Johnny Cash here. Boy, I've only been dead for a couple of years, and already Americans are whining about their beds not being cushy enough. Talk about a bunch of pansy-asses. Well here's a little advice: we're in a global war on terrorism (well, you are, I'm dead). It's time to butch up and stop whining about your achy-breaky backs.

 

Hell, I'm sleeping in a PINE BOX, and you don't hear me whining, do ya? So just get over it already and forget about this whole "my sleep number is 60 and my wife's is 40," because not only does it make you look like a complete puss, it's also extremely Socially Retarded.

 

And speaking of which, what the hell happened to this Michael Cooper guy? Hell, I woulda voted for him. Now he sells out to Moron.Org and that traitor George Soros? I'm a right pissed about the whole thing, and if I see him, I'm going to bitch slap him back down to Earth.

 

In conclusion, I would like to say thanks for continuing to buy my records (I still get royalties, even in the afterlife). If you're having trouble sleeping, do what I would do. Have yourself a slug or two of Southern Comfort (or Wild Turkey). That should shut you up.

 

Now get back to work!

 

Johnny Cash