The remaining Hugo stories have given me a lot to think about, but you know what? I’m tired of thinking. The meat between my ears is tired. So tonight I recommend taking a break and reading “They’re Made Out of Meat,” by Terry Bisson.
This is one of those rare all-dialogue stories that sneaks into my funny bone by asking one of my favorite questions: how the heck do we exist as intelligent meat? It’s most fun to read it out loud and flap your meat at your friends.
Since this is often anthologized and posted all over the intertubes, you’ve probably read it before. So don’t miss that stinger at the end, which sticks a fork into all those SF stories about humans being the only sapients that are (fill in the blank). Sometimes, being the only whatever is lonely.
Writing Every Day 