I Hate… Mornings

Having had the first decent nights sleep in weeks, undisturbed by the incessant wailing of car alarms triggered by the heavy thud of a falling leaf. A sleep punctuated only by pleasant dreams, about killing evil scar-faced men with foreign accents, then servicing beautiful women, whose scanty clothes fall off at the merest hint of a corny one-liner. Dreams probably brought on by a late night of viewing Bond.

I woke into that bemused semi-conscious state that only hung-over students can really enjoy, happy in the knowledge that a hard days studenting lay ahead and would start at the crack of midday with a well earned skive at their local pub.
It’s going to be a good day!
As I lay there, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and let the world resolve into focus. As it did I was startled to find a knobbly swirl of peanut butter lazing on the pillow next to me?!? Rigidly I lay staring into its nutty eyes and puzzled over this conundrum??? Maybe the Other Half had put it there in case she woke with a ravenous hunger I pondered. Then realising her nut allergy made this highly unlikely, I continued to hold its squidgy stare as it sat quietly smoking.
It’s a dream I decided. One of those bizarre ones brought on by late night consumption of cheese?! Any minute now it would wave and tell me something ominous. “You are going to die a horrible painful death when a stack of Sun-Pats finest collapses on you later” it totally failed to say.
Now puzzled by my newfound creamy companions lack of conversation, a surreal twist in a surreal dream, I prepared to poke it in the time-honoured tradition of the curious.
Index finger, licked, poised millimetres from the steaming sandwich filling. The ‘I am awake’ neurons of my brain fired and in turn woke other sleeping groups of grey matter. For as my finger edged forward, their warning cries could be heard.
“Why would it not be on a plate?”
“What idiot would put it on a pillow!”
“Since when did peanut butter steam?”
And just as my finger pierced the surface, the final warning
“IT’S A RICHARD YOU FOOL! “
And like an anvil falling onto a cartoon coyote the penny dropped as the steamy warmth enveloped my pinky
F**K!N’ CAT!! ….SH!T!!! literally
The day went down hill from there….. BU**ER!
So..
The cat now has a cork, still in its bottle, nailed up its @rse & her fate is dependent on the outcome of talks with the local Chinese restaurant!
The pillow and case have been sterilized using fire
My finger still smells even after scrubbing with bleach.
The whereabouts of the turd is unknown. You have been warned!
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