Sunday mornings

i loathe sunday mornings. i wake up and i feel like i have been pinnned down by a million lilliputians (the little people, you know..) and an energy sucking vampire has just drained out all sources of life. the feeling is horrible.

after a long treacherous journey to the sink (bout 7 steps) i painstakingly reach for my green toothbrush and toothpaste which accommodates branded colgate fluid. i am like a zombie. mindless, stupid and extremely cranky.* i later realise that i have turned into a fatuous zombie as i had been biten by a zombie whom was mind-contolling zombie lilliputians. luckily, i have training in zombie slaying. i swish and swash** at the zombie, then suddenly light rays emerge from the depths of the toilet bowl situated direstly behind the zombie. he vanshishes, returning to his(or her)infernal region.

as i, the zombie slayer, stand triumph, it dawns upon me that i fashion a white pajama, with a green toothbrush clutched in my sweaty palms.

*this is where things go wrong
**there is no such word, its just a sound

i also despise mondays.