Clocked

Consider the life of an alarm clock:

You are conceived in a factory. You wait some time on the shelves of a Wal-Mart or whatnot, and are finally "born" (read: turned on) in some strangers house. You don't have a childhood... you are basically forced to work from day one. Your life is not easy.

Yes, you have one job, but that job is crucial. You must wake up your Master by screaming at the top of your lungs right into his ear, usually at ridiculous hours with no reprieve. Your life is monotonous; every morning it's the same, and you relish weekends as much as anybody else, when you don't have to ruin your vocal chords by yelling as loudly as possible.

Sometimes, you sleep through your job and forget to wake your Master up, and he gets angry and hits you and mutters, "Great, now I'm late for work, stupid alarm clock." He never takes your feelings into consideration, rather, he only thinks about himself. You try to explain to him, "Hey buddy, even the best rooster sometimes slept through the mornin' sun, I'm not perfect!" but sadly, alarm clocks don't speak and so you can only think this, and hope you remember your job the next day. Finally, after a hard life full of nothing but early mornings and work, your batteries start to fade, the little red numbers on your face get dimmer, until one day you are nothing but some plastic in the garbage can. Yes, the life of an alarm clock is not an enviable one.

Seriously guys, this is the kind of stupid stuff I daydream about in the shower.