Fuck You, Monday…

There’s this thing that I do. It’s a tradition. Now. It’s a tradition now. It’s called “Fuck You, Monday.” There’s a hashtag for it somewhere that someone came up with, but I don’t think it means the same thing. Here it is in the world of Pyros:

On Monday, just have a Monday, as per the usual. Work, class, weird shit that makes no sense. It’s Monday. Have all the problems, the unexpected slaps in the face. Fuck up every small thing you do and curse loudly, even though you think it’s under your breath. And then, when all is said and done, just tweak the fuck out. Like this:

Everything sucks and I hate everyone – this is not true, but hold on.

A lot of the people I’m around constantly are fucking idiots who scream like hybrid chicken dogs – this part is true… it’s terrifying when they come down the hallway.

There’s a certain amount of self-loathing that goes into a “Fuck You, Monday.” Just a little bit. For those of you who are narcissistic weirdos, you’re just gonna have to hold on. For the rest of us, some part of you screams that you could have done something better or that it just wasn’t good enough. Then you play the blame game. Sometimes, someone else gets stuck in it, but most of the time, it’s just you calling yourself a dumbass. I do the same damn thing… Fuck you, Monday.

Once you’ve gotten past the irritating fact that everything really isn’t as bad as your weird little brain said it was, you sit back. Pull out a stogie, have a beer, drink a quart of vodka, whatever. Because fuck it, it’s Monday.

And after that glorious first indulgence, you look at the sky and say “Fuck you, Monday,” with a smile on your face.

So, my “Fuck You, Monday” moment for the day: Sitting outside, having a petit corona with a hint of cherry flavor – I’m an adult, I smoke what I want – and there’s a Rabbit. It’s capped because I like this Rabbit, and Rabbit is Rabbit’s name. So, get the hell over it. ANYWAY! Rabbit is just chewing away at some green shred of almost-grass when we spot each other. Rabbit stares at me, stops chewing, and freezes. I look at Rabbit, have my “Oh Shit” moment – the little dude’s probably just going, “I’m gonna get ate. Damn it!”- and turn back around to stare at some birds doing bird things in the woods. Rabbit goes back to chewing. I glance over. Rabbit is still staring at me. Chewing. I go back to my cigar.

After a few outrageous stories about road rage and giving a waving idiot the finger (I was having a conversation either with myself or my mom… It’s not important!), I look back over. Rabbit is gone. Rabbit. just fucking up and left. Tiny fucker just walked off… Which made me laugh. Ninja Rabbit. Ninja. Fucking. Rabbit. And all of a sudden, the only thing I can think of is Ninja Rabbit. It’s like Monday never happened. Monday didn’t exist. Monday just was a day when the big, shiny, Death Ball in the sky rose and baked all of us – and not the fun kind – and crashed violently into the horizon. It was just another day, all thanks to Ninja Rabbit.


Image via Deviant Art by TigerLotus

And it was at that moment that I sat back, took a puff, and smiled. Why? Because fuck you that’s why! I mean, if your name is “Monday”, fuck you. And if you’re not the day and your name is “Monday,” you should really get that shit changed. That’s not cool to have millions of people cussing you out, friend. It’s like, “hey, fuck you person! Fuck you for being a person!” … nah… They don’t even know you. You deserve better than that. Change your name to Raptor, or something.


That’s a cool ass name…


Oh! And to all the narcissistic assholes out there asking “what about us, we never blame us.” Go fuck yourselves. You and Monday – the day not the person – can go sit in a crater somewhere and suck the nuclear radiation out of Death Ball from the sky and just fucking burn. Because, Fuck You, Monday… That’s why.

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