Feuding II

Dear Body,

What the hell?  It's our one day off.  We get to sleep in.  Do you know what that means?  We do not have any reason to be awake.  Like none, no responsibilities.  Whatsoever.  I'm not even functioning at the capacity of a hand puppet.  So what are you doing?

There is no reason for this.  We didn't even get in till almost dawn, it doesn't make sense.  Even less when you consider the gratuitous amount of alcohol involved.  In case you need a refresher, for normal bodies: more of that usually equates to more time unconscious, not less.  Making zombie-face at the wall is not what needs to be happening right now.

I will fight you to the death,
Brain

Feuding I

Dear Brain,

Seriously.  It's 4:14 AM, we're exhausted.  We're in bed, ready to shut down, why won't you just stop?  No, I get it.  You're important to this operation, but really, who the hell needs to have thoughts about nothing jerking them into wakefulness when they're falling asleep?  This is the opposite of our goal.  It's not even relevant to anything going on.  At all.  Ever.  

What the hell is wrong with you?  Do you know how hard it is to even get this far in the sleeping process; how much we've been looking forward to it?  Do you appreciate what we're trying to tell you?  Limbs heavy, Eyes don't want to open, Brain...being a sociopath towards the rest of the team.  

You start off doing so well too, it's hard to tell if you're genuinely tweaked or just exceptionally malicious, "[...]I'll remember to do that tomorrow.  Mm, bed so soft and warm, not like...not-beds...so...night...things... ... ... ... ... ... Acorns!  They wear little berets."

What.  The.  Hell.  You need to stop.  Not okay.  And worse, it's often when you know we got to get up in a few hours.  You know this.  It's worse than the time you woke us up because you figured out the solution in a puzzle was to jump.  To jump.  You jag.

Sincerely,

Body