Why Hermits Have the Right Idea + More Tom Jones Funnery

Why Hermits Have the Right Idea

Last night, I intended to conk out on the couch around 11:30. I say "intended", since I proceeded to toss and turn for the next two hours as my mind raced a thousand miles a minute. Such a sleepless night is actually quite routine for me, as my restless thought pattern typically goes something like this:

"I really don't want to go to work tomorrow...I wonder what I'll have for breakfast tomorrow...I hope this Mid-East crisis is resolved...maybe waffles...whatever happened to Mark Linn-Baker...nah, maybe I'll have a bagel instead...I REALLY don't want to go to work tomorrow...why didn't I fold that hand the other night...crap, I don't think I even have any more bagels...Voltron was a great cartoon..."

Yeah, it's 120 minutes of that.

So last night, I had started to reach the apex of the two hour threshold of suck when I finally started dozing off around 1:30-ish. Almost as if on cue, my quite alcoholic neighbors decided at that very moment to engage in some drunken shouting. Considering my walls have the thickness of a piece of toilet paper (not the la-dee-dah 2-ply stuff either), I immediately awoke from my slumber, which had lasted a grand total of two minutes. Quickly deciding that I wasn't in the mood to be kept awake by inebriated tomfoolery, I immediately trudged into my bedroom and plopped on the bed in the hopes of getting at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I did indeed get some uninterrupted sleep...a whole 20 minutes worth. I'm guessing my one neighbor came down with a case of the blues. I can safely make this assertion, especially since said jackass proceeded to drunkenly play the guitar in the parking lot, which just happens to be right outside my bedroom window. So once again, I immediately picked up my bedtime necessities and made my way back to the couch.

I know you're probably asking, "Why didn't you just tell him to stop?" The answer is quite simple: I'm a wuss.

I recurled myself up on the couch, hoping that Eric Clapton out there would strum himself to sleep in the middle of the sidewalk (though in my angered state, I thought that the middle of the street wouldn't have been such a bad idea either). Once again, I began to shut my eyes in the hopes of them not opening again until the alarm went off (though the snooze button would be on call). As soon as I started entering some bodily state closely resembling sleep, the next-door chicanery worked its way back inside. Only this time, I heard laughing. Very loud, obnoxious, drunken laughing. While the pacifist in me was just oh-so-happy to hear that they kissed and made up, the slightly delusional insomniac in me began envisioning some creative uses for a baseball bat.

I honestly can't tell you for sure if I woke up this morning in my bed or on my couch. Three hours of sleep has a tendency to distort memory like that.

More Tom Jones Funnery

A couple of weeks ago, I posted the now-infamous "Smart People Eat Hear" sign that I saw outside of Tom Jones Restaurant. When a few friends insisted that it must have been an intentional (albeit bad) joke, I scoffed...mainly since I hold onto the hope that some people are just that stupid. Why? Because that's 90% of my blog material right there.

However, after driving by this week's new sign, even I have the question the legitimacy of their idiocy. Because if this sign is not some horrible attempt at humor, I am so beyond frightened for the world's future that I may invest in some locust repellant.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an apocalypse to prepare for.

Until next time...
Dan