The alarm clock rings around nine in the morning. Not that morning means anything on this damn carrier. No matter what time of day or night, all you'll get is stars.
Breakfast is at six sharp, proper military procedure.
The way I see it, this isn't no proper military, so I don't follow their procedure. Besides, the slop they serve down in the metal box we call the Cafeteria can give you cancer. So, I spend my Heavily Armed Ambassadors of Friendship and Fun recreational morning hours in the usual way, eating dehydrated Twinkies and wallowing in grumpiness. I've perfected wallowing to an art form. Sure, that Woody Allen weirdo from the old flicks, before they invented holovision, might have said a thing or two about angst, but he's got nothing on me.