Insomnicraw

The Craw sighed a deep wet wheezy sigh and rolled over in bed for the 1,324th time that night, and looked at the clock. It was 4:27 a.m.

As he stared, the clock blinked insolently, taunting him with the progressing hours and The Craw, already weary, attempted to ponder why he was still awake. The left hemisphere of his swiss-cheesed brain had been in a huff all day, and had been annoying the right hemisphere since breakfast, when one wanted a sensible bowl of oatmeal, while the other craved a duck confit served with a potato pancake and grilled

onions.

Thus, his ability to properly ponder his sleepless predicament was hampered severely, and as an idea presented itself, it was sent along a route that was dangerously close to the right hemisphere border, and in the ensuing skirmish, the idea was shot point-blank and left in a slightly wooded ditch just south of the Hippocampus. Clearly, something was wrong.

"Why so awake am I?" he asked himself, as semi-evil deities are often known to do, and taking his Magic 8 Ball firmly in hand (or claw, as the case may be), he shook vigorously and awaited an answer.

After an alarmingly long delay, the 8 Ball responded, "Suck it up, bitch."

"Hmmm," thought The Craw. He was unused to such a surly attitude from his chief strategic confidant, and he heaved another sigh.

Had the two hemispheres of his ancient brain been willing to cooperate, they could have deduced that The Craw was missing his flame-haired companion, and his sleeplessness was simply a matter of being affected by the air density of her negative space, which loomed around him, taunting him with the absence of her laughter.

He tossed the 8 Ball aside, vaguely hoping it would smash itself open upon impact, but when it simply rolled under the dresser and disappeared, he resigned himself to a night of disappointment.

He grumpily gave a loud "harrumph" and rolled over once again, hoping that THIS time, the slight shift in orientation would be the magic key to falling asleep. Just as he was settling into the new position, several muscles in the right side of his neck began complaining about the new location. He hated their low-class  cockney accents, and attempted to ignore them. This group of neck muscles had been hanging out and raising a lot of trouble together and The Craw was losing his patience with them.

"Ey! Wot's with this shite new position?!?" screamed the lead neck muscle, who we shall simply call "Brian."

The Craw responded with a medium sized punch to the side of his neck, where Brian the Angry Neck Muscle sat protruding, throbbing, and shouting racial epithets.

"Ouch!" yelled The Craw, as the rest of his body wondered what the hell was going on.

The story continued on for some time in this manner, as The Craw did mighty battle with Brian the Angry Neck Muscle and his group of cockney associates. His attempts to rub them out were largely unsuccessful, and he resolved himself to enduring a night of pain, and grinding noises every time he turned his head.

Sighing once more, with what he hoped was enough conviction that it would help,The Craw rolled over once more, and did not go to sleep. He is likely still there, in his temporary Lair, cursing vehemently at the world, with nary a badger spleen snack to be had....