To Friday afternoons

Hello, it is 4:08pm on Friday. Welcome to the longest 52 minutes of your life.

I hate Friday afternoons the way other people also hate Friday afternoons. With a passion. I hate this particular one not only because of where it’s located in relation to the rest of the days of the week, but also because this particular Friday calls for me to sit in an office at 32 degrees Celsius. I am not doing anything useful – I am quite obviously writing this.

You know the craziest thing about Friday afternoons? There is so little time (relative to the age of the planet Earth) between hating on the Friday and it being the very best time a person can have. I refer you to exhibit A: 4.59pm versus 5.01pm. See the change? Nothing subtle about the sweet taste of FREEDOM (you must read that word in a Scottish Mel Gibson yell accent, or GTFO).

The real suckers here are the people paying me to fake work. I think. Either that or it is me who is the sucker. In response to your imagined point (I don’t even know who you are: you could also be imagined) I contend I am a victim of the capitalist agenda, despite not being able to back that up with anything. Got it?

As long as we’re clear.

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