Counting sheep to try to fall asleep is so boring and middle-class. Who cares about some fat guy in the suburbs going 88, 89, 90, bah, bah?
When I can’t sleep, instead of counting, I wear sheep. I will admit, it doesn’t really help (and I can only get to 15 before it gets too heavy); in fact, I get even more excited. Just something about wearing dead flesh that I really like.
I’ve been up for 38 hours with my two little friends here, eating a lamb shank and watching Silence of the Lambs. Not trying to be cruel or ironic here, just got hungry and I really dig that movie—especially when that girl’s in that hole…which reminds me…
Ha, I’m just kidding kids! You guys really think I’m some sicko don’t you?