Sleep? What Sleep?

I arose from my sleeping quarters at half past 7 this morning. Having tricked myself into believing that I could in someway positively influence my sleeping patterns, I had retired to the bedroom the night before at about half past nine thirty. Ten hours would seem more than sufficient for a man of my stature, however it just doesn't do it for me anymore. You see, I got addicted to using an enteron.

'ARRIS DOME-----------Go in and talk to Doan, who will tell you that his people are having trouble reaching their food supply in the basement. Talk to people, buy items if you need to, rest in the Enteron, then save your game. Examine the panel in the first room, where Lucca will say you need a password to enter. Climb the ladder to the left instead, then cross the high beams to the north, and read the note that is attached to the rat statue. Exit from the north, and the alarms will sound. Boss time.'

That is actually the only reference to the elusive enteron I could find. Basically, in the future people don't sleep anymore because they are too hungry. To sustain life they use the enteron. Using a technology text book, a handful of anecdotes, and a penis as coarse as sand paper, I recreated this device.

It was great at first. I no longer had to sleep anymore. Slumber is a bummer, especially when you get a chick's number! Na mean! I finally had the energy to do everything I've always wanted to do. I became a black belt in the martial arts, maintained two girlfriends, became an A student at the academy, and most importantly succeeded in my goal of averaging five shits a day. Oh yeah brother, life was sweet.

The problem was, my body was adjusting to the enteron. At first it only took three seconds to recharge. Slowly but surely, it was taking a long time to fully rest, until finally it was taking eight hours for me to recharge. My electricity bill was going up in price, the neighbors were watching me shower, and I accidentally ran over a child molester. Life was the pits. Life was shit.

I finally realized that there was only one thing left to do. Take the device to the scrap heap. I thought about fixing the enteron to make it more powerful, but unfortunately the lack of rest had me cranky and irritable. As a last ditch effort I made a 'mydol modification' on the enteron. It took care of that irritable feeling, but it did nothing to relieve my cramps.

The only just way to get rid of the enteron was to run train on it. By making this remark, I don't mean running train in the conventional sense. In this instance, there would be no male bonding or the slapping of appendages over a dehumanized female. I literally took the enteron to a train track, and tied it down so it couldn't get away. What I didn't realize is the train tracks hadn't been used in years. The construction of railroad infrastructure reached its peak in the late 19th century. I can still clearly visualize that palimpsest transportation landscape. The invention of the automobile and the airplane made trains lack economic viability. Once the impetus for a burgeoning manufacturing economy, this particular train track was left fallow. Weeds encompassed these tracks.

Hey, whats up with the word weed? Shit is fucked up! How come shit's got negative connotations? Honestly, how would you like it if you were called weed? Oh, we have to have grass. Post-enlightenment fuck faces love their square, homogeneous, neatly cut grass. Increased fetishization within the botany economy has given rise to fake lawns. Can appearance be anymore paramount? Does the upkeep of your lawn make you a military commander. You use chemicals and physical labor to rid this space of dandelions and cat tails. Most of them are invasive species. They were brought to your lawn through the nascent stages of globalization. When the transportation technology was ready, and the forces of capital accumulation reached an apex (for the 15th century), the Colombian Exchange took place. With this exchange came plant species from Europe and Asia that were naturally 'kept in check' within their own environments. Once they came to a ecological landscape in which they had no natural predators(in the plant or animal kingdoms), they thrived. So, in reality they are more like capitalist oppurtunists than 'weeds'.

So, as I'm laying down this enteron on the abandoned train tracks, this chick approaches me and says, "Don't do it."
I say, "Do what?"
She says, "You know."
I say, "C'mon, seriously?"
Doc Emmit Brown is like, "What are you talking about?"
She says, "Why not?"
We make gay, eat hay, fondle strays, listen to Mike Kaye, rock berets, and give babies Tay
SACHS

Following this orgy of rhymes, I go home to sleep. I go to sleep a bit early. The problem is, I forgot how to. That's why I stay in bed so long, especially on Sundays. Please help. I'll pay you dastardly. Even give you my Brian Taylor rookie card.