Depression

As is well established in the medical literature, the human synaptic network consists of three entities: the ball maker, the ball gatherer, and the patrolman. As the reader undoubtedly suspects, the aforementioned entities are not symbolic, but are to be taken quite literally—the ball maker, the ball gatherer, and the patrolman are all humanoids roughly one nanometer in size (though the patrolman drives an SUV approximately 3 nanometers in size).

In a typical human brain, information is transmitted when the ball maker makes 8–10 balls and places them in the ball bin (a container not unlike the ones found in department stores). The ball gatherer then drops in and takes a single ball back to his ball maker, who then fashions eight to ten more balls, one of which is taken by a different ball gatherer, and so on.

The patrolman's job in all of this is to stop by every tenth of a second and take all the balls remaining in the bin—partly to prevent multiple transmissions, but mostly to assure the delicate ball maker that there is indeed a use for the nine superfluous balls she insists on creating.

In an abnormal brain—such as one suffering from depression—the ball gatherer is almost always impeccably tardy (though he has a multitude of quasi-legitimate excuses far too numerous list and much too sordid to disclose in polite conversation), and so inevitably arrives after the meticulous patrolman has emptied the bin. This results in three things: information loss, frustrated ball makers, and mental illness.

At this stage one might think that the solution is obvious: inject the brain with nanometer-sized mothers who will cajole the ball gatherer into being more punctual. Sadly such a solution is inviable for two main reasons: first, the ball gatherer recognizes the mother as an adoptive parent and therefore insists that she has no real power over him; and second, there is no power in the universe that could keep a single man from his sexual escapades.

The Modern Approach then focuses on the patrolman and various ways to retard his obsessive-compulsive gathering. The most popular of these methods is called "the Tipsy Patrolman Theory of Anti-depressants" and works as follows: through an oral tablet a best friend is introduced to the patrolman. This best friend—a super-sexy, super-smart, super-drinking female—insists the patrolman go out for drinks every night: keeping him sufficiently drunk that he's constantly seeing double. The upshot of this is that when he goes to the ball maker's house and looks into the ball bin, he sees twice as many balls as are actually there. So, he takes a few real balls, some imaginary ones, and decides the rest will just have to wait until later because his SUV is now somehow filled with these stupid balls that seem to pop out of nowhere. This way, when the invariably late ball gatherer merrily strides in, some actual balls still remain, and so the information can be transmitted, the ball makers won't be frustrated, and the mind becomes elated.

Yet while the information is now moving along, the ball makers aren't entirely satisfied: they now have to deal with an inebriated patrolman who's far too friendly with the hands and much too honest for their egos. In the end, most ball makers just lock their doors and become increasingly obsessed with crafting elegant and subtly-complex balls; the others suffer mental breakdowns, become sex-addicted, and end up on the "quick list" of a fair number of ball gatherers.