That's usually what Mondays are for, right. To wonder why you have gotten out of bed, drug a razor across your face (or legs, as the case may be), made the the commute to whatever destination holds the end of your leash and started another work week. But all is not lost, as the weekend holds the promise that joy will return to Mudville if only you can hold on for the next 97 hours. Good luck, my friends. And stay thirsty.
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