No Rest for the Wicked

Warning: asterisks have been removed from profanities today. It's a fan-fucking-tastic voyage. You've been warned.

Today’s post is going to be even more incoherent than usual, because homegirl did NOT get the sleep she needed. Granted, she typically requires an ass-ton of sleep that is almost impossible to achieve, but nevertheless…sleep was lacking this week.

Which is probably why homegirl is referring to herself in the third person.

And which is probably why she chose the term “homegirl” to reference herself.

NOW DO YOU SEE WHY SLEEP IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME ?!?!?!

I pulled out the big guns today to combat my recent sleep deprivation.
No, not crack.
The OTHER big gun: Coffee.

Delicious, life-giving nectar of the gods was transported from home to work via not one but TWO thermoses this morning. And for a good 15 minutes, I was feeling on top of the world. I get this thing I like to call “coffee euphoria,” in which I drink a cup of coffee and about 20 minutes later I get all happy and content and smile a lot and make friends with the fake plant on my desk (his name is Travis). And the, 20 minutes after that, I’m back to my miserable self again. Is this a shared experience, or am I completely cracked out?

[Sidenote: What is my obsession with crack today?]

Unfortunately, we are now T minus 3 hours since I downed both thermoses in record time, so I’m no longer rolling on caffeine, and I’m instead the very image of sulky, sleep-deprived malcontent. I did, however get a laugh when I took this completely random facebook quiz to find out WHAT RIDICULOUSLY AWESEOME CREATURE ARE YOU?
Here are the results:

OH SHIT YOU'RE BRITNEY SPEARS!.

OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK. YOU SUCK THE LIFE OUT OF ANY LIVING BEING; YOUR TERRIBLE VOICE STEALS THE INNOCENCE FROM THE YOUTH. YOU ARE MORE DEADLY THAN A FUCKING BOX OF NUCLEAR BOMBS ON TOP OF A PILE OF FUCKING NAILS, WITH A STACK OF DICKS. YOU'RE GOING TO BE HALF NAKED FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, CRUSHING THE DREAMS OF THE WORLD. FUCK. YOU EVEN SHOOT BABIES OUT LIKE A GOD DAMN M249 SAW. FUCK I'M OUTTA HERE!.

I kind of want to provide oral services to the person who created this quiz, if for nothing else other than the fact that it is one of the more bizarre things I’ve ever encountered in life. The person who made this quiz is a sick individual, and I totally, TOTALLY dig that. Also, bonus points for semi-correctly using a semi-colon. Punctuation turns me on.

Right about now, I’d love to have a terrible voice that steals the innocence from youth. I’d love to be more deadly than a fucking box of nuclear bombs on top of a pile of fucking nails, because man, it doesn’t get much more lethal than that. Where do I sign up?

And I know I should be in a better mood because it’s Friday dammit, and I should be inwardly celebrating my eminent release from the tyranny of Corporate America, but all I can think about is the fact that there’s a 6-pack of beer in at home in the fridge and I am 10 miles away from it in an office in Voorhees and there is something very, very wrong with this picture.

So until my beer and I are united, I will continue to lament my situation and pray to Allah that he will equip me with an innocence-stealing voice and a baby-shooting vadge so that I can effectively crush the dreams of the world.

Fuck.
Happy Friday.