It’s Friday. I have the day off. And I’m sad. I wish I was at work. I have friends there. My boss is cool. We sing songs much of the day, inventing our own lyrics about the obstacles facing the thinking man in today’s feminist world.
I fist bump through the day, break into rap, use the Ladies room, and organize the workers. There’s unlimited tea and coffee. Beautiful women walk by in short skirts. I scream, “I gotta call my sponsor!”
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
