“Tired Man!” screamed Hyper Boy. “TiredManTiredManTiredManTiredMan!”
“Ugh,” groaned Tired Man, still in his bathrobe. “What. Calm down.”
“The Tired Signal is flashing OMIGODOMIGODOMIGOD”
Tired Man squinted at the Tired Signal. Indeed it was flashing. It hurt his eyes.
“I’m too tired for this crap,” he said dramatically.
Hyper Boy jumped up and down on various pieces of furniture. “What do we do Tired Man huh huh huh?”
“God, will you shut up,” said Tired Man with a stupendous yawn. “Anyway, I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m going back to sleep.”
“Sleep!” cried Hyper Boy. “But it could be important!”
“Oh, I’m sure it is.” Tired Man scratched himself while trying to remember the rest of what he was going to say, like maybe a motto or something, but the thought eluded him. “Well, good night. Afternoon. Whatever.” He turned and dragged his feet back to his room and plopped down on his warm bed, leaving Hyper Boy to run anxiously in place.
Hyper Boy looked at the flashing Tired Signal again. “Oh jeez,” he said. “Oh man oh god oh wow oh hey oh jeez.” Then he stopped hopping. If Tired Man was going to succumb to his greatest weakness—his own unwillingness to do anything—then someone else would have to save the day. It appeared that this was a job for Hyper Boy.
Hyper Boy dashed into the kitchen, ate an entire can of coffee grounds, guzzled enough energy drinks to dissolve the framework of a space shuttle, and shot out of the Tired Lair with the speed of a jet.
He immediately slammed against a brick wall and died. Hours later, the menace that had been the cause of the flashing Tired Signal—Doctor Malectus and the endless ranks of his infamous “Murder Marines”—took over the city. Years later, after they had seized control of the nation and then the world, Malectus would look back on that fortuitous day, when it was so easy to set his plan for domination in motion, all because Tired Man had gone back to sleep.
But they never found Tired Man, as the Tired Lair lay hidden miles underground. In fact, Tired Man woke up later that day, looked for Hyper Boy, then forgot what he was doing and ate some breakfast. He lived the rest of his life in relative comfort—having his own independent power source and all his food and drinks supplied to him by his butler Jarvis—and never had to worry over, in fact never even heard about, the world takeover that ruined the lives of so many busier people all over the globe.
The moral of this story is, eh. I don’t know screw it.