Author's Note: This is a very fragmented and confused essay, mixed with selected lyrics from what could possibly be the greatest song ever played on the Dr. Demento show, 'Existential Blues'. My essay begins the paragraph, and the lyric in quotes that follows the paragraph is from the song. Enjoy!

I think that second to Monday, Wednesday is the worst day of the work week. It is really more of a dichotomy when I think about it. When you arrive at the office on a Wednesday morning raring to go, you soon realize that you are not even halfway through the work week, yet this is actually the third day. But when you finish dining on your neatly packed lunch during the noon lunch hour, you gradually begin to realize that you are indeed past the so-called 'hump' day of thw work week, and each hour that ticks down from here on in means you are ever so closer to that glorious time away from your current professional drudgery, which is affectionately known as the weekend. 'Hey man, what are you really into, huh?'

The weekend. From the time the proverbial whistle blows on Friday afternoon, you are granted two full days of pure Libertarian indulgence and indeed hedonism until Monday morning. Is there anything more glorious than that? 'You ask so many questions, what answers should I choose?'

Actually yes there is. Many European countries have a four day work week, and I think this concept would work wonders here. But with GWB babysitting us for the next three plus years, it is doubtful such a schedule would ever be implemented. 'And I'm sinking in the quagmire of illusions and Thoreau.'

To loosely quote Wimpy from the Popeye cartoons of days long past, 'I would gladly work a ten hour day four days a week if you would give me three consecutive days off today.' Imagine that scenario, and having the time off to enjoy yourself or with your family. Sure you would have a more hectic schedule during those four days, but having three consecutive days off each week would really be wonderful to say the least. 'A little short man with a big red nose, Toking a bottle of Yukon Jack'

Poppies....poppies......

Anyway (ahem!) question things. Be weird wherever you can. Because quite frankly you just don't know when you will be pulled from this great game of life, and sent either out to pasture or out to stud. 'Is this really Butte, Montana, or just existential blues?'