The insomniac sausage

Stroppy was a tired, tired sausage

Let me tell you about a glorious place called ‘the land of sausage-nod’.

It’s beautiful; where all the sleepy-sausages go after a long day to dream their sausage-dreams.

Unfortunately for me, I haven’t spent much time there lately.

I think I’m suffering from a small bout of insomnia.

Being a man, suffering from a ‘small bout’ of anything, instantly qualifies as one of the worst happenings in the history of the world and completely validates my need to moan incessantly about it.

So, today, I’ll begin with a warning:

Crossing me right now wouldn’t be the cleverest thing you’ve ever done.

I’m a very, very tired sausage.

I can’t remember how long it’s been since I last slept properly… A couple of days? A week?

Since time began?

I like to sleep.

It’s probably my favourite thing to do (that I can mention on a PG-rated blog).

When I’m asleep I don’t have to listen to, well, anything – especially that bird-monkey-dog-thing that lives in the trees behind my street and squawks into the early hours of the morning.

Don’t ask me what it is, because I don’t know.

But it sounds like nothing anyone has ever heard before.

For all I know, it could be a new, wondrous, being – sent here to rid the world of all suffering (kind of like Mother Teresa).

I don’t know.

But I DO know it’s keeping me awake.

So I am going to kill it.

(Just for the record – I didn’t kill Mother Teresa, although she did keep me up a few times.)

As much as I would love to blame the Mother Teresa-bird-monkey-dog-thing entirely for my new-found insomnia, I can’t.

You see, bird-monkey-dog-thing only exercises its vocal chords every now and again and, in all fairness to it, it waits until most sausages are in the land of sausage-nod before letting rip with its annoying half-squawk, half-bark at around 3am.

Basically, I don’t know why I can’t get to sleep and, to coin a phrase, it’s ‘doing my head in!’

So, I did some research on how to get to sleep and decided to try a few things.

Nytol Herbal:

A herbal ‘solution’ for sausages like me, who can’t sleep, but don’t want to take actual medication (or are too lazy to go to the doctors).

A ‘solution’? Great! I’m looking for a solution!

And, amazingly, with my first attempt, I found one!

But not for my insomnia…

No, no. The ‘solution’ I found was the solution to making my mouth taste like rabbit droppings.

I can only muster one theory as to how such a ‘solution’ came about:

Somewhere in the world a scientist inexplicably ate a piece of rabbit poo and then fell asleep within 24 hours (as you generally would anyway) and then decided it was the rabbit poo that made him fall asleep – and not the fact that, as a scientist, he has one of the dullest jobs in the world.

Either way, I was still awake…

Next, with my mouth tasting like the wrong end of Peter Rabbit, I decided to try a different herbal option:

Kalms Herbal:

Firstly, they should be renamed ‘Angrys’.

Based on my experience, they’re not the ‘remedy’ they claim to be.

After hours of tossing and turning in bed, the failure to send me to sleep got me riled, although they did taste infinitely better than rabbit poo.

I was still awake…

Having lost faith in ‘herbal remedies’ and rabbit poo ‘solutions’ I decided to try out an age-old classic. Who knows, perhaps it’s underrated and would actually work if applied properly…

Counting Sheep:

Utterly useless.

The sheep were mocking me, so I sent in a sheep-dog.

I was still awake…

Based on my findings, I conclude the following:

1) Herbal remedies don’t work, make me angry, and can sometimes taste like a turd.

2) There are 106460540465406570 sheep.

3) I’m still awake.

So, unless you’ve got an elephant sedative for me, I suggest you get out before I start throwing beans.

(Not nice beans, either. I’m talking about those fat, evil-looking supermarket own-brand beans. You know, the ones that cost about 20p, have almost no sauce on them and aren’t even worthy of going on your toast.

Your toast looks down on these beans.

They want to be beans, they’re trying so hard to be beans… but they’re not beans, they’ll never be beans.

These are the beans that the other beans made fun of when they were baby-beans.

These beans deserve to be thrown at someone.

And I will throw them at you.)

Do you know what makes the whole thing worse?

Yawning.

How unattractive do people look and sound when they yawn, really!?

I’m not sure about you, but in my family, it’s compulsory to… Actually, no, it’s impossible to not… let out a cave-man-like moan at the top of your voice whilst making your mouth-hole wider than your face.

I call this face ‘the yawn face’ – here’s an example:

Obviously, I’m much cuter than the sloth in the video when I yawn.

At the end of it all, when I finally run out of juice and manage to get an hour-or-so shut-eye, I keep having the same dream.

I dream that one of my closest friends buys my house and then kicks me out of it, leaving me homeless. Then I wake up.

Fuming.

I know I shouldn’t be, but the next time I see my friend I’m absolutely furious with them.

It’s not like I can help it.

Let’s not forget, they did make me dream-homeless (by the way, if I ever fall out with you for no reason, this could be why).

If I could, I’d go back to sleep and kick their dream-backside from here to, you know… Somewhere else.

But obviously, I can’t – or at least not without eating angry science rabbit poo.

So, anyway, it’s getting late. I guess I should head off to bed…

Or not.

Note: No bird-monkey-dog-things were harmed in the making of this Stroppy Sausage production – they were harmed afterwards.

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