The Ballad of the Bunkbed

Okay, so last night I was memorizing Russian articles about this guy who bit a police officer because his pitbull couldn't do the job for him. It was about 3 o'clock when I finally climbed into the top bunk of my bed. My alarm clock was set to go off at 6:45 right at the end of my bed. It couldn't take the pressure, though and attempted to commit suicide by diving off the edge of my headboard. Instead, it landed safely on a pillow on the bottom bunk.

Now:

I had two options. A) I could simply climb off the bunkbed, grab the phone and go back to sleep or 2) I could attempt an elaborate display of acrobatics, grab the phone from my top bunk, and never have to leave the comfort of my bed. Guess which one I chose.



Notice exhibit A and the calm before the storm. Nothing but thoughts of Cardiff, Enya and the Brecon Beacons there.


Notice as my suicidal cell leaps off the top of my bunk.



I reach for it, but to no avail. It's time for drastic measures.



In a moment of pure glory, I decide that the best course of action is to pull my right hand off the railing and place both of my hands on the bottom bunk, leaving me no hands to pull myself back up with. This is brilliant. The phone will never expect it.



At least I have been able to get to my phone. I throw it back onto the bed, but it flies over the back edge and crashes to the floor. I wait for about 5 minutes to see if help will arrive. And then I remember, "It is 3 a.m. All the inteligent people are asleep. Bleen." So I realize that the only way to get down is either to fall straight down on my face or atempt to flip over. I'm a fan of my face, so I opt for the latter.



I attempt a daring back-flip type maneuver...



And land on the ground. And there's the alarm...