The other night I came up with a stupid idea whilst in the midst of a drug-induced stupor. I'll share it with you now.
SETTING: Post-Civil War United States. President Lincoln has just been assassinated. John Wilkes Booth struck, not just to deliver a death blow to President Lincoln, but also to collect a sample of his brain. For he was doing the bidding of a group of disenfranchised ex-slave-owners -- who, after no longer being able to take advantage of the African slave labor they so required, set out to use genetic engineering to create a never-ending supply of workers to harvest their cottons and tobaccos. Workers created in the image of the very man who forced them to take such action. Clone Lincolns. Slave Clone Lincolns. Slave Clone Lincolns who eventually would number in the millions, who would then rise up and take back the country for the South -- once and for all.
Here's a doodle I just cranked out on my Nintendo DS:
I spend a lot of time sitting on stools. Whether it be reading the ingredients on the Cheerios box in my breakfast nook, suckin' down cold ones at the bar or kissin' Flo's grits at the diner, nearly every free minute I have is spent sitting on stools.
That said, lately I've been finding that my posterior is, more often than not, rather tender. I'm not sure whether it has something to do with the extra elevation afforded by my choice of seating or what, but it is clear these stools aren't agreeing with me.
A few minutes ago I was at the pharmacy looking for something to relieve the tenderness in my buttocks when I spied the perfect thing: Maximum Strength Stool Softener. Here I was trying to find a remedy to treat the symptom of a problem, when those great public servants in the pharmaceutical industry have gone and solved the problem altogether.
I have no idea how taking a little pill could actually affect the physical attributes of furniture, but I'm pleased as punch that this is now an option. What a lifesaver. The recommended dose is 1 pill, but due to the severity of my problem, I just went ahead and took 5.
My whole life, I've always had difficulty sleeping. Nap time as a child was hell because I would never sleep, I'd just have to lay there for an hour, bored out of my mind. I've never in my entire life fallen asleep "as soon as my head hit the pillow," and most nights I could easily have watched a feature-length movie in the time between turning off the light for the night and falling asleep. My roommate falls asleep "as soon as his ass touches something vaguely couchlike," and his alarm clock frequently goes off for hours straight without him noticing it. This makes me extremely jealous and bitter.
In any case, lately I've been having less trouble sleeping, it's just that it feels like I'm not getting any benefit from it. Sunday evening I actually went to bed at 8:45 due to being completely wiped out, despite not having done a darn thing all weekend. I don't think it helped.
There's things that I've told people I'd do, like computery things, not actual physically active things, that I've actually put off rather than spending the 5 minutes they would take because I was just too tired to devote the time to it. This is not good. I haven't done a darn thing to further my efforts on any of my various creative projects in longer than I can remember. This is not good.
I just don't know what to do. I've found that taking sleep aids can often help somewhat, but I develop a "dependency" extremely quickly, and it always takes me half the day before I really wake up after taking such things, which kind of defeats the purpose.
In my thinking about my situation, I've likened it to a person who has worms; no matter how much they eat, they just never seem to get any benefit from it. That's exactly how I feel. Sleep worms.
When I'm really tired, everything becomes really funny. And I don't just mean that to me everything is funny, I mean it actually becomes funny.
For example, after a few minutes of talking like a robot, putting robots in famous movie situations and pop songs, and saying non-robotty things in a robotty manner, I spontaneously invented the most brilliant joke ever.
What do androids take to relieve cold symptoms? Robotussin.
See what I mean?
As a bonus, here's a hilarious concept that needs a bit of work still: Imagine the pickup lines robots might use at a singles bar.
This is a sad day folks. I just learned that the terrorists have won. Well, the meth-heads anyway.
You may have noticed the 'War On Cold Medicine' being waged in a pharmacy near you; medication after medication is being locked away from us consumers in a misguided attempt to prevent it being used for nefarious purposes. Well, I'm sad to report that Vicks, like some of its competitors, has caved in and removed the pseudephedrine from their NyQuil and DayQuil products, thus leaving them pseudoeffective.
Am I going to have to resort to buying my pseudoephedrine on the street to make my beloved NyQuil back into the 'sniffling sneezing stuffy head... so you can rest medicine' that it was intended (and promised) to be?
My first thought was to rush out and stock up, but I don't think they'd even sell it to me, seeing how it would look like I was a meth-head. It would be pretty fun though to arrive at the checkout lane carrying an armload1 of NyQuil and plop them down on the conveyor belt.
1: I generally eschew baskets or carts in the supermarket, precariously stacking my purchases and holding them to my body. It always really impresses the checkout chicks. "You should see how much I can get in a basket," I say with a seductive wink. This does not impress them.