Rude Awakening

So, it is 4:10AM as I type this, and I'm a bit knackered.

The Cabin Fever gig was groovy. I dig that joint. Good people, Internet Jukebox (which allows me the opportunity to torture the commoners with Clutch, Pantera, Mr. Bungle, and GWAR tunes), free drinks, and a brand new hunting video game thang (replete with plastic shotgun) that proceeded to consume a good portion of my wages. Blasting the Holy Hell out of digital woodland creatures is my new passion. Plus, I've met a bunch of new and interesting people. People with vaginas. By which I mean "chicks." NYC gals are FUN.

"The Passion of The Hendge."

A representative of "Foxtons" (some shitty realtor-type organization) is scheduled to arrive around 9AM to shoot pictures for an online "Virtual Tour" of the house. Won't he/she (sir or madam?) be horrified and/or titillated to find me in my "bedclothes" (by which I mean "naked"), completely hungover and unwilling/unable to rouse myself from my fitful slumber long enough to vacate the premises as to facilitate a successful photo shoot?

Fuck Foxtons- I need my sleep. Photoshop my worthless ass out of the pics. Digitally insert a freshly made bed. Or a tasteful floral arrangement. Or Jar-Jar Binks, for all I care.

I'll be immersed in Slumberland, dreaming of a world in which none of you exist, and I am left alone with my books, my bass, and Alicia Witt...