized the value of pi (π) all the way down to twelve decimal places without a calculator.

I made it three days and only once confused to, two, or too.

I could feel — really feel — the genuine human pathos underlying the struggles of these majestic humans who are contestants on the Great British Baking Show.

So, that was great, but some other stuff happened, too:

I grew a non-prehensile tail.

I credibly argued on Twitter that midichlorians improved the Star Wars franchise.

I plotted elaborate revenge against the Odd Fellows conspiracy that has been oppressing my family for centuries. I tracked down each of my nemeses in the old country, and inserted myself into their intimate circles of family and friends. With well placed mal mots, I destroyed their closest relationships, isolating them from social networks and support systems. I took them out to a bougie restaurant and then ravaged their spirits by giving them a stern talking to. In terms somewhat more than usually harsh, I explained that I wasn’t angry, just disappointed, and they should really strive to do better. I only paid my half of the bill.

I learned to appreciate jazz.

I remembered the location of every sock I had lost in my life, every book that I had borrowed and failed to return, and every meal that I had regretted eating.

I wore a sweater vest with a novelty tee underneath and, honestly, looked pretty dang good.

I got so close to finishing the Wednesday crossword in the Times.

As you can see, a mixed bag. No telekinesis. No resurrecting the dead or crawling up walls. No reciting poetry from memory to a very attractive crush. I’m not happy. Not happy at all. I’m considering leaving bad reviews in the iStore and on Yelp, if I can figure out how to do that. I think my $19.95 is gone for good. I hope Morgan Freeman isn’t upset ’cause I wrote this.

Morgan Freeman lies

I Accessed the Other 90% of My Brain

And it’s a dump