Schweppe of Evan

Sleeping in the afternoon. That's what I've been doing. I'm getting good at it as well. Might go pro. I've got sleepy dreams and I'm going to chase them. I hit the sack around 1.30-2ish in the afternoon and sleep right through to like 2.30. That's about 45min of battery charging. Coupled with my extreme exercise routine which involves belly flopping from coffee table to couch, I'm going to be virtually unfuckwithable at around 3.30. The harsh day will have worn out most of my competitors and I'll be pumped like a baby that got raised on labrador milk. I'll be writing prank emails to muesli bar companies with the ferocity of a man that sleeps with lions for pleasure (not to win bets) and will even be able to navigate a wonky wheeled trolley through the labyrinth of nylon covered custard legs at Woolworths while stocking up on lifestyle products such as tinned tomatoes and moth traps. I'm siesta-ing my way to the top.

I had this boss who was always losing his phone.
"I've lost my phone" he would say.
I didn't say anything because I was to busy drawing pictures of sharks and thinking of band names such as 'warm bath' and 'electric piss eels'.
It was a big phone. Like one from as far back as say 2002. He was always leaving it around the place like some kind of calling card. Like I made an 'electric piss eels' sticker from the label writer and applied it to the inside of my drawer as a way of saying 'don't give up on your dream of starting a two man fuzzed out scuzz buzz band'.

One time I went to the toilet to do some thinking. In that I didn't need to go to the toilet, I just wanted to leave the office and no one could object to a toilet visit. For some reason I went to the toilets instead of going out to the park across the road. Perhaps I felt that I could make good of my lying by physically attending the site of where I said I would be. Who knows? Who cares? Not you or I friend.

When I reached my destination I saw my bosses phone sitting like a dumb person on top of the toilet roll dispenser. What was I to do?

It was obvious it had been removed from my boss's pocket so he could have a crap. A horrible thought. His red face sweating as demons of his unhealthy lifestyle left his body.

Maybe he made a call while taking a dump. A conversation that surely would have been punctuated by a shortness of breath and the sound of bricks being nudged into a wishing-well. The vilest of vile.

But what was I to do. The lost phone was there. It was there. I had read that complimentary mints in hotels and restaurants are a covered in fecal material. When you put them in your mouth you basically get a popping of burnt-umber schweppe of essence. This is true because a cousin older than me told me when I was seven and I have lived to this rule ever since. I imagined this phone may be haunted by brown ghosts. More so than usual.

So I picked it up like the wimp I am and returned to the office and said "I have found the phone" and then I went back to the toilets and furiously washed my hands like an OCD man who has touched a bird.