By Silence Doless

Sleep. Everybody needs it, but these days, who has the time? I certainly don’t, what with class, homework, a social life and writing this column every week. I routinely find myself tired and sleepy from too many nights spent away from my pillow, the effects of which almost always creep up at the least opportune moments.

Take for example, right now. While writing these very words I dozed off twice, bringing my writing speed up to a blistering three words a minute. See? I’m so tired I can’t even make a decent joke out of that.

You all know how it goes. You spring out of bed early Monday morning, brush your teeth, comb your hair, throw on a mask and cape, dash out the door and into class just in time to wrestle your philosophy professor, because you disagree with his interpretation of Hobbes.

Then, you wake up.

Groggily, you check the time, firmly decide, “No way!” and promptly fall back asleep. Several hours later you wake up again and move blearily throughout the rest of the day. You promise yourself an early night but somehow something incredibly interesting is always going on.

Whether that interesting thing is IMDB-ing the entire cast “Family Matters” or sitting in the lounge and counting how many people use the word “like” in a sentence is not the point. The point is that now it’s 2 a.m. and you have to wake up early the next morning. This process repeats until Thursday, when you realize you’ve been far too busy not sleeping to do any of your homework. Terrified, you throw your tired bones at your work. Only you’re still extremely tired and your homework starts getting jumbled together with all the other things you haven’t been doing. Next thing you know you’re quoting Steve Urkle for a paper on the French and Indian War (Did I do that?), citing that the brain functions on a network of bad Valley Girl grammar for psyche and vehemently stating that the only sensibly counter argument to Hobbes is a headlock.

Ultimately, this does not garner good grades, even among professors who like “Family Matters” and/or or Calvin. Still tired and newly despondent about red marks accompanied by strange looks and warnings about the dangers of LSD, you hit the weekend ready to let loose and enjoy yourself. Obviously, you get no sleep.

By Sunday you shake off a hangover and scramble to write your humor column, but halfway through you realize you don’t write the humor column. Now you don’t even get the satisfaction of publication. Crumpling up your column, you vow to get even with that snot-faced, dirty trick pulling Silence Doless if it’s the last thing you do. Unfortunately, Silence Doless does not appear on Facebook, nor is [email protected] a valid e-mail address, yet you swear to track him down regardless, even if it means resorting to the use of the extremely realistic drawing included in this column.

But am I really to blame? The easy answer is yes, but the complex, subtle answer is no, which is my personal favorite. That answer has a lot to do with being an overworked American, resorting priorities away from blind capitalism and living better, more productive, and ultimately happier lives based around generous amounts of sleep for all. I would explain all of that, but I’m way too tired.

The Mysterious and outlaw-ish Silence Doless (Andy McCarthy)