It's 10:58pm, Monday's column is due in an hour, and I've been drinking heavily all day. The easy ideas are all played out, reader. I actually have to write something original. All I have left in my "easy ideas arsenal" is this photo:
The Bumble. It's cute, but it has no purpose, much like my life. This isn't a normal Sunday for me. While my writer's persona paints me as a stinky old drunk who boozes so much that the toilet gets drunk when I pee, drinking on a Sunday is usually not my style. The film studio I temp for has forced me to drink by requiring me to take Martin Luther King Day off.
With all due respect to the late Dr. King, who the hell takes off MLK Day? When was the last time you heard someone say, "Hey, it's a three-day MLK weekend! Let's pack up our crap and go campin'!" I've certainly never said that phrase in my life. Have you, reader? I rest my case.
If the studio is forcing me to take Monday off with no pay, then you better believe I'm going to get drunk on Sunday. What else am I supposed to do? Nobody has MLK Day off except government workers and the douchebags at my office. My choices are to get drunk at home or go see a movie with the elderly man who delivers my mail.
The worst part is that I can't even enjoy myself while I'm drinking on a Sunday. It just feels wrong. I have a very good sense of when I shouldn't be drinking, and my radar was sounding the warning sirens when I cracked open a bottle of Pabst today.
The last time that internal alarm went off was in college. The first party my roommates and I ever threw was really lame, and nobody showed up. We planned to watch a rugby match the next morning at 9am, and since we had so much beer leftover in the keg, we transferred it to four plastic milk jugs, loaded them into the back of the car, and drove to the field to drink while we watched the game.
Drinking in that situation was not only horribly disgusting, it also felt incredibly pathetic, because it was 9am in the freaking morning. It was like punching a clown, or doing my taxes in July. It didn't fit.
You'd think drinking on MLK Day doesn't fit because it tarnishes the image of Dr. King and everything he accomplished, but it was actually just because it was a Sunday. I tarnish the image of myself and others so often that it doesn't really register anymore unless it's on a work night.
So here I am, tipsy on a Sunday evening, writing a humor column. The Patriots have beaten the Chargers, the Overrated Turds have beaten the Seahawks, and I have avoided seeing "Stomp the Yard" with my mail carrier. All is well.
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