Moron Snakebridge was a man of average height whose every thought and movement was dictated by the millions of tiny snakes living in his brain.
The snakes did not believe in modern liberal democracy. They did not hold elections. They were more of an anarchist commune – one which had the fortune of controlling one male human brain between them.
Due to the grass-roots government of snakes controlling his brain, Moron's activities were somewhat nonsensical and hard to predict. He lacked narrative sense. Or, to give a more accurate picture, he behaved as if his brain was digesting a postmodernist poem with no rhyme scheme, no meter, and millions of different unreliable narrators.
The snakes sometimes agreed – on basic matters like polluting Moron's vocabulary with words like “slither” or “hiss” where they did not belong.
An example: “I'll just slither on down to the post office.”
Another: “You've gotta be hissin' me!”
Or: “Hiss off!”
Also, the non-snakebrained humans around Moron could not help but notice his tendency to drop to the floor and wriggle. Or his obvious disappointment at his ownership of arms and legs. Or the way he would bite first, ask questions later.
And even those questions tended to be something like: “Hey, how's it going? Say, you don't have any dead mice lying around, do you? No? Well, OK. See ya!”
And then he might slither off down the corridor on his belly.
Strangely, despite these snakelike qualities and his general unpredictability, Moron Snakebridge managed to hold down an office job just fine. The constant shift-change of snake-to-snake in control of his brain made sure that no individual snake ever got stressed.
When asked the secret to his stress-free lifestyle, Moron would just hiss and stare. Most people backed off after that.
And as for whether he had a venomous bite – I didn't care to find out. You can, if you want. But I wouldn't if I were you.