Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
There aren’t many things in this world that I truly hate. Except for one thing.
Terrorists, War, the Yankees, Lebron James, McDonalds commercials, People who dislike Lord of the Rings, computer viruses, Asian people, Satan and Gerard Butler all seem HEAVENLY when you compare them to one thing:
The morning alarm clock.
Beep. Beep. Beep. (that’s what alarm clocks still look like, right?)
Here’s my thought process in the morning:
7:57 am: I’m in a deep sleep, enjoying the lovely process of the REM cycle, carefree and lost in my dreams (and hopefully Leonardo DiCaprio is not invading them.)
7:58 am: I’m in some faraway land, fighting off an evil sorcerer and about to become a hero.
7:59 am: I’m about to have a three-way with Anne Hathaway and for some reason, Michelle Trachtenberg. Hey, I’m not complaining. We enter the bedroom, they begin to lift up their shirts and…
8:00 am: Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
I’m not in a faraway land anymore. I’m no longer rounding second base. I’m back in my bed, tired as hell, and hearing the worst sound that has ever been produced in the history of mankind.
Not only that, but I must walk across the room to mute the sound, and I cannot return to my bed. I must face the prospect that I have to spend the next eight hours at work. I need to do a service.
All I want to do is return to my faraway land. Even if it’s just one of those girls that are still there, I will take it. Anything but reality.
If anybody crosses my path this morning, I will take a butter knife, and stab them in the jugular.
That is how I feel every morning at 8:00 am. Nothing compares to the horror. Even water boarding seems like a tame experience in comparison. Anyone that’s ever spent a night at Guantanamo Bay would never complain if they were forced to wake up at 8:00 am via an alarm clock.
Although, to be fair, 5:00 pm is almost as equally awesome as 8:00 am is awful. Basically, having a full-time job is like having bipolar disorder.
Except… there is no cure.