A single, child-free friend of mine once remarked that she would go insane living in my house, because I appear to have constant couch cushion chaos. I refrained from pointing out that I have already gone insane.
This picture provides no real clues to how William ended up sleeping under the toy box, but it does provide compelling evidence that there is a malevolent force at work in my media room downstairs. Heck – in every room. Friends, I present Exhibit A: Child Unconscious on Pile of Furniture Rubble.
My money is on aliens...
What’s really calloused here is how William continues to play Xbox with no concern for his brother’s well-being. If he were Ryan Gosling, he’d be like “Hey girl, I know you get all concerned when we sleep buried in piles of rubble, but it’s okay, girl. You know how we are, girl.”
...it'll be his turn soon.
William is probably using this opportunity to level up in Lego Star Wars, seeing as how his bro isn’t as good at the game as he is. Toddler motor skills.
Go away. I'm sleeping.
Hey girl, I know you get your undies in a bunch when we wreck the house. But you know how much virile energy we have, girl. You know how it is.
Naps Happen 
I wish a nap was happening at my house this very minute.
That’s so funny that your friend said that. My house is in a constant state of couch cushion chaos and I HATE it. Nothing makes me feel more ill at ease than a messy kitchen, or couch cushions all over the place. Basically, I’m saying that I’m ill at ease at all times.
For your kids, I think the pictures taken of them in the college years will look eerily similar to the pictures taken of them in the toddler years.