7:28 P.M.-I am awoken from my hour long nap on my couch by a text from my best friend. The text consists of pictures of cigarettes, guns, alcohol and naked girls with a simple one word question…”Vegas?”
7:28-8:12 P.M.-Facebook trolling, Pandora Radio is turned on. After three songs, an advertisement for Trader Joe’s interrupts the music. I’m fucking starving.
8:15 P.M.- Sifting through my fridge looking for something quick to eat, I realize that I spent close to $200 at the store earlier this week, only to have nothing but ingredients. I string together an impressive amount of swear words together without being redundant and settle on making a quesadilla.
8:18P.M.- While eating my nuked quesadilla dinner, an overwhelming desire for a margarita hits me.
8:20P.M.- I pour myself a glass of milk. This would taste way better if tequila is in it. Actually…I have had milk and tequila before and it was disgusting…I take it back.
8:25P.M.-10:00P.M. I stumble around the internet, mainly refreshing a Lakersground.net to see if that fucking twat David Stern has realized his mistake and possibly changed his mind on Chris Paul being traded to the Lakers. I come across an awesomely swell .gif file that someone more creative than I put together.
10:02P.M.- My desire for margaritas has dissipated, replaced for an unwavering desire for ice cream. Ice cream that I do not have in my condo. I immediately go on Facebook to publicly announce my desire for said ice cream and plead with my 406 friends to bring me some, knowing full well no one will. Assholes.
10:15-11:00 I log into Twitter for the first time in forever. Realize that I haven’t missed anything important since Twitter is quite possibly the worst waste of time of anything on the internet ever. I look at the clock and am mildly shocked that I am still tweeting 45 minutes after coming to the conclusion that I won’t.
11:12 P.M.- I return my friend’s text about Vegas. It appears next week we will be taking a few decades off of our lives in one night. Neat.
11:15-11:56 P.M.- I search unsuccessfully for a trippy video I saw on Thursday night at the bar where these guys are getting ready for a night out, but their junk is replaced with an extra head. I can’t find it and wonder how the internet could fail me so badly and give up.
12:01 A.M.- Video is found. This band Duck Sauce also did that oddly hypnotic “Barbra Streisand,” song prior to this masterpiece. I watch the video twice before posting it to Facebook.
12:30 A.M.- The previous video has snowballed itself into me finding other, more disturbing videos. Capped off by dyE’s “Fantasy,” which might give me physical nightmares and turn me off from sex and swimming pools forever.
12:46 A.M.- I exhale deeply and see my own breath. It is fucking cold. I decide to pour myself a cup of instant coffee. As I am drinking it, I realize what I have just done. Oh well, fuck it. I wasn’t going to sleep anyway.
12:50-1:02 A.M.- I play “In A Gada Da Vida” with my drumsticks on various pieces of furniture. My coffee cup makes for a surprisingly effective cymbal.
1:05-1:11 A.M.- It is still freezing in my place despite the epic drum solo workout, so I finally change out of my work clothes and into a pair of sweats, a hoodie and gloves. While changing, I rip a glorious fart.
1:11-1:30 A.M.- I laugh over my glorious fart.
1:30-2:30 A.M.- Rumors are starting to break about Chris Paul possibly being traded to the Lakers AGAIN. I check all major sporting news sources and decide that @IncarceratedBob on Twitter is the one I trust most since he is telling me what I want to hear. Once Paul is officially traded to the Lakers, they can go get Dwight Howard and a jumbo sized tub of lube for the rest of the NBA’s asshole because they are going to get buggered with this super team. Fuck you Dan Gilbert.
2:30-3:00 A.M.- I listen to a bunch of old Kid Cudi songs. Most are pretty much crap which is disappointing.
3:00-4:12 A.M.- Time to go to bed. I am exhausted but not tired. I pop my music back on and go to lay down. I close my eyes. I need sleep.
4:13 A.M– I am still awake. Fucking coffee. Fucking NBA. Fucking cold weather. I get out of bed, put my gloves back on and start looking for a beanie to put on my head. Turns out that I left both of my beanies in my car, so I improvise and put my luchadore mask on. Total. Face. Warmth. I run into my bathroom to look at myself at 4:30 in the morning, wearing a wrestling mask and a hoodie, like some weird character from a Stanley Kubrick film.
4:30 A.M.- I am motivated for the first time in months to write something, even if it is shit.