A short day seems to go on and on and on.
Lines seem way longer than long.
Is the guy spending 15 minutes in line at the drive-through teller an idiot? Is the drive-through teller an idiot? Are they both idiots?
Every red light in the city commands me to stop. What bulls**t!
The “bum-BA-bum-BA-bum” of the earschplitten bass speakers tucked under some cool’s trunk rattle inside my ears through my brain.
My head hurts. My neck hurts. My feet hurt. My butt hurts. My brain hurts.
Time for a rest. Time to stop moving for awhile before it all happens again.
Life. Open up a can of it. Then put the top back on the thing.
A little goes a long, long way on much too long a short day.
If that ain’t right I’ll kiss your ass. Or at least I won’t and say I didn’t.