I own a clock radio that has been by my side for over 27 of my 37 years on this planet. I hate it. It is, without a doubt, one of the most annoying assholes I have ever met. Not only that, it’s an ugly fucker, too.
As far back as I can remember, I have disliked my clock radio. It has disturbed me so many times over the years. I realize it has a job to do by waking me up, but I do not care. I still hate it for what it has done to me. All it has to do is play music at a set time, but it’s gotta be the worst way to wake up. Well, having cold water dumped on your head would be worse, but that wouldn’t be tolerated for 27 years like a clock radio. Just before the music starts to play, it makes a loud click sound or something. It’s like a jolt of electricity that punches the speaker immediately upon playing the music. It scares the shit out of me.
I hate my alarm clock so much that I can recall waking up to it from time to time and automatically flipping it the middle finger. It laughs at me. It sits there laughing with its early morning numbers glowing red pain into my eyes. Fucking menace. It wakes me up, then gets to sit there for the rest of the day while I have to get up to get off to do whatever I have to do. What kind of sick asshole does that? It sits on my bedside table like a stalker pervert watching me sleep all night, just counting down the minutes until the time it gets to shit on my life, forcing me up earlier than I’d like by playing horrible music. And then it completely gets away with it! It even takes punches and doesn’t go away. Bully. In fact, that initial jolt sound it makes just before playing the music is so offensive to me that I usually become conditioned to waking up before the alarm can get me. Actually, I hate it so much that if I know I have the alarm set, I will wake up 3 or 4 times during the night to see how much longer I have before the dreadful wakeup call arrives. Such a horrible way to live.
Plans are being set, though. I have plans that are in development for when I will no longer need a clock radio. Either I will retire, become financially secure and work on my own terms, get cancer or whatever, then it will be time to unleash my fury on that prick clock. I’m going to tie it to the back of my truck and drag it by its own cord through the streets. It’s going to be sorry it ever pissed me off. I’m going to pour ketchup on it (I did this to a VCR once, so I am experienced) and throw it off a bridge. Then I will retrieve it and light it on fire. I might even go so far as to bury what’s left in the cat’s litter box.
Below: Here are the menacing red numbers glowing hatred at me in the morning. Red lasers of dreadful pain while I innocently sleep. Heartless bastard clock.
Below: Here is an afternoon shot of the prick. Notice the dusty fake woodgrain of the 1980s styling. What an ugly piece of shit. It’s a waste of electricity. The only good thing about it is the number that it is showing in the picture. 454 is a magical number for fans of muscle cars.