Driving to work absolutely fucking sucks. The 405 freeway – no matter the time of day – consistently sucks a bag of dicks going either direction. Now that there’s traffic, there’s always some pole jockey weaseling his way into my lane at the last possible second.
This usually means that when I finally do get home, often after an incredibly long day at work, the only thing on my mind is taking care of ‘business’, so to speak.
And I’d love to. Believe me, I’d love nothing more. But the frustration overwhelms me, and before I know it, shit just gets weird.
The plastic bottle of vodka comes out from the back of the freezer, and its once again time to play ‘where the fuck does this hat go?’
A game I often lose.
So the moral of the story, kids: always be prepared.