Sleep tight. Not good enough. Sleep tighter.

Ah yes. Another glorious night in the bay. I have grown accustomed to the locker room smell and the constant barrage of bodily noises. This is why I joined. I stare at my iPad screen feeling great about myself cause I just dropped a sixty-three stroke game at St. Andrews, take that rory McElroy you dirty pikey. It's getting late. K has compelled me to wake up at some god forsaken hour to do some good PT (physical training), I should sleep. The unrivaled links game I have developed can wait till tomorrow. Goodnight, moon. I roll over in to my standard fetal position and turn-to on going to sleep.
What the fuck was that? (side note: am I not allowed to cuss on here? I'm developing this psychological theory that people who aren't allowed to cuss at work go home and take it out on their kids. It's not an accepted science yet but you'll see it soon enough on Good Morning 'Merica. I digress.) I was in that place between waking and sleeping when I heard the tank rolling through the bay. Only it wasn't a tank, it was the snoring of my assistant ncoic. Good news, I don't have to brace for incoming artillery rounds. Bad news, I'd have a better chance of getting sleep if I were taking incoming rounds. Bad news, in spite of the fact that there will be no artillery and the fact that I was only issued blanks, someone still might die tonight.
What the f*ck was that? Número dos. I could have sworn I heard a wIldebeest going through it's mating rituals off in the distance. But wait, it's just that same assistant ncoic making strange guttural noises to itch the back of his throat. So my childhood dream of going on safari is not yet materializing. What a tease. I can't blame the guy for having an itchy throat, this place is so dry I can feel blood evaporating through my veins, I just drink water to placate the feeling rather than trying to communicate like an ungulate. I swear I've never had to use so much lotion, chapstick etc. I'm going to have my loved ones ship my that stuff by the drum. (looking at you, loved ones.)