Sleep Talkin' Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

you?
    You’re a complete waste of space.
Just go home and apologize to your mother’s vagina.
    I need a big room, with strobe lights.
And people riding bicycles … naked.
To classical music, of course.
    Two hats for my bunny, please.
Make ’em smart ones.
    He’s got to look the business.
And no more fucking spats, OK?
    Loving you is an important life lesson.
You learn about all the fucking stupid mistakes you make.
    Leave the broccoli alone.
It can sort out its own problems.
Confusion is part and parcel of its life.
    … Then out of nowhere, the puffin ninja kicked my ass! Little fucking runt bastard.
    Where are we going?
I want to know where you’re taking me.
It’s all fun not knowing, but now I’m bored, so FUCKING TELL ME WHERE ARE WE GOING! … Ooh, I’ve never been there before! I hope it’s good.
    I’d say welcome to the School of Life, but you wouldn’t pass the entrance exam.
Dickhead.
    All I want out of life is ice cream and cuddles.
Is it too much to ask? Is it?
    Half the time listening to you, I’m imagining the carnage of pulling out your tongue and wrapping it around your throat.
    Your singing can wake the dead.
So shut the fuck up. I don’t want any zombies dropping their jazz hands all over the fucking place.
Alright? Just shut it.

    Stupid-fucking-cunty-bollocks-expialidocious
    “Yeah, falling in love is WONDERFUL.
Especially when it’s with me.”
    By now you might be wondering how Adam and I met—especially with an ocean between us. I think it’s actually a pretty juicy story. And, of course, it involves sleeping.
    It was 1991. The Western world was in the early stages of recovery from the cultural atrocities of the 80s. Synthesized pop ditties, rock power ballads, and neon nylon had given way to grunge, flannel, and apathy. But in the Jerusalem nightclubs, it was Duran Duran and “Land Down Under” every night of the week.
    I was spending a year between high school and university in Israel on a program with a Zionist youth group. Our year was split between studying in Jerusalem, teaching in a small-town school, and working the fields on a kibbutz. In those first months in Jerusalem, I spent the days soaking up the history, architecture, culture, andlanguage, and the nights dancing until the sun came up. Sleep was not on the syllabus.
    Adam was on a similar program with a sister youth group from the United Kingdom. Occasionally, the leaders of our two organizations threw us all together for social weekends. You can imagine the bedlam: a bunch of teenagers out from under their parents for the first time, in a country with no legal drinking age, crammed into a dorm with another bunch of teenagers with exotic, and therefore inherently sexy, accents. It was hormonal pandemonium.
    Aside from treating each other like foreign cuts of meat, I made some good friends among the British guys at those international gatherings, and it wasn’t long before I was spending lots of my evenings in their dorm rather than mine, watching them play Risk for hours on end. (Wait, did I say hormonal pandemonium? Maybe I overestimated British teenage guys’ idea of a good time.) That’s when I first noticed Adam.
    Adam has a distinct memory of overhearing me whisper into a friend’s ear, “My God, check out his lips,” and knowing that I was talkingabout him. Yup, he was right. Even then, Adam had these gorgeous, full lips that just cried out to be gnawed on … But I digress.
    It was a cool evening when we all set out from the Brits’ dorm to walk to the dance club in Talpiot. Until then, Adam and I had only admired each other from afar. But he had decided that, on this walk, he was going to speak to me. And so he strode up alongside me, and we started talking. To this day, although neither of us can recall a word that was said, we both remember with crystal clarity how immediate the connection was, and the breathtaking excitement we felt. We talked and talked, until we hit the club and the music