I have often wondered, if offered the chance to have more money or more hours in each day, which would I choose? Definitely money. Because it's impossible to get more than twenty-four hours into a standard day; right?! Not so fast, friend. What if I told you I've discovered a way create up to eight, yes EIGHT, extra hours every day? Would you like to hear about that? Would you like it enough that you would pay me, in three easy payments, the low, low amount of $19.99? No? Hmm. How about I tell you my plan and then you pay me what you think it's worth, in three easy payments. Great! Here's my plan; stop sleeping! It's so wasteful. While you are sleeping, you aren't painting the kitchen, or getting exercise, or watching your shows, or (my personal hobby) writing the Great American Novelette. So stop it. Just follow me through the steps of the program, and I'll show you how easy it really is.
16HSLS: (Hours Since Last Sleep): I had a full day of work and then spent a wonderful evening with the family. Now it's time for my extra hours to begin. Looking forward to a night of fruitful writing.
23HSLS: Browsed StumbleUpon for three hours, followed by opening and shutting the fridge door trying to solve the light conundrum for an hour or two, and then discovering that pop tarts are freakin hilarious, somewhere around four in the A.M. But at least I have a good solid hour to write before getting ready for work.
40HSLS: Work sucked. Family was unusually loud and annoying. But now, it's the magic hours.
41HSLS: Work sucked. Family was unusually loud and anno... Wait. I already wrote that. Need to focus... Where's those funny cats?
44HSLS: Did you hear that? What the hell was that, it sounded like an eyeball breathing. SH*T! Quick, I'll hide in... snxxxxt. WHA...?! I'm hungry. Where's the kitchen go to?
45HSLS: HAHAHAHAHahahahah. POP TARTS. hahhahahahaha. They pop and they're tarts. But they're aren't tart or poppy. HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA. snxzzt. hhaahaaAHAAAHA!
48HSLS: The devil-woman is trying to kill me. She keeps shooting these little evil alien bastards out of her tummy, and they intend to suck up all my life essence, leaving me a lifeless husk. Probably make a piñata out of the husk. Fill it with Pop Tarts. Dad must be an acronym for dead essence dummy-head. They won't take me alive, dammit! This tinfoil will keep me safe.
64HSLS: No job. Said I looked terrible and I wasn't allowed to wear my safety tinfoil hat. Good riddance, they must be in league with the devil-wife. Hid in the cupboard until everybody went to bed, Pop Tarts are my only friend left in the world.
67HSLS: Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop... Pop.
68HSLS: Pop Tarts are inside of foil. I'm inside of foil. The Pop Tarts want to get inside of me! Damn you Beelzubeatrice, is there no safe place from your accursed machina... u. uh uh
70HSLS: uh. tions? Who said that? Huh?
72HSLS: AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH! AAAaaaaaAAAAAARGH!
