I sleep just to dream him

Maybe I’ve been reading too much of Jim Norton’s blog, but I have the odd urge to tell you all about the various strippers I’ve had to Saran Wrap my room before meeting.
I wish!
At least that would insinuate that my life is relaxing enough that I may enjoy a stripper or two. Or at least that I had enough money for strippers. Or at least I was getting some.
Well, this has been a delightful post so far, hasn’t it?
So, I’m sitting here at work, trying desperately to keep my damn eyes open.
I swear, this is it, people.
Let it not be said that I didn’t warn humanity that my breaking point was upon us.
And not Bring Your Sniper Rifle to Work Day breaking point, or even Bring Your Sniper Rifle to the Clock Tower Day.
I’m talking Willow-like, Apokalypse, Streets Red With The Blood Of the Innocent breaking point.
I can’t sleep all day, because the people who mow the lawn of my apartment complex like to have contests wherein they see who can ran their lawn mower into the outside of my room the hardest.
Then by the time I have to go to work, I’m so fucking tired, that I consider running my car into oncoming traffic, just because maybe I could get some shut-eye in the ambulance or while waiting for the jaws of life.
Posts about strippers putting fingers in your ass are much more exciting than ones about being sleepy.
Just move along, people.
Nothing to see here.

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