Friday’s are so full of promise. You have two days ahead of you and dreams of all sorts of productive tasks you’re going to accomplish on them. Then, Friday night revelries turn into Saturday morning hangovers that can only be cured with greasy food and bloody mary’s which somehow evolves into meeting some friends for a few beers and then you’re out to dinner when someone mentions a cool band playing down the street which becomes well whiskey, pbrs and loud tunes and no cabs home. Sunday morning is slept off and most of the early afternoon is spent arranging a ride back downtown to get your car. Said ride must be compensated via the purchasing of 2 rounds of beers and there you are…walking in the door at 6pm on sunday evening with a buzz deciding “fuck it. you can wear dirty underwear for a day and you’ll do laundry tomorrow.”
Fridays mean well but they can help telling young boys lies.
Here is some new Arliss Nancy. Listen. Love. Give them some damned money.