Ladies and gentlemen, this is NOT a test… Please report to the nearest cubicle for reprograming.
Andre the Client!
Some of us go to great lengths to escape the nagging sense of nihilism percolating within like the Mr. Coffee in the break-room of your nightmares. I myself always wanted to get into TV, buthow I rue the day my wish came true…
You’re a star…
No matter where you are on the spectrum of wish fulfillment, Mondays can deliver a devastating blow to your relationship with reality. It is not uncommon to fold like a poor hand of cards under the tremendous weight of Monday’s onslaught, and collapse defeated into the Fourth Dimension.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is NOT a test. Comedy So Serious! has taken over your net-waves… DO NOT attempt to adjust your dials.
Do you even understand that now antiquated reference to a bygone technology?
Well, DO NOT attempt to open a new tab because…
Um… internet takeover?
I, your humble and recently abandoned editor, have been left alone at the helm of my own ship run aground. I am broadcasting to you from a remote island of cyber-solitude, screaming a message of questionable importance into the digital ocean-spray.
EVERYTHING IS NORMAL, FINE, NOT WORRISOME AT ALL
You need not doubt your senses as they survey the landscape. This is, indeed, a strange and troubling dystopian ecosystem. Rather than work in tandem, gaining momentum and accomplishing our aims, we are beset with predatory advances.
The odds seem insurmountable, and if it were merely up to us alone we would surely succumb to the overwhelming negativity strewn in our paths.
As the sun rises, all eye are on you. The weekend departs as quickly as it arrives–and as mysteriously–leaving us with the shattered fragments of wishes unfulfilled.
“Eye need you to come in to work.”
And as gratifying as it may be to unleash the pent-up animal-rage that’s been percolating inside of us on an unsuspecting inanimate object, say an alarm clock, we simply can’t afford to keep buying alarm clocks on our current salary.
And so begins again the Great Paper Chase. A lifelong, elliptical, and distracting pursuit of necessity, otherwise known as modern life.
Without even a glance toward the calendar, I know what day it is. I can tell by the mild, dull sense of dread that is percolating in the Mr. Coffee of my soul, brewing a bitter and muddy cup of truth:
We’re into the second full week of January and some of us are still hungover from the New Year’s celebration we don’t remember being at.
And fugue-state times were had by all…
The spring loaded enthusiasm for a new year of possibility has released, and the collective re-cranking has begun. Resolutions struggle to retain their meaning, gym attendance is already slipping, dieting caveats have been introduced…
The streets run red with lolz.
And it is here that we find ourselves: at the crossroads of yet another year, another workweek, wherein the pursuit of self-aggrandizement is feverishly sought while at the same time furiously withheld.
When the screws of the workweek begin to tighten; when the elastic in your dress socks incites a small riot of itchiness on your calves; when you can barely contain your excitement for the weekend, becoming the picture of antsiness…
That’s one way to ruin a picnic…
As the sands of time irritate the soft flesh of impatience, we pause from our relentless trek through tedium and reflect on how far we’ve come.
“Run, Friday, RUN!!!”
But the balancing forces of nature, battling stealthily behind the scenes, are always hard at work. Even as I write this, the Calico Cat of quietude wages war with the Polar Vortex of Vexation!
Ah, the first Monday of the New Year. It feels–if you’ll allow it–so much like the Mondays of yesteryear…
New Year’s Resolution: Learn hands.
No matter how many cups of coffee are imbibed, or extra hours spent sobbing in the shower, the dim demands of a new workweek have extended their reach to us. We must traverse the corridor of capitalism once more.
“Nope… back to the shower.”
Our reflexes are slow, our minds sluggish, and our expressions are frozen “Oh Noez!” of torpid terror.
The Merry-Go-Round of this modern life is punctuated with Monday’s bog of banality. But, with a little creepy and threatening encouragement we can surmount anything…
A touch of positive reinforcement never hurt either, so here’s a wizened little dog mixing a martini for you. Should be ready about the time you get back home.
Hark! I hear an angel sing! Wait… Nope. Not an angel. That was the “Harp” alarm setting on my phone. That’s right…
Time for my morning commute… into oblivion.
On this last Monday of 2013, we reluctantly arise, donning the bifocals of the bizarre and peering past the mundane into a familiar world populated by strangers.
“We’re ready for launch, Commander.”
Though the slight to our dignity and self worth is relatively meager, the cumulative effect of a lifetime of Monday mornings can be deadly. This is why we invite you to join us in the transmutation of tedium, where memes really do come true.
There’s a party in my nightmare and errybody’s invited!
So refresh your cup of coffee and plunge wholeheartedly into it, finding solace in its caffeinated inner-cosmos.
Do you take the red pill, or the sugar cubes?
Together, along with the intercession of the internets, we can transform this raw, bitter brew of toilsome tonic into something altogether ambrosial. Or… some approximation thereof.