The alarm interrupts Joe's dream. It was the same dream he always had, sitting in a floatie in his own pool in the backyard of his mansion, sipping on a wine glass filled with the finest child spit, Vintage 2014, there was just something about the spit of 3 year olds. In this dream his younger brother, Anthony, was also there, dressed as a laborer and tending to the garden. “Ant, how about another bottle of child spit?” Joe would say. “Right away, sir!” Anthony would reply.

Joe reluctantly wakes up and reaches a from under the blankets and pushes the snooze button on his Sons of Anarchy alarm clock. "Just another 5 minutes" he mutters to himself and rolls to his side. Then his cellphone rings. Joe grabs it with his meaty hand covered in bad tattoos and looks to see who is calling. It's Gene, a member of Joe's cosplay music band in which Joe plays guitar in order to supplement the meager allowance he receives from his rich and famous younger brother. Joe ignores the call. It rings again.

"Hello?" Joe breathes a heavy sigh into the phone.

"Where the fuck are you?" Gene is angry.

"At home in bed."

"What the fuck man, we've got a gig starting in 10 minutes!"

Joe sits up. He looks over at his Sons of Anarchy alarm clock, it's still one of the coolest things he owns and every time he sees the picture of Jax's face on the front of the clock, sitting there looking like the coolest guy Joe has ever seen, Joe is happier and happier he begged his brother for an advance on his allowance in order to get the limited edition clock. It was the right thing to do.

"That show doesn't start until 2, my clock says it’s only 1!."

"Jesus Joe, did you forget to set your clock forward?"

Joe struggles to do the math. If you set the clock forward, that means add one to the number. Joe holds up his right hand in front of him with one finger extended and whispers "set the clock forward means add one" and then he extends a second finger. "Oh my god! It's two o'clock!" Joe shouts.

"Yes! Get your ass down here!"

"I'll be there ASAP!" Joe says and jumps out of bed. His large chunky body hits the nightstand and knocks over a bottle of child spit. Joe watches it fall to the ground and the precious liquid spill onto the floor. His efforts to turn the bottle upright are too late and Joe stares at the moisture soaking into the carpet and contemplates his options. This is his last bottle and if he wants more that means calling his younger brother and asking for more money. Joe hates asking Anthony for money.

"Fuck it" he says as he gets on the ground and begins to lap the last little drops of child spit from the rug. This is what his life has come to, his life was supposed to be so different. He was a founding member of one of the most successful radio duos in the history of radio. He was the one that introduced Anthony to the person that would go on to be Anthony's radio partner. If it wasn't for Joe, then Anthony would have never become as rich and famous as he is!

Life wasn't fair. Anthony lives in a mansion, banging hot 19 year ladyboys, and here's Joe, naked and fat, on all fours, licking child spit from the carpet, only feeding into his addiction. Joe begins to cry and shouts "Why didn’t I get rich, God? Why not me? Why not me?" The tears stream harder now and fall from his cheek onto the floor mixing with the child spit. "Why do you hate me God?! Why do you hate me?!"

He puts face into the carpet to lick the last of his child spit, when suddenly Joe tastes his tears mixed with the child spit. The taste is a salty succulence that reminds him of the way his brother described his former lover's semen. Anthony had many transexual lovers over the years but it wasn't until Anthony met Sue that Joe thought Anthony might get married, now that society allowed that kind of thing. Anthony described to Joe how he would spend hours milking the creamy nectar from Sue's luscious member and always recommended to Joe "if you like child spit, you will LOVE tranny semen." Joe trusted his brother but had no desire to suck a penis. Instead he stuck with the vice he knew and loved: child spit.

Joe continues to lickthe child spit mixed with his tears and wonders if child spit and tears always taste this delicious. Also, these were the tears of an overweight, geriatric unhealthy man who recently tested positive for HEP-C and herpes. If these tears are so delicious then surely the tears of a young, innocent, pure and healthy child must be even better.

Joe has an idea. He leaps from the floor and calls his brother. "Hello”, Anthony moans on the other end of the phone, his voice thick with a hangover. Joe has woken him up.

"Ant, I need some more money."

"No man, you don't get your allowance 'til the end of the month. It's only the 9th." It is, in fact, the 12th, but neither Anthony nor Joe realize this.

Joe lowers his voice, "come on man, don't you remember that time I convinced you to go down to WBAB and..."

"Fuck. Yes. Ok. How much?"

Joe isn’t sure. He has a guy who can get him as much child spit as he needs but where can he get child tears? Fresh young innocent child tears. Joe thinks back to the times he’s seen children crying and things that made them cry. Then it dawns on him. "Bro, I'll call you back in five minutes."

Joe hangs up the phone and calls Gene. He has another idea. He wonders if he is sick or if something is wrong, two ideas in one day, he isn’t sure if that has ever happened before. He almost feels smart.

"Where are you?" Gene answers.

Joe knows Gene is angry with him. Even though it has been months since Joe missed a gig, too hungover on child spit to play, Gene still doesn’t trust him. It doesn’t matter, Joe knows this idea is gold.

"Gene, I'll get there just as soon as I can but I need to ask you a question."

"What?"

"How would you feel about playing daycare centers?"