Monday Morning Paradox
Nobody complains about Monday mornings themselves—we complain about *getting up* for Monday mornings. Which means we'd happily stay in bed all week if we could. We're not against Mondays. We're against existing.


















Nobody complains about Monday mornings themselves—we complain about *getting up* for Monday mornings. Which means we'd happily stay in bed all week if we could. We're not against Mondays. We're against existing.
I'm so bad at parenting, my kids have started leaving me encouraging Post-it notes. Yesterday's said: 'You didn't burn dinner AND no one called CPS. Gold star, Dad!'
I started preparing for Hurricane Fausto. Day 1: bought water. Day 2: bought plywood. Day 3: bought a boat. Day 4: bought a submarine. Day 5: I'm now a marine biologist.
I tried to make a fancy pan-seared salmon last night. Let's just say the smoke alarm gave me a standing ovation—literally, it stood up and screamed.
Week 1: I joined a gym and felt amazing. Week 2: I did 10 pushups and thought I was an athlete. Week 3: I couldn't lift my arm to scratch my nose. Week 4: I went back to the gym just to remember what those machines look like.
A massive fire broke out in Kennewick and firefighters rushed to the scene. Turns out it wasn't arson—just a guy trying to follow his instant ramen cooking instructions that said 'boil water vigorously.'