Keeping Myself Awake
So, in addition to me having bright-light sign issues (as previously mentioned), I also had wicked bad dreams about credit card debt and money-related anxiety and depression and panic, which led to a shit-tastic night's sleep which, in turn, has brought me to here: A place where I'm very close to falling asleep at my desk and then getting fired and then turning to hard street drugs, which inevitably ends up with me selling my body to the night like Cosette's mother but with less operatic singing and more VD.
Because I don't want to end up trolling for tricks at the Port Authority (at least not before I can hit up Fredrick's for some killer satin man-thongs), it's now imperative that I find ways to keep myself awake for the remaining three hours of the work day. Here's what I've come up with thus far:
-Coffee enema after coffee enema after espresso enema after iced granita enema after not so much an enema as just dumping sugar in my ass with a funnel.
-Blistering guitar solos with my head on the amp. Need to find a guitarist, though... one that can shred like a dreamworld full of black magic and rainbow sword fights over lava monster massacres.
-Warm milk, cozy blanket and a roaring fire. Sounds like exactly the opposite of what I'm looking for, right? Well keep this in mind... the roaring fire is in my fucking brain!!!
-Challenging the mail room staff to a Brazilian strap-fight. Won't be great for productivity, but it should keep the adrenaline up, what with all the knife wounds.
-Working nude (which is a good thing for EVERYONE). (Not really). (Yes, really... I've got a body like a two-ton block of fuck marble). (Well, the "two-ton" part is right). (Hey, who asked you, other voice in parenthesis)? (Just speaking my mind, man... chillax). (Maybe YOU should chillax... stupid... head). (Oooh, good one). (Shut up). Hey, both of you shut up... I'm trying to work nude, here.
What am I missing? Anything? Hello? Where am I? God, I'm so tired...
Because I don't want to end up trolling for tricks at the Port Authority (at least not before I can hit up Fredrick's for some killer satin man-thongs), it's now imperative that I find ways to keep myself awake for the remaining three hours of the work day. Here's what I've come up with thus far:
-Coffee enema after coffee enema after espresso enema after iced granita enema after not so much an enema as just dumping sugar in my ass with a funnel.
-Blistering guitar solos with my head on the amp. Need to find a guitarist, though... one that can shred like a dreamworld full of black magic and rainbow sword fights over lava monster massacres.
-Warm milk, cozy blanket and a roaring fire. Sounds like exactly the opposite of what I'm looking for, right? Well keep this in mind... the roaring fire is in my fucking brain!!!
-Challenging the mail room staff to a Brazilian strap-fight. Won't be great for productivity, but it should keep the adrenaline up, what with all the knife wounds.
-Working nude (which is a good thing for EVERYONE). (Not really). (Yes, really... I've got a body like a two-ton block of fuck marble). (Well, the "two-ton" part is right). (Hey, who asked you, other voice in parenthesis)? (Just speaking my mind, man... chillax). (Maybe YOU should chillax... stupid... head). (Oooh, good one). (Shut up). Hey, both of you shut up... I'm trying to work nude, here.
What am I missing? Anything? Hello? Where am I? God, I'm so tired...
posted by Clinton at 1:34 PM
12 Comments:
OMG the guitarist that you need is currently wailing somewhere in my building across the quad space.
Send him my way! I need to be blown apart by his Rock Majesty. And have him bring me a Red Bull while he's at it.
"two-ton block of fuck marble"
Probably the best line to ever grace the Internet, ever.
Totally addicted to your site, dude.
At least you still have a job to fall asleep at, I was let go Monday. No warning, no severance pay, just "Here's your last check goodbye."
Barleycorn... Why thank you! I hope this distinction comes with a plaque. Or a small trophy. Or a free order of fries. Actually, just the fries would work.
David... That sucks.
Yeah, so if you see a hobo on the subway reading ZFS on his laptop it could be me.
I've tried the coffee enema thing...it's overrated.
Our pal Lioux plays a mean gee-tar.
David... Noted.
Ross... I'm imagining farts that smell like Starbucks. Am I close?
Big Daddy... I know, I've rocked out to his albums. The gee-tar is indeed mean.
oh clint, you are so great :) i try to just ignore those voices (DESTROY CLINTON) but they're getting so loud!!
-J
At least your inside voices speak English...
Jew... You'll have to destroy my motherfucking SOUL first, beeyotch!
Todd... Yeah, but they have *really* whiney voices. Sort of like if Woody Allen and Fran Drescher had a kid, then kicked it in the throat.
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