The Night of the Living Dead

It's not just a movie anymore, children, I experienced it first hand Tuesday night. Before you go talking to Doug Bear, let me tell you how it really went down:

So, there I was...tired as hell from a long day of work and a long night at class. I had a headache, of course, so that wasn't helping matters. Before I could do any relaxing, I had to voiceboard about mountain top removal for my history of Appalachia class. "What I found interesting about this week's reading was that there are no more mountains in Appalachia." Finally, around 10 pm (which was already way past my bedtime), I settled in to watch an episode of Justified, thinking that would lift the ole spirits. Well, that was a disappointment. Boyd Crowder was only in the episode for about a minute! Giving up on Tuesday, I finally decided that I might as well try to get some sleep. Maybe sleep would be the answer. So I nuzzled in, pulled the blanket up over my head, my arm under my pillow, my Bori Cat by my side, "Nazr Mohammed, Jeff Brassow, Gimel Martinez, Jamal Mashburn, Travis Ford..." And I was asleep.

Now, those who know me know I can sleep through anything. I can sleep through alarm clocks, cat fights, thunderstorms, earthquakes, you name it. But, I'm telling you, children, there's something I can't sleep through, and that's the frozen, benumbed, piercing, frigid, penetrating, glacial touch of Doug Bear's DEAD FOOT in the middle of the night. His dead foot shot me right out of my dead sleep. He said I hollered as if someone had stabbed me. Why, they might as well had! Same damn principle. Attack a poor woman suffering from migraines in her sleep. And then laugh about it! The gall of that man!

I'm gonna get him back, though. Messin' with sasquatch.