Who am I to fuck with Monday?

Ever notice how all things rush towards Sunday. Merely blink on a Friday afternoon and it becomes a Sunday afternoon...and everyone knows that Sunday afternoon is just a nice way of saying Monday. Sometimes, when I am feeling particularly defiant, I will stay up late drinking beer, and dare Monday to show it's face. How can Monday come if I am having so much fun that it can't possibly be Monday. But Monday always wins and gloats about it's Victory. "I fucked you up, boi!", it says to me as I sit motionless behind the construction traffic of another Quick Trip going up. "Thought you was gonna be smart, and try to stop me from showing up", Monday would say as it took a sip off of a Starbuck Verona latte. "When you gonna learn not to fuck with me son?". And Monday would be right. Who am I to fuck with Monday? But sometimes you have to fight not because it is the smart or right thing to do, but because it is stupid. Sometimes you have to stand up for something, not to win, but to annoy the shit out of the man. "That's right Monday, I stayed up all night Sunday drinking beer like it was Saturday." "I even contemplated not going to work on Monday." "And one day I swear to God, I am going to do it, and when I do boy, whooooo weeee, I would have made Sunday night, Saturday night, and Monday morning, Sunday morning." "Let your mind chew on that for a while mother fucker." Because in the end the days of the week, month and year are just something the man made up to try and create some order out of this world.