To say that I look like shit today wouldn’t cut it. I clearly look like the regurgitated mess of a certain, alcoholic someone that decided they just didn’t want “Sunday Funday” to stop.  Here’s a quick diagram:

After staring at myself for a considerable amount of time in the bathroom mirror at work, I couldn’t help but think, “Wow. It doesn’t get any worst than this. You look like hell… Like you had a LOT of fun last night. I’ve seen meth-heads with better upkeep.”  I simmered in that (and the smell of my own filthy, ashtray-scented hair).  Just when I had accepted the sad, sad fact that I looked horrifying today in ways that only Whitney Houston (on the cocaine) could achieve; I realized that there was one other thing (besides hygiene) that I had clearly missed this morning…

There you have it, folks. I look, feel, and smell like death; all the while covered in hickeys.  That’s it. Fuck Monday.