Avant garde, no?

Okaaay...

Firstly, witness this strange internet exchange between me and my 13 year old cousin, Tom.

He logged on, and I saw his MSN name (rootarama titasaurus), and felt that I simply had to comment.

Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
Oh my dear sweet lord.
Tom says:
howzit goin
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
Le fine, you crazy cat.
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
What's all this rootarama, titasaurus business?
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
Have you gone crazy?
Tom says:
no
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
You've gone mad, haven't you.
Tom says:
no
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
All of the anguish and angst that comes with being 13 has sent you off the rocker.
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
NURSE!
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
Get this man some powerful sedatives, please!
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
He's gone mad!
Tom says:
i thought i was the mad 1
Dr. Cam Sexenheimer - Today's Pig Is Tomorrow's Bacon says:
Hey?

At this point he blocked me. My own flesh and blood!

Anyway, the point is this: What a fucking horrible morning I had.

I awoke at 7. Ah, it's time to wake up. I looked at the alarm clock. The treachaurious alarm clock. It's steely red plastic gaze met my own, as if to say, "What of it, Cam?"

What of it? WHAT OF IT? You were supposed to wake me up at 20 past 5! TWENTY PAST FIVE, YOU FUCKING HACK ALARM CLOCK.

But then I realised... all this anger... was misplaced?

I looked across at my stereo. My stereo... I'd slaved long and hard in the hell that is the food service industry at less than minimum wage to purchase that stereo. And now, it was like the stereo had somehow grown arms and had attained consciousness and was aware that, yes, I had at one point allowed my sister to play a CD on it that included a song by Britney Spears, and it had also grown legs and attained a knife by some nefarious means and now it was stabbing me in the back.

What all this means, of course, is that it too had failed to wake me up at the aformentioned godawfully early time of 20 past 5.

But had they failed? Or was I the victim of... SABOTAGE.

I got out of bed and asked various housemates if they had deactivated my various alarm clocks. The answer, "No."

Then how?

Could it be that...I... in my sleep... turned off the alarms? The red plastic one, perhaps. But not the stereo. That would have involved actually getting up.

By the time I reached this conclusion, I was at work, some 45 minutes away, and I remembered the godawful reason why I wanted to be up at 5 in the first place.

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