Monday, you don’t even go here! Why do you suck so fucking much? You are a sneaky motherfucker, creeping up like, “BOOM! I’m up in here, bitches! Fuck your weekend fun and relaxation. Get your ass into that job and do shit you hate.” Every time you get here, I’m just like:
Why are you all up in my bedroom uninvited setting off alarms and shit? Am I not worthy of sleeping past 6 AM? Do you have to remind me that I have so much shit due today? Must you keep me abreast of all the shit I left on my desk Friday promising to get done Monday? I ain’t ’bout shit and you know this. Couldn’t you stay away once in a while? I am not here for you.
Do you not have anything better to do than bring me back to reality? And you really ain’t shit because the few days you do come through on some “holiday weekend and chill” shit, you throw your funky ass blues to Tuesday and get a bitch all discombobulated and what what not. If I see you in these streets, Monday, I’m straight stepping to your dusty ass.
You are basically the calendar equivalent of Iggy Azaela’s “music.” I hate you so much. You give me hives and the runs. No one likes you. You exist solely to torture people and for new episodes of Love & Hip Hop. You are responsible for these nasty ass traffic jams. You know I’m not going to do anything when you get here. You know I’ll go into that office in full tantrum mode cursing everybody out under my breath and contemplating finally drop-kicking that bitch from Accounting who keeps playing with my expense reimbursement. I HATE YOU! And I’m pretty sure 85% of all workplace violence is caused by your arrival.
My son hates you too. You are causing a rift in our relationship. Every time you come, I have to drag his ass to school and negotiate him having a halfway decent day and not throat punching a kid. We are good people. We don’t deserve your fuckery, Monday. We don’t deserve it.
Why do you want to fuck up my self-esteem? You know when you’re here I roll out of bed and put on the first thing I find. I look a hot ass mess. You are to blame for this wrinkled ass Thriller t-shirt, these slacks with the split at the thigh and these Crocs. I didn’t even attempt to lotion up. I look like a fucking ash gargoyle today. Thanks a lot, Monday, you inglorious bitch!
So if you would please scurry the hell along and take your deadlines, projects and meetings with you. Also take all the chipper assholes who are perky as fuck today with you. We don’t want you. We don’t need you. You’re not welcome here. Bounce, ho!