Sleep

August 9, 2013
By

I never understood the appeal of counting sheep as a means of letting one’s self get sucked into the vortex of Dreamland. I prefer to just let my mind wander aimlessly around the parking lot until the shuttle bus shows up. Last night I imagined the word AWAKE spelled out in enormous, hollow letters made of thick plexiglass suspended above a deep canyon. The letters were all connected, and filled with a thick, glowing green liquid. An aperture opened up at the bottom of the middle letter A, and the green stuff began to leak out in steady drips. Each drop fell down through the canyon where, at the bottom, was an infinite train of mining carts moving at just the right pace so that each cart would catch one drop, filling it. The procession of carts rolled steadily through the darkness along the canyon floor, the green glow from their strange liquid cargo casting an eerie light on the steep walls of the narrowing passageway. Eventually, after a long series of twists and turns, the path led into a huge central area, where a colossal mechanical replica of the head of John De Lancie (better known as “Q” from Star Trek) awaited. The track fed straight into his mouth, which hung open like that of a ventriloquist’s dummy. Some of the green fluid was trickling from his nose. The “eyes” were three spinning windows in a disgusting slot machine. Each mining cart spun the wheels (GOOD LUCK!): three cherries meant nothing, three gold bars meant nothing, three 7s meant nothing… the only jackpot was three crescent moons.

Mitt Romney watches the live coverage in his double-wide trailer. He’s wearing a greasy bathrobe and sitting uncomfortably in a ratty old La-Z-Boy recliner that won’t recline. He has a week’s beard stubble, bags under his eyes, and the most immaculate hair known to man. He crushes the empty Miller High Life can and tosses it aside, then reaches inside his robe and scratches his rotten genitals, smells his fingers, begins to softly weep.

[and now a brief word from our friendly corporate sponsor]

A beautiful pond in a beautiful park on a beautiful day. A dead swan floats sweetly by. Bubbles begin to form on the surface of the pond, and a scuba diver soon emerges. He removes his mask, revealing a horribly decayed visage.

DIVER: Hi, I’m Dave Brubeck. If I were still amongst the living, by golly, you know I’d eat new coconut Doritos like they’re going out of style! Which they are! Buy, buy, buy! Consume, consume, consume! Welp, back to Hell I go! glug glug glug glug…

[we now return to Meathead Tries To Get Some Sleep.]

CHERRY – CHERRY – 7

7 – CHERRY – BAR

7 – 7 – BAR

MOON – 7 – CHERRY

BAR – BAR – 7

CHERRY – MOON – MOON

MOON – BAR – MOON

BAR – BAR – BAR

CHERRY – BAR – 7

MOON – MOON then again, I guess I can see how some folks might prefer to go the sheep route.

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