It all started when I told Kent to make a left turn and he made a right instead. So I told him to make a left so that we could correct our direction and he made another right. "No, Kent, your other left!" I exclaimed.
From this point on, we noticed many times when Kent just didn't seem to be all there. Two weeks later, walking home from a night out playing pool, we passed Skipper's Tavern, the bar around the corner from our house. The odor emanating from the premises smelled like steak fries to me, but to Kent they smelled like Death Wings, those lethal little pieces of chicken smothered in the hottest pepper sauce known to humanity. They were so hot that when ordering them, waitresses would ask us if we were sure and warn us saying, "If you don't like them, you can't send them back." It was then that I realized that Kent had not been the same since that Tuesday night two weeks ago when he had nearly single-handedly devoured an order of ten Death Wings on Skipper's ten cent wing night. The sweat was oozing from his nose when he was only partway done and phlegm was dripping from the mucus membranes of his sinus cavities. Even worse than just eating ten wings though, he also ate the sauce that remained at the bottom of the wing basket. We realized that his brains must have leaked out in the fluids that ran from his nose. This explained why Kent had been missing cerebrally for the past two weeks.
We had to sneak into Skipper's dumpster to recover Kent's brain. We could only hope that his brains were still there. We found some napkins that resembled those that he had wiped his nose with. Just in case they were the right ones, Kent sucked the sweat out of all the napkins that even remotely resembled those that he had used. Most of the time Kent was heard to exclaim, "That's not my brain!" as he sucked out someone else's brain. To this day, Kent still hasn't found his brains. But we're still looking.