A piss-poor night, a terrible joke and a supremely silly true story.
Ever had one of those nights where you're absolutely convinced that you've been awake for hours on end when in actual fact you've been sleeping on and off throughout the night?
Yeah?
Well, last night was not one of those nights.
An hour and a half before my alarm was set to go off I decided to call it quits. Because, let's face it, two hours (or less) of sleep is well past that point where sleep stops doing you any good and starts causing serious damage.
I am so. Fucking. Tired. Right now.
I'm struggling right now just to keep myself from falling asleep on my keyboaaftcrfytaysdcvtytshdayttcgr
And on another note.
In your belly button there is a tiny village. A tiny village with tiny roads, and tiny parks, and a tiny church, and two tiny pubs, and tiny traffic lights, and tiny houses with tiny windows and a tiny chimney puffing tiny puffs of smoke.
And in these tiny houses live tiny people, a tiny father and a tiny mother and even tinier children; a tiny happy family going about their tiny happy family routine.
Around 5 A.M. every morning, if you listen very, very carefully, you'll hear a tiny smack as all the tiny husbands kiss their tiny wives goodbye and head off to work.
Work for these tiny people is making long hours in the tiny mines deep inside your belly, using their tiny pick axes to dig for Fruba. Fruba is what this tiny community thrives on; it is their food, their drink, their currency.
A side effect of digging up all this Fruba is that these tiny people also excavate considerable amounts of lint, which is entirely useless to the tiny people. So they load all the lint onto tiny trucks and haul it to the opposite side of the tiny village where they dump it on one big heap. And every once in a while, a huge Q-tip descends from the sky and takes away all that lint.
The tiny people don't question this; it's a part of their tiny reality.
True story.
Yeah?
Well, last night was not one of those nights.
An hour and a half before my alarm was set to go off I decided to call it quits. Because, let's face it, two hours (or less) of sleep is well past that point where sleep stops doing you any good and starts causing serious damage.
I am so. Fucking. Tired. Right now.
I'm struggling right now just to keep myself from falling asleep on my keyboaaftcrfytaysdcvtytshdayttcgr
And on another note.
In your belly button there is a tiny village. A tiny village with tiny roads, and tiny parks, and a tiny church, and two tiny pubs, and tiny traffic lights, and tiny houses with tiny windows and a tiny chimney puffing tiny puffs of smoke.
And in these tiny houses live tiny people, a tiny father and a tiny mother and even tinier children; a tiny happy family going about their tiny happy family routine.
Around 5 A.M. every morning, if you listen very, very carefully, you'll hear a tiny smack as all the tiny husbands kiss their tiny wives goodbye and head off to work.
Work for these tiny people is making long hours in the tiny mines deep inside your belly, using their tiny pick axes to dig for Fruba. Fruba is what this tiny community thrives on; it is their food, their drink, their currency.
A side effect of digging up all this Fruba is that these tiny people also excavate considerable amounts of lint, which is entirely useless to the tiny people. So they load all the lint onto tiny trucks and haul it to the opposite side of the tiny village where they dump it on one big heap. And every once in a while, a huge Q-tip descends from the sky and takes away all that lint.
The tiny people don't question this; it's a part of their tiny reality.
True story.
5 Comments:
Wow. Brilliant story. Reminds me of Dr. Suess's Horton Hears a Who, but more disgusting.
Of all the stuff I write, this is the one you like?
I'm depressed now.
It's really good actually. I don't know what you're complaining about.
And will you please turn off the stupid word verification thing? It's SOOOO annoying.
Done.
Why thank you Little Armless Green Man.
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