Why the f*** am I still up?

I’m always b****ing and moaning about being tired. At my optimal bedtime I usually say to myself, “I’m just going to read one more article.” Uh, yeah, sure you will. Pretty soon two hours have passed, and I’m good and f***ed.

Tomorrow I’ll no doubt be up at my normal time, engaging in my latest hobby – coffee slurping. I’m working on a wicked tough patch of scar tissue on my tongue from repeated scalding. I figure by this time next year I’ll be able to boil spaghetti on my tongue without flinching (I still haven’t thought of how I can overcome the obvious capacity problem though). Of course all of this begs the question, “what the f*** are you still doing up writing this c**p?”

Just adding insult to injury baby! Throwing caution to the wind! Living for the moment! Carpe diem!

Sounds like I should be having a really good time. Sounds like I’ve really got this staying up late thing completely screwed up.

S***, are we out of coffee?

Seriously, are we out of coffee? That’s not even funny. Tragic, but not funny.