2008 Woodie Awards
HUMOR: Counting sheep does not always lure the sandman
Daniel Walters, Opinions Editor
Issue date: 11/21/06
Last Updated: 12/26/07
3) You now should be at the inevitable stage of tiredness, where everything seems hilarious, including catastrophic famine, the Nuremburg War Trials and Saturday Night Live.
4) Alternate your tossing and turning with turning and tossing. Your ceaseless, vaguely menopausal quest for the most comfortable position, should cause you to toggle your blanket tactics between:
a) Wearing your entire laundry basket and piling six comforters and a massive bear rug on top of your self and ...
b) Being completely naked except for a strategically-placed napkin.
Eventually, your pillow will be flipped and folded so much that it looks like an origami swan. Or one of those foldy fortune teller thingies.
5) With each passing minute, the prospect of the impending morn grows more horrifically abhorrent. You see your minutes of sleep disappearing before your eyes, like diamonds slipping from your fingers and falling in a wood chipper. LEGAL NOTE: This can damage your wood chipper.
Your entire body tenses up and grimaces, focused on one thought, one goal, one all-consuming purpose: gottagettosleep gottagettosleep gottagettosleep.
6) Blearily lock your bloodshot eyes on the cruel shiftless visage of your digital clock: glowing bright red numbers eternally paralyzed on 4:27, unchanging, unshifting, rending your soul like the unblinking eye of Sauron. And as the darkness lightens against approaching dawn, as the dire cheer of twittering birds tweeting their morning revelry - your funeral dirge! - the tick-tock tick-tock TICK-TOCK of your living room clock grows louder and louder, faster and faster, more insistent, like the beating of the old man's heart and your clawing at the wallpaper and bloodied punching of the drywall does nothing to drown out the screams of …
6) You listlessly slough into Core, ignoring the white spots dancing gaily before your eyes and the way your writing is scribbly, your walking is wobbly and your hearing is warble-y.
4) Alternate your tossing and turning with turning and tossing. Your ceaseless, vaguely menopausal quest for the most comfortable position, should cause you to toggle your blanket tactics between:
a) Wearing your entire laundry basket and piling six comforters and a massive bear rug on top of your self and ...
b) Being completely naked except for a strategically-placed napkin.
Eventually, your pillow will be flipped and folded so much that it looks like an origami swan. Or one of those foldy fortune teller thingies.
5) With each passing minute, the prospect of the impending morn grows more horrifically abhorrent. You see your minutes of sleep disappearing before your eyes, like diamonds slipping from your fingers and falling in a wood chipper. LEGAL NOTE: This can damage your wood chipper.
Your entire body tenses up and grimaces, focused on one thought, one goal, one all-consuming purpose: gottagettosleep gottagettosleep gottagettosleep.
6) Blearily lock your bloodshot eyes on the cruel shiftless visage of your digital clock: glowing bright red numbers eternally paralyzed on 4:27, unchanging, unshifting, rending your soul like the unblinking eye of Sauron. And as the darkness lightens against approaching dawn, as the dire cheer of twittering birds tweeting their morning revelry - your funeral dirge! - the tick-tock tick-tock TICK-TOCK of your living room clock grows louder and louder, faster and faster, more insistent, like the beating of the old man's heart and your clawing at the wallpaper and bloodied punching of the drywall does nothing to drown out the screams of …
6) You listlessly slough into Core, ignoring the white spots dancing gaily before your eyes and the way your writing is scribbly, your walking is wobbly and your hearing is warble-y.
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