We go through this twice per year and as I get older I am affected by it more and more. It is the â€œSpringâ€ (Or really named â€œFucked out of an hour forward but could not be printed in the Farmerâ€™s Almanacâ€ Forward and â€œFallâ€ Back an hour that is implemented every year. It is the only case I can think of when I actually time travel. I am thrust one hour into the future and then sent back in time one hour every Autumn. Buck Rogers in the 25th century has nothing on me!
The leap back is much more acceptable than the forward hop. As I have aged I just cannot seem to adjust quickly to the loss of an hour. For weeks it seems I am drooling and putting my underwear on backwards and needlessly buying endless packs of tampons which I inevitably make into a tampon gun so I can chase my cat around the house for hours on end, shooting him. Now he runs and hides and cowers upon seeing anything small and cylindrical and white. I frighten him with chalk just for the Hell of it. My internal clock is completely thrown off and takes forever to normalize. Imagine if we sprang forward eight hours? I would end up in a sanitarium with some crazed doctor whose fascination for collecting intricately designed gold cubes would be attempting to utilize me and a bloody mattress to bring back some demon from Hell through me. Damn Pinhead!
Hell for me is close to the environment I work in everyday. For some unknown reason, some individual decided it was imperative that there be a clock on the wall in every direction I look so I am constantly reminded, every second of every day, what time it is. You cannot look anywhere without seeing a clock. It is like a condemned man awaiting his form of capital punishment. At my old job I was in the labs all day long and always time flew by. Now my days seem endless. One day, I will arrive early and take down every clock and place them in a pile and proceed to practice my professional wrestling moves until I have elbow smashed them into bits. I would pile drive a few but that would just bruise and batter my butt.
I have begun dreaming of little clocks with arms and legs chasing me and finally capturing me and binding me up and forcing me to stare into their faces endlessly. I awake in a cold sweat and immediately look at the clock to see what time it is so I can sleep for 15 minutes until I awaken again and check the time once more. I wish I had no temporal sense, such as an animal. Then all I would worry about is eating, crapping, playing and licking my genitals although as a human with a bad back the latter would be hard to do without some kind of weird specialized device to force me into a bending position. It would make millions and there would be an explosion of pictures incorporated into the inspirational posters you see constantly.
I really hate clocks and have come to loath any clock. I have about 30 wristwatches and I never wear any of them. I need about five thousand dollars in batteries to get them all working. I receive one, it works, I never wear it, battery dies and it never is worn. So they have become eye candy to me in the way of collectibles. I had one wrist watch I actually did take apart and was replacing its battery when, while I was at work, two bastards broke in and stole it. Proof positive of the brilliance of the typical criminal as it stands today. Do not steal the working watches, steal the broken one. I have a pair of horse blinders I wear at work but since they were made for a horseâ€™s head, they are constantly falling off and make me look plain silly unless I wear the plow harness also and whinny intermittently. I have developed a craving for hay as of late. The fiber is terrific.
Who among us does not like the â€œFallâ€ back? I feel as though someone has bestowed upon me some wondrous gift. I somehow always equate that hour with sleep even though it is another waking hour for me because I get so excited. Give eight hours and I would go into cardiac arrest. Who needs money? Me of course but those eight hours would make me feel pretty good. It is like wearing a neoprene diving suit slathered in Wesson oil with a small weasel trapped in it. Of course I do not know how that remotely feels I just thought it MIGHT feel that way. I fall back an hour every weekend now and just do not change my clocks. That way I feel great and never am late for work. This is also a device to use while having sex. If you only last a minute or two that hour really pads the time and makes you look like a stud.
For some reason this advancement and decreasing of an hour is suppose to save electricity or something but I am sure if you looked at numbers this is not the case. I think this originally started to help farmers in some capacity but for the life of me I do not know what that is. They get up early and abuse animals and crops when it is still dark out and you and I are dreaming about being slathered in whipped cream and having it licked off us by eight naked dwarves with one being named Dimples for the two clefts in his butt cheeks. Snow White was very happy in her sleep! People forget the eighth Dwarf named Naughty. He was the sexual deviant of the group you do not hear about. He was into spandex and g-strings and dwarf tossing.
Farmers have always had it tough. During the beginning of the last century a federal law was passed that all farmers must wear overalls or face public defrocking and made to laugh at. This has always made them horribly unfashionable until some genius started making overalls in paisley colors which polarized the farmers even more so towards the jean overalls not wanting to be mistaken for someone from San Francisco. Farmers are funny that way even though they wear knee high rubber boots and chase female animals around trying to knock them out with date rape drugs. These are the same guys who wear the same underwear for four weeks and then sell them to the military as a chemical weapon.
My one wish in life is to someday dismantle that clockwork known as Big Ben and when apprehended will plead the insanity defense by being the first to use the â€œLeap Forwardâ€ defense. If a Twinkie can work, that can work.