Dear Monday,

As you may well know, you are easily the most hated day of the week.  Although I’m sure that there’s nothing I can say to you that hasn’t been said, I still feel that I ought to try.  You, Monday, deserve every ounce of scorn most Americans throw at you.  After the joy that is the weekend, you take it upon yourself to crash us all back to reality at an often ungodly hour of the morning.  You have zero redeeming qualities.  Even your prime time TV schedule blows goats.  You represent all that is wrong with life-traffic, work, talk radio, lazy/incompetent coworkers and 40+ hours of forthcoming unmitigated hell.  God must have been in a particularly sadistic mood when he created you.

I hate you even more for the fact that your looming presence usually ruins my Sunday evening.  If you were a man, rather than a day of the week, I’d give you a swift kick to the dick for that.  No other day of the week reaches out and ruins other days.  Greedy bastard.

Counting away the hours till Tuesday,

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