Man, I hate Monday's.

Man, I hate Monday's.

It's probably because 'Monday' is derived from the ancient Greek god Mon, who was a total jerk to his subordinates. He would always force them to write redundant reports on

the reports that the other subordinates were currently writing. Mon would laugh as the piles of reports grew exponentially, eventually becoming mountain ranges. Entire forests were

back when he tried to take fruit from their limbs. The towering trees tittered at him. He ran so far away, saw dust flying everywhere. He hated paper mills. Pepper mills, too.

But water mills were the worst! Anyone who wanted their water ground used to take it to the mill at the edge of the village, where the laughing trees jeered. He shook dust from his

thoughts, and continued trodding on his way. The edge of the village was too much. He would not stand for this much longer

Because it got on his nerves. The shuffleboard matches were exciting to watch and were quite relaxing. He could sit back and let the sea guide his meditation practise. Players of

words that were just milling around with purpose soon saw the fate their actions had bought them. It wasn't pretty in no sense of the word not pretty. That made it pretty. I feel

pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty and witty and bright! And I pity any girl who isn't me tonight. I feel like Natalie Wood playing Maria. Unfortunately, I do not look like her.