I do most of my thinking in the shower. The white walls combine with a dizzying array of bottles and tubes to make an alien landscape where my thoughts can roam as they please.
Today there was a note of discord among the pink, purple and blue tubage. A brown canister loomed next to a random carcinogen. I look wonderingly at the canister, it promised to give my hair a “multidimensial shine” and the picture on the back had real hair turning into what appeared to be snakes. A Magic Canister! I think happily, welcoming the sign from the aliens that I’m indeed supposed to be a time traveller and/or the reincarnation of Medusa.
A few hours after using that gunk and I still haven’t travelled through time or space. Furthermore, my hair refuses to hiss despite my pleading. It was rather naive of me to think that advertisers might deliver on their promises. After all, they give us things like this.