Who Needs A Nap Many nights of bad sleep. Sleep good. My brain had finally had enough and was running on auto pilot. Then the plane when down and the auto pilot had to be dinner. I strode up to the store counter exuding a radioactive cloud of mighty confidence. I was on a mission, and it was going to be nothing other than an unmitigated success. "Book of matches please!" The fine young man behind the counter spun around and in one fluid motion dropped my prize in front of me. Without so much are looking down I whipped out my wallet prepared to pay my fair share. Imagine my shock when he looked me square in the eye and indicated that I didn't owe any money. I paused briefly - how could I get free stamps? It's just not possible. After several hours I decided to look down and before my eyes was a shiny pack of matches. Except, well, I had gone in to get a book of stamps. I quickly affected a jovial smile - The kind which is highly popular in fraternities across the US when accompanied by such phrases as, "Dude, I'm totally sorry about that fucking your girlfriend thing. If it makes you feel any better she gives terrible head." or "We're really bummed about your sons death by alcohol poisoning during our rush week. I know nothing we say can make you feel better, but, well, at least it wasn't the donkey fucking that did him in. I mean, man, how embarrassing would that have been!" He didn't seem to buy into it very much so I quickly mumbled that I meant I wanted stamps and not matches. Nonplused he trotted off and returned post haste with a fine book of postal lovelies. I paid as quickly as possible and ran out the door is shame. Seconds later I saw something shiny and forgot about the whole thing.
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