My First Hibernation Disturbed


My first experimental hibernation began on the 4th of January, 2015, right after I dedicated my last bit of awoken consciousness to the last Pressnite of Golden Words. My plan was straightforward and flawless. After so many years of careful study of my sleepiness during winter terms, consideration of the holy-fuck-I-didn’t-know-it-can-get-this-cold lovely weather of Canada, and three weeks of continuous ingestion of food, I was quite confident I could hibernate through the winter term undisruptedly until no one has enough snow to build even the tiniest of snowmen.

However, this morning, after only one week of sweet dreams, I was disturbed and was awoken by a mysterious force. Damn it, I was right about to bang that chick in my dream who I’ve been working so hard to get for this entire week! This first few minutes of wakefulness was so painful and terrible: my head rang in protest from the lack of sleep, my muscles ached from my overuse of them during my dreams, and my bladder suddenly came back to life and got its revenge for my having neglected it for a week. But I had no time to care for any of them. My first priority was to find out what had woke me up. I hadn’t bothered to open my eyes when my loyal roommate yelled in my ears, “Dude, are you dead? Wake up or I’ll delete all the pornos on your computer!”, or when the fire-alarm had rung and people had banged my door for twenty minutes trying to rescue me. If I had slept through these, then what the hell could possibly have awoken me?

Then I realized that today is Pressnite. Maybe my knowledgeable colleagues at Golden Words would be able to answer my question! And indeed, they didn’t fail me. Joe, our beloved professional amongst all satirical bullshitters and skilled pizza-eaters, revealed this mysterious force in his editorial. Our fellow satirists had been killed in Paris! By fucking zombies! Oh, I mean demons! Wait, terrorists! I mean, they are all kinda the same: all enjoy death, can’t be killed, and don’t have a functional brain. Anyway, it must be those sad ghost of our fellow French comrades that came to me and warned me not to wait and get suicide-bombed while I’m hibernating and defenseless. Thank you, comrades, rest in peace. We’ll continue your sacred cause of jokes and satires, and although your souls are not Tricolour, bless you all. As to my colleagues of Golden Words, I’ve regretfully decided not to show my face at Pressnite today, just in case there’s a crazy terrorist out there. Us gathering together as an obvious target is not really a wise idea. Hope I’ll see you all in one unbandaged piece soon. May the force of sarcastic jokes be with you. Peace.