Thread by @ChefShwasty

This is what I did last night instead of sleeping, and this is a true story:

'Twas the night before returning to work,
And all through the house,
Only one creature was stirring,
And it was THIS fuckin' louse

The talking of anxiety
hung thick in the air,
For fear that Super Chad
Would STILL BE THERE

Chef was snuggled
all warm in his bed
While visions and fever-dreams
Fucked with his head

Drama and disbelief,
All of that crap
Stabbed through his brain
PREVENTING even a nap

When from the adjacent balcony
There arose such a clatter...
It was the God damn neighbors
Having another spat...ter?

Away to my bathroom
I went like a flash
To give my flushing face
A cold water splash

The moon had just crest
Had I even slept? Fuckin' NO.
It was at this point in time
Chef considered blow

And what to my blundering eyes did appear,
Did a horror/hell dreamscape of like this weird combination of my old middle school, this one hotel on the coast, and like a scene from Casino Royale...
… Uh, did appear

With horrible misers
acting like dicks,
I knew in a moment,
“Fuck, I'm sick.”

More annoying that seagulls
And tossers were they,
In my dream, I was so mad,
I cursed them by name:

“Fuck Donald! Fuck cancer!”
No answer? “Fuck Crispin!”
(I don't know, the dude bugs me)

“Just BOMB IT!”
“This is STUPID!”
Chef had totally lost it

He tossed and faced the porch,
He turned and the wall,
“GO TO SLEEP! GO TO SLEEP!”
“AWAY NIGHTMARES, ALL!”

A brief leave of absence
from sanity, took I,
My hopes of ever sleeping
Away, did fly

Chef's eyes, red from no sleep
Met gaze with morning dew,
Then turned to his alarm,
quoth, “I'm screwed.”

To the bathroom for a tinkle,
with hope long “poofed,”
I knew that with no rest
My day had been goofed

A spinning in my head,
Felt like I was going 'round,
I'd realized, sooner the grave
than work, I'd rather be bound

Into the shower,
foot-by-foot,
If I had had a gun,
Myself I would shoot

Now out of the shower,
I laid flat on my back,
I could feel my will
beginning to crack

My brain, how it burned!
My future looked scary
Any motivation that could be perceived?
Imaginary

My rise to my feet,
was incredibly slow,
And in getting dressed,
No enthusiasm I did show

Dry my hair, dab of cologne,
Don't forget to brush the teeth,
No emotion or care
Had I yet been bequeath

Now at work I sit,
Wishing I were in front of the telly,
Having to deal with burnt fucking popcorn,
making the whole office smelly

The clock to my left,
Sits on its shelf,
Why didn't I call in sick?
Why did I do this to myself?

A ringing in my ears,
A pounding in my head,
You would've thought
That I'm almost dead

I will admit today,
That I'm being quite a jerk,
But I wish all these motherfuckers
Would just leave me to my work

Instead of sleeping; anger,
Instead of pajamas; clothes,
This whole exchange
Really fuckin' blows

I kind of wish now
This place would be hit by a missile,
But I should give that fantasy up,
Along with going home through dismissal

I'm so damn tired,
Outside, it's not yet bright
Holy shit,
I cannot wait for bed tonight

-ChefShwasty