Three-pee-em. Ooze out of bed. Wake-up bonus: more hot water comes out of my showerhead today than has in two years.

Dress. Today my Vertigo T-shirt, a Christmas present from Mad magazine, will be my chest’s message to the world. Purchase a cylinder of coffee from 7-11 and I’m off to the races.

(First watch a viral video of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles that I’ve already seen a dozen times and I’m off to the races.)

I am a cartoonist.

I have no excuse for this lethargy. I am usually dull eyed and slack tailed by twelve noon, tops. I have just raised a bushel of dollars for my next project through Kickbubble. I should be over the moon and revved up to complete the project which hundreds of avatars have expressed an average of $49.00 of interest in. The world should be my oyster.

Fukkit if sleeping in times three is how I eat my worldoyster. Is more sleep not the ambition of every working man who has ever had to get the kids dressed and out the door so they could race to punch a time clock? Is more snuggle time with the pillow not the brass ring of all retirees? Sorry if I cracked the code in middle school.

I often feel this country needs a revolution, but how can a revolution take hold before people like myself have finished our job of dissolving America from the inside? Every extra hour that I sleep-in reduces our national potency by that many joules of work output. The proles will probably build a statue to me! (Well, they’ll engrave my name on a plaque that will hang in the Dome of the People. That will be the equivalent of being carved onto Mt. Rushmore in the classless society of tomorrow).

Down to a quarter tank of coffee. Gotta get moving. Gotta finish this paragraph. This paragraph is what is delaying me from starting my workday. Gotta draw. Gotta customize a man’s Star Trek poster. Gotta illustrate a cat plotting revenge, a revenge so over-the-top that I will need my passport and plane tickets at the ready when it hits the stands. The revolution needs cats like that.