you are RICK SANCHEZ
Lying in your king-sized Cars (2006) themed cherry wood bed, you enter an intense staring contest with the glow in the dark plastic stars glued to your ceiling. Domestic life isn't for a man like you. But really, what else is there to live for if not a stereotypical American style bacon and eggs breakfast. You think about that for a long time. Too long. A mischievous, valiant sunbeam begins to creep through an opening in your epic limited edition Hatsune Miku curtains, getting brighter and brighter with every minute that passes. The piddly band of light hits and spirals around the brim of your sunglasses. Why wear sunglasses to bed? In preparation for tomorrow. Always be prepared. Intellectuals always are.
"You awake yet?" you say, in your usually depressive existential tone.
"IT'S FUNNY THAT YOU STILL PRETEND WE SLEEP AT NIGHT."
"I'm trying my best"
The unnecessarily lavish Illuminati Lay's® chip motherfucker seated beside you is puzzled by your response. He bursts out laughing.
"TRY? TRYING YOUR BEST? YEAH OK. YOU ARE AWARE OF HOW YOU SOUND RIGHT? I DIDN'T MARRY SOME SELF THOATHING LAYMAN."
"Jeeeesus Bill"
Frustrated with your glowing yellow triangle of a husband, you get up from bed and solemnly shuffle to the door. Your attitude startles him. His monophthalmic face morphs itself into an unexpectedly taunting expression.
"IS IT LIBERATING FOR YOU. TO ACT LIKE YOUR GRANDSON?" he retorts.
You pause, closing your eyes for an uncomfortably short amount of time. Only to force them open to the stiff cold fake timber of a door that stands brazen in your path. You let out a painful, half-hearted chuckle.
"Oh, you know me so well."
