this is the stupidest thing I've maybe ever written...

I woke up at five this morning with an idea for a television show rattling around in my head. Here’s the essence of the show: NBA stars taking dumps into toilets with scales in them. The idea is to see who takes the weightiest dump. The show would be called Pro-deucing! Say it out loud. Pretty rad, right? That’s true, by the way. That’s really what woke me up at five in the morning. Fucking outrageous. I should get a lobotomy.
I’ve got this problem. I don’t get out in the evenings too much these days, and when I do, I tend to wind up with a hangover that’s completely unfair and brutal. Here’s where it gets fucking crappy. The night AFTER the night I go out, after a day of recovery and all that, I always wake up in the middle of the night with my mind racing and panicking like crazy. I panic about money, friends, my reputation (I know, what?), my kid, my impending kid, the future, the past, all sorts of various things that I probably shouldn’t have said out loud and on and on and on like this.
I mean, I’ll wake up because of a train going by or a dog will bark or something, and it’s like there’s a little guy in my head who quickly turns on the light in his station and he just starts feeding thoughts into my thought processor, and he’s SPECIFICALLY trying to bum me out! “This guy doesn’t really like you. You don’t have a ton of money in the bank, you still haven’t done your taxes, your kid may possibly turn out creepy and it’ll be YOUR FAULT, your wife is about to stop putting up with your shenanigans, you haven’t heard back from the merch company in Europe, your dogs haven’t been to the vet in a while, you’ve not been to the dentist in thirteen years, why can’t you just relax and sleep? maybe you’re mentally ill. Now you’ve started sweating. Why? Is it because you’re actually sick. Is this what it’ll feel like to be sick and infirm and on the way to death’s door? We’re all gonna die someday. Even me. Even my wife and my kid and all my friends. There’s lots of perverts and violent motherfuckers out there. One moment’s all it takes for everything to change forever! You’re doomed! YOU’RE DOOMED! YOU! ARE! DOOMED!
That’s how it goes. And it just fucking goes on and on and on like that. Well, I went out to see my buddies play a show this weekend and so I was out two nights later than I’m used to/should be and so last night, the one that just ended, was the night after my hangover where I woke up and panicked about a bunch of shit that, frankly, in the light of day isn’t that scary. It’s only scary at four in the morning, for whatever reason, but at that time it genuinely wigs me out. It makes me sweat. I know this is a fairly common thing for people with sleep issues (of which I’m definitely one) but here’s the weird thing: Pro-Deucing. That’s what was going through my mind this morning. What the fuck is that about, eh? Why am I thinking of pro athlete shitting contests at five am? I’m sick. That’s something to worry about that’s way more immediate than if some dildo thinks I’m cool or lame or whatever.
Although….
Pro-Deucing is pretty funny. It’s a good name. Now, I know we’ve got some foreign and some elderly readers, so I’m gonna break down exactly why this is such a great name for this show.
Firstly, it’s literally a homonym for ‘producing’ which is what your body is doing when you crap. Secondly, here in America we’ve got a numerical slang system set up for all sorts of waste expulsion. Urinating, or ‘peeing’ as it’s colloquially known is referred to in certain circles as ‘number one’ and shitting, or ‘dumping’ is called ‘number two.’ Okay, so that’s out of the way. Some people prefer to spice up this numerical system by referring to ‘number two’ as a ‘deuce.’ “I just floated a sweet deuce up in your sister’s bathroom, bro” one may be heard to utter. So there you go. You’ve got the idea. Now, back to the show title: Pro, because they’re pro basketball players, deucing, because they’re taking dumps. Pro-deucing! Hillarious. And, again, you know, with the whole ‘producing feces’ angle, well, I’m sorry. I think it’s pretty good.
Actually, I’m starting to realize that I kind of missed a lot of sleep last night due to my crazy brain, and I think it’s making me a little loopy. Maybe I should take a nap or go to the gym or something.
Huh. Dunno. I gotta get my fucking will in order. That’s fun. I’m leaving it all to you guys! You guys will get all my various sheaves of early 80’s pornography and databases full of great ideas for wacky television shows. Uh…I don’t know, man. I’m out of here. Sorry about all this, really.