Waffles the Space Clown

Morgan James Gavin

You wake up in a white room to a pounding headache, naked, and a strange tattoo on the entirety of your right arm. To your left is a book, behind you is a chair with a table next to it, on the table is a glass of water, in front of you is a blank screen with a webcam on top of it, and to your right is an open door.
With much struggling, grunting, swearing, a shit log falling and bouncing between your legs, you manage to stand up. You look around the room, trying to get a better view of it, but for the life of you, your groggy state has left you unable to perceive distance.
Out of habit, you look down to find that someone has kindly removed your clothes and folded them neatly beside your unconscious body. In your humble opinion, people are born without clothes, don't take baths in them, and when possible, run down the street without them on. Sometimes, they might be on fire. Sometimes, you lit that fire. Good times!
Though, you don't know if anyone is watching you, and it would be a shame if they decided to turn on the air conditioning full blast just to force you to put them back on. You start feeling woozy and wobble back and forth, your sight fades in and out, and just for a second, you hear someone, faintly talking about waffles. Weird, you had waffles this morning.
Blink once.