Waking Up Is The Worst Part Of My Day

That dinosaur is beeping at me! Why is a horny triceratops making that god-awful sound? Oh, it’s not a noisy dinosaur…it’s my goddamn alarm clock. How depressing – it’s time to wake up.

Opening my eyes after a beautiful night of sleep is the worst part of my day. I immediately roll over, slam the pillow over my head and dread the countless activities of waking consciousness that await me like a gauntlet of never-ending crap.

That nightmare I had about my genitals being picked apart by an HIV positive vulture with the face of Rosie O’Donnell was better than the nightmare of getting out of bed every day.

The cruelest aspect of my hatred for arising in the morning is my passionate love for going to sleep every night. I ritually brush my teeth, crawl into bed, orgasm softly and close my tired eyes.

And every night, like the greatest of all magic tricks, I flutter softly into my subconscious and float to the land of dreams. One time I had sex with that hot girl I saw on the bus, last week I was a badass pirate with tons of booty and the other night I threw an alley-oop to Shaq in the NBA Finals.

What did I do when I woke up this morning? I stubbed my toe on the guitar I never get a chance to play, found a new pile of bills I can’t possibly afford and then reluctantly moped into my dirty bathroom in a vain attempt to pee with a boner.

I spend every extra penny I make to replace the alarm clock I smash every morning.

Sometimes, I volunteer for sleep-related psychology experiments but they don’t pay well and the work is sporadic. I mean, ten bucks an hour barely covers the loan payment on my tempur-pedic king-size bed let alone my ever-growing Ambien addiction.

So, no matter what I do, I’m forced to suck it up and continue being woken up at an ungodly hour. Being forcefully wrenched from my peaceful slumber at six o’clock in the morning…

All so that – I may begin another day of work at the Summer’s Eve douchebag factory. Maybe I should just get a new job.