Stranglepants Antsycrap

I am picking up gamutto signalitude from the Cosmos.

Every synapse is drilled down hard, like Daniel Craig refusin' a Spectral fisto.

MONDAY!

MONDAY!

MAYDAY!

Hey — I am tryin' to week on out here!

What is this schwango?

"Monday"?

Is some nightmare gonna strike buckteeth of longface 'pon yr ass as ebullient tailswish disappears all trace of ya?

Gotta muster a step, walk out in stoccato rictus on unforseen ground till muscles slack out and bones set teeth for gravestones celebratin' unwasted miracles.

I guess.

If that is misplaced optimism, I'll take it over what I'm hearin' right now.

I am surrounded by people who are so f*ucked off that

it is Monday

I fear they might tear the sun from the sky an' sh*t on the rest of us jus' to prove a point.

Moi?

I do not care what day it is.

Please do not tell me what day it is.

Please do not tell me how I oughta feel because of what day it is.

Enfeeblers of the moment, I wanna smack you so hard right now.

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Are we up to 10 yet?

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Gonna keep breathin', 'cos that is so cool.

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K, so where was I?

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Oh yeah, c'mon, mebbe we got the rest of the week to spark out an' propulse our own hours somewhere we wanna.

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I wld really luv that so much.