Sleeping Pills, Bourbon and Cuds

I’ve been on an extended business trip for the last three weeks, traveling to exotic places on planes, train and even something called a VIP bus. I’ve crossed so many time zones that my sleep cycle feels more like the spin cycle.

I’ve decided to write this week’s post while flying home since I’ve completely given up on sleep and the in-flight entertainment is showing the same movies I watched on the way over. I popped a sleeping pill and had two Wild Turkeys but I still can’t sleep which is extra frustrating since this is an 11-hour flight and everyone else in business class is out cold. Don’t you hate it when that happens?

At times like these really weird stuff runs through my head…even weirder than normal. Since this is clearly not the time for my usual creative genius (give me a break I’m tired) I decided to write a list the random shit going through my head. It may not be creative but it’s a semi-amusing list. In no particular order these have been my thoughts since leaving Paris.

I wonder if anyone actually did “The Locomotion?” You remember, it’s a chuga-chuga motion like a railroad train and you could do it holding hands if you got the notion, and let’s face it, we’ve all had the notion…but I’ve never done The Locomotion.

Considering that morning breath is a real thing, a real nasty thing, why do they put a mint on your pillow at night? Are you supposed to save that for morning? I’m so confused.

I wonder if anyone still has one of those bending Charles Atlas exercise bars that they used to sell in the back of comic books when I was a kid. I never ordered one but according to the ads they turned 98-pound weaklings into chick magnets with Greek god-like bodies. If I had ever had $4.99 plus shipping and handling I’d have ordered one of those babies. My Greek god-like body comes mostly from cheeseburgers and 12 ounce curls.

I wonder if they have cheeseburgers on this flight…I really want a cheeseburger.

I was thinking that everybody I know who has an important job is usually exhausted and stressed. Most of the really bad decisions I’ve made were made when I was tired and stressed, except that thing with the sheep suits and Nazi uniforms…that was tequila shots…damned tequila shots always get me. So if people with important jobs like senators and presidents are always exhausted and under stress that would explain a lot….or maybe they’re doing tequila shots.

What if a cow didn’t like the taste of it’s own cud…that would really suck. It’s probably not the worst part of being a cow, I would imagine that being turned into rib eyes and porterhouses is the worst part, but it would still suck.

Do birds have taste buds? I realize that I know so little about what’s happening inside the average beak…that’s oddly disturbing.

Maybe I should order another drink. I know I read something about sleeping pills and booze, maybe it said take the pill with three bourbons, and I only had two, that must be it.

I wonder if anyone ever packed condoms before going to Comic-con...it’s kind of like me bringing a fillet knife when I go fishing, it’s ambitious but probably unnecessary.

Isn’t it convenient that United “randomly” picked a small middle-aged Asian dude to physically throw off their plane? If they want to impress me the next time try to throw Dwayne Johnson or Georges St. Pierre or maybe Barbara Bush off the flight. Barbara Bush always scared the crap out of me!

Camels have cuds too. If a camel didn’t like the taste of its cud that could be the worst part of being a camel…well that and the whole being a vegetarian in the desert thing. That can’t be fun but I’ve got to believe having a nasty cud has got to be worse. I’m not sure what a cud is but I’m glad I don’t have one.

Wow, I just wrote the word cud more times in that last paragraph than I have in my whole life, I think I need to get some rest. It can’t be good for you to stay awake this long or to give this much thought to cuds.

I just woke up with a sore neck and seven pages of “g’s” and some drool on my computer screen so I think I dozed off. I’ll write a something a little more clever next week I promise…and I promise not to talk about cuds.