It's late. Well, not late at all, really, but late considering I'm waking up hellishly early tomorrow to earn $96. It might be a mistake to read On The Road at such a late hour because of the odd frenzied pace. I got the original scroll version which has no breaks--paragraph, chapter, or otherwise--and I think the effect is similar to some sort of benzedrine. So anyway, I think I'll just tell a story to amuse myself and perhaps lull myself into some kind of soon-to-be-not-enough sleep.

Once upon a time, there was a man who became addicted to yawning. He'd worked so hard his entire life, that he never had enough time to sleep. And so he yawned. He yawned and yawned and yawned. While he was working, he yawned. Before he ate and after he ate, he yawned. Eventually, his wife had to stop looking at him because he yawned so much. Every time she looked at him, he yawned, and she--of course--couldn't help but yawn right back. And so it went.
Though tired, yawning helped him get through long days of work. He'd gotten so good at it, in fact, that he was able to fall asleep for the brief second his eyes closed to make room for his expanding jaws. That one instant of rest enabled him to work again for a few minutes until his next yawn.
His boss and his coworkers often wondered why they felt so sleepy at work, though they'd gotten good nights' rests. One afternoon, his boss walked over as the man was mid-yawn, and asked him to finish a project that a recently-resigned coworker had left undone. As he instructed the man, who'd just finished a yawn, the boss felt his ears pop and was unable to resist a cheek-straining, jaw-stretching yawn.
Damn, he though, must get more sleep. He left the man to his project and returned to his boss office, stifling another yawn.
The man worked on the project, stopping every so often to catch a quick wide-mouth snooze.
As time went on, his jaw muscles strengthened and grew thicker. His yawns became wider and more efficient, pulling him into a deeper rest each time. His eyes were constantly red and watery from the strain.
Some time later, he arrived home, greeted by a note from his wife:
Dear yaa-aah-ahhh-aaawwn, it said,
I've gone to stay with my mother. I think I've become infected
by your yaa-aah-aawn constant yawning. It's become such a
problem that I must escape and figure out how to yaa-aaaawwwwn
get more sleep.
The man, of course, yawned several times during the reading of this letter. It didn't mean much to him: because of his continuous mouth-stretching, he hadn't much time or energy to devote to more mundane matters. He went about his chores, doing what he did best, and yawned himself into bed.
A few hours later, he woke up for work. Tying his tie, he yawned so wide, his mouth became stuck open. He couldn't see and he couldn't hear. Knot forgotten, he felt his way to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
"Emergency operator," came the curt reply.
"Ah yahh haaww. Haaww!"
"Sir, I cannot understand you."
"Haaww. Ah yahh haaww!"
"Sir, where are you? Do you need help?"
"Yaaahh, yaaaahh"
"If this is a prank call, you'll be in trouble, sir."
Exasperated, he slammed the phone into its cradle. Still nearly blinded by his upraised cheeks and almost deafened by his down-turned jawbones, he stumbled out the door.
He hasn't been heard from or seen since. He's probably still yawning to this very day.

The moral of the story, if you missed it, is: get sufficient sleep. Or else you're doomed to wander in dark silence forever. While yawning. Which is a very cumbersome word to write over and over and over. And if you didn't yawn while reading this story, it means either you were sufficiently rested or sufficiently rapt in the intensity of the plot. Either way, I commend you. YAAAAWWWWWWWWWN. Bedtime.