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Sleep has been important to humans for as long as I can remember. And since I’m 26, that’s…well let’s see, I can’t really remember anything until I was about 3, so I can remember 23 years. So then; sleep has been important to humans for the last 23 years. Before that it was regarded as generally un-Christian and rude. Those who slept were considered “radicals” or, more simply, “assholes.”

I’m not sure when the decline in this archaic belief-system began to occur, but suffice it to say that I’m happy that since I was 3, sleeping has become socially acceptable and generally well thought of.

I’ve spent many long years striving to be a student of slumber.* I remember literally spending half a day in bed on the weekends and it was quite blissful and rewarding and…well maybe it was just a little lazy but that’s what the weekends** are for anyway.

This past week has seen a critical stumbling in my ever-faltering steps taken at achieving max sleeping hours. Since my ventures into puberty, outside influences cause me to miss not just hours, but sometimes even entire evenings of sleep. Beer, hot girls, the list goes on and on. Well, actually it pretty much stops there. But there are lots of different kinds of beer, and lots of hot girls out there too.

Lately there has been an unjust combination of these things hammering away at the foundations of my own personal Land of Nod. It has been trying, it has been difficult, but I have perservered in spite of my far-below-average nightly sleephours.

But if the trend continues, well, I’m not sure what will happen to me…of course that won’t stop me from making ridiculous speculations:

(Andy walks into his office on Monday morning…)

Boss: Oi Andy, how’s it goin’ geez?

Andy: Mmmuuhhh.

Boss: Right. Today you need to make sure you follow up with-

Andy: Semmuuhh…wh…feh.

Boss: Are you alright?

Andy: Taaa…uur…ooowwns.

Boss: What? Hold on.

(Boss removes his headphones)

Andy: I said take of your headphones! Jeez.

Boss: Oh right then. I thought you were mumbling.

Andy: No, you just had your headphones in.

Boss: Silly me.

Huh, not as zainy as I thought. Oh Well I guess-

Andy: Hey!

Uh….what?

Andy: Hey the dialouge isn’t over yet!

Oh I’m really sor-

Andy: Yeah, I bet you’re sorry! You stinkin jerk. Let us fin-

Boss: Who are you talking to?

Andy: Myself.

Boss: This is all very bizzarre. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?

No, you don’t understand, he’s talking to me. I’m him but I’m the real him and he’s the make believe me. Just like you’re the make believe boss.

Boss: I’m make believe?

Yes.

Boss: Total mindblow!

Andy: Eh you get used to it. It’s actually pretty nice because you can’t get hurt or ever really die. And real me often takes pretty good care of-

(The boss’ head explodes)

There’s your mindblow.

Andy: Oh snap! What’d you do that for?

Got bored. this post is going nowhere. Plus I’m just waiting for him to leave the office until I go home. I figured at least I could get rid of him in some way, shape or form.

Andy: Well that’s what happens when you don’t get enough sleep.

Touche. Alright, I’m going home – I need a nap.

Andy: What am I supposed to do today?

Uh…here –

(Andy is suddenly surrounded by a huge room encompassing an awesome TV, video games, some hot-girl attendants, and beers)

Andy: Nice.

Complain again and your head explodes.

(Andy makes the “I’m zipping up my lips” motion)

So there you have it folks. That’s what happens when I don’t get enough sleep. I start to go a little bananas. Yeah that’s right, bananas. Get it? GET IT?! I knew you would. You always do.

*And alliteration
**Note: Other days suiting this purpose are Monday, Wednesday, and occasionally Tuesday.

Alright, I know, totally phoning these in, BUT, here’s something else you need to see. It’s pretty old and I’ve heard it a hundred times, but seeing him play it is unbelievable:

Generally there is a lot of garbage on YouTube, and I think that’s great and it’s nice to laugh at stuff. But today I decided to do a search and came up with some COOL stuff. If you don’t know who Bill Evans is, you need to watch this more than anyone. If you do, watch the way he plays. Unbelievable.

I was walking to work this morning and it was standard post-subway work-walk stuff: Hot girls inevitably going into Starbucks and the pleasure of fresh, cool air (compared to the subway which I can only describe as like being in some horrible Trash Sauna).

As I finished crossing the street an old man steps in front of me and then walks past. Naturally I was surprised to find he was pulling along one of those wheely suitcases. I stop on a dime as he continues on his old-man way. Slightly outraged, I grumbled my way into Starbucks and dreamed up this little situation:

(Andy has just exited the subway on 32nd St and is just about to cross the street when, similarly to the old-man situation, a passerby with a wheely-bag interrupts his stride)

Andy: Jesus! Watch where you’re going!

Devil: Um, I’m the Devil.

Andy: I mean you couldn’t just wear a backpa- wait. What?

Devil: I’m the Devil. You called me Jesus.

Jesus: Yeah?

Andy: Heeere we go…

Devil: Oh, hi Jesus. What’s up?

Jesus: Oh you know. Another day another dollar. Lime Bars are selling today like they’re goin’ outta style! Shit yes!

Andy: Hey Jesus, would you mind telling the devil to stop using a damn wheely bag? It’s really annoying

Devil: No one cuts me a break these days.

Jesus: Dude, I was f-ing crucified by my own followers. At least your followers only kill barnyard animals. Why don’t you just buy a freakin’ backpack?

Devil: I can use whatever I want!

Andy: Those wheely bags are so stupid. They just get in everyone’s way, and the handles are to short anyway so you have to bend over to use them.

Devil: Well Jesus stands here selling his damn Lime Bars out of that big cart!

Andy: Yeah but, they’re delicious.

Jesus: Right on my man. Also I’m Jesus. No one gets mad at me. Watch this.

(Jesus slaps an old woman right in the face)

Old Woman: Praise the Heavens!

Jesus: See?

Devil: Ugh. I hate you Jesus.

Andy: Duh.

Jesus: Alright bitches. I gotsta peace out. Catch ya on the flip!

Devil: Wait! I’ll take a lime bar – Andy you want one?

Andy: Sure.

Devil: Two, two lime bars.

Jesus: 8 dollars please.

Devil: What a freakin’ gyp – here.

Jesus: Pleasure doing business, suckers! Alright, time to bounce.

Andy: (together with the Devil) Bye Jesus.

Unless you can turn water into wine, I highly suggest you go buy a backpack. Do you really want the delay of hundreds of commuters and the broken hips of thousands of befallen old people on your head? I didn’t think so.

Pretty much every weekend this summer has been a total bust for me, and damnit, it’s not my fault. With a few minor exceptions, the best part of each week finds me IMing or calling everyone I know to see if they’re going to be in town. Typically, the resounding answer is “Oh sorrrrry, I’m going to the Hamptons.”

Well you know what? If you go to the Hamptons on the weekends during the summer, you are now officially lame. Yes, you belong to the elite club of the throngs of people that still think rollin’ on E is cool (or even know what it means). You rent a house with 15 other people and still have to pay 2 grand for the summer just to see some guidos try to hit on girls who are out of their league. Meanwhile, the girls use the guys for free drinks and then go pop some pills and makeout with all the losers dancing to glow-stick music…and we all know how I feel about glowstick “music.”

That being said, I have never actually been to the Hamptons. Why would I go? I’m too cool for it. WAY too cool. What do I do on my weekends during the summer? Well it usually consists of going to Central Park or if it’s a bit rainy, going to the movies. Come night-time I’ll go grab a beer somewhere chill with all the other people who are just too cool for the Hamptons. I also like to eat hot dogs. If I went to the Hamptons I bet I couldn’t even get a hot dog:

Andy: Excuse me, sir?

Guy: Yes?

Andy: I’ll have one hot dog.

Guy: Um…I don’t have any-

Andy: With some mustard

Guy: I don’t have any.

Andy: What?

Guy: I was just saying, I don’t have any hot dogs.

Andy: Why not?

Guy: I’m a lifeguar-

Andy: Well I don’t see you guarding too many lives right now. Go get me a hot dog!

Guy: It’s not my job!

Andy: But I’ll die if I don’t get one, and you have to save me from dying.

Guy: Oh that’s ridiculous, no one dies from not eating a hot dog.

Andy: I haven’t eaten in 18 days. I will die of starvation if I don’t have a hot dog soon.

Guy: Look, you obviously have eaten recently, you have a marinara stain on your shorts. You also don’t look the least bit tired or emaciated.

Andy: Fine, if you don’t make me a hot dog I am going to drown myself. What kind of place is this that doesn’t have hot dogs?

Guy: It’s a beach! I’m sure if you just walked a few hundred yards up to the–

Andy: I am not walking anywhere!

Guy: Well you can’t bother me all day – I have lives to save!

Andy: That’s funny, looking around just now I only see one person who has a need to fear death, and that, my friend, is you.

Guy: Ugh. Now you’re going to kill me if I don’t get you a hot–

*BANG*

Andy: I hate the Hamptons.

Let this be a warning to lifegaurds and Hampton-goers everywhere: ALWAYS carry hot dogs with you. Maybe you can find a way to infuse them with the stuff in glow sticks and just wave those around at your crappy euro-trash dance clubs. I’m sure it’ll impress all the beautiful people.

If you need to find me, I’ll be in Central Park, being too awesome for the likes of you.

Before I get started with this no doubt terrific post, I’d like to apologize to the people who were around when this idea originated. This will seem like old material to them. But since its new to you, anonymous reader, I’m posting it for your sake. Also, I know I’ve covered the subject of my death before, but I didn’t go into any details about the actual funeral.

After discussing various possible mental calamaties indicated by what can only be appropriately titled as “brain pain,” the subject of funerals arose. Typically, talking about funerals is a sad state of affairs, but when you’re drinking Tecate, nothing is a sad state of affairs.* Anyway, it came up that a funeral would be best if hosted as a huge drinking jamboree. Your friends show up, you’re there (albeit unable to make typical party rounds), and everyone just gets blitzed and has a blast.

Naturally, being someone who loves having a good time I concurred with this statement. Then I began thinking about what my funeral would be like all around – who would be there, what they’d talk about, what they’d do – if I were to die tomorrow:

(The scene is only a bit somber and a disco ball and colored lights bask the room making it reminiscent of a senior prom. There are a few kegs setup and the early funeral-comers are taking advantage of it.)

Friend 1: Wow, I can’t believe Andy is dead.
Friend 2: Yeah I know. I also can’t believe the babysitter is dead.
Friend 1: What?
Friend 2: You know, that old movie with Christina Applegate?
Friend 1: Total babe.
Friend 2: Babe-a-licious.
Friend 1: Babester.
Friend 2: Babe-aroni.
Friend 1: So how did she die?
Friend 2: What?
Friend 1: The babysitter, how did she die?
Friend 2: …dude, I JUST said I was referring to that old movie with Christina Applegate.
Friend 1: Man, she’s hot.
Friend 2: Totally.
Friend 1: It’s too bad she died.
Friend 2: …what?
Friend 1: Christina Applegate, it’s too bad she died.
Friend 2: …what is wrong with you?
Friend 1: Oh it’s nothing, I just twisted my ankle. So this party is pretty cool, right?
Friend 2: Yeah it is, there are some SMOKIN’ babes here!**
Friend 1: Definitely. But I was looking over Andy’s will stipulations about how the party should go. And I’m cool with the pin-the-tail on the donkey, and the mandatory drinking games – but did you read the part about body shots?
Friend 2: Yeah, so what?
Friend 1: Did you read it closely?
Friend 2: No, I was pretty far away from it.
Friend 1: …what? No I mean did you notice the part where it stipulates that during body shot time, you have to do a body shot off of the corpse?
Friend 2: Oh God, I think I’m gonna be sick!
Friend 1: I think I’m gonna do it off his arm.
Friend 2: Dude, what are you talking about? He’s dead! I am not doing a body shot off of a dead body.
Friend 1: I would totally do one off of Christina Applegate’s dead body.
Friend 2: That’s gross, I wouldn’t do it off of anyone’s dead body.
Friend 1: What if she wasn’t really dead?
Friend 2: Well then yeah I’d do it, that was a stupid question.
Friend 1: Wasn’t it? Okay well, I’m gonna go do my body shot.
Friend 2: Yeah, might as well get it over with – it’s a good thing we got here first. That way we can pick some real estate that won’t be…more gross than it needs to be.

That’d be my last really great joke (and probably my first and only really great joke too). Of course, no one would think it was funny except for me…and I’d be dead.

*Except for maybe speech patterns and balance.
**Yeah, that’s right.