USF Eats Poop

For South Florida Bulls fans who know me, much of this post will be a review. But somehow I just never tire of driving these points home. USF fans are like my dog: quick to forget training lessons and they eat poop. It’s true. And not a light tongue flick, either. We’re talking 2 Girls, 1 Cup-style bathing in the steaming goop like it’s coming from Heaven’s own chocolate soft serve dispenser. With the 2010 college football season coming to a close, I would be remiss if I didn’t document my ever-growing hatred for the commuter college up the street.

The University of South Florida is a massive fucking school with like a million-billion students on a sparse campus, devoid of any character, notable landmarks, or adequate parking. Even with the vast swaths of empty grass fields, USF still has no football stadium of their own and resorts to thieving the Buccaneers’ stadium every Saturday. Opposing fans must wonder what that big pirate ship in the endzone has to do with cattle. Oh wait, that’s the real football team that plays here. USF is just the opening act.


On the Eighth Day, Man Destroyed Tuesday

Another Monday is in the books, which leaves Tuesday to just suck furry rhinoceros balls. Tuesday is the worst. Tuesday is the puke splotches left on a Port-a-potty seat on a hot summer day by a drunk, herpes-infested whore that couldn't stomach fulfilling some bizarre, whips and chains, Dungeons & Dragons fantasy of a fat, 49 year-old man with a pimply ass who still lives with his parents. Everthing sucks on Tuesday. There's no hope; no point in even thinking about the next weekend. Traffic is terrible since everyone is back from their weekend or three day break—if they took one. Hell, even TV sucks on Tuesday, so there's nothing to look forward to when it's finally over. Fuck you, Tuesday.

At least Monday you can reflect on the past weekend; it's still fresh in your brain and you have something to talk about. Wednesday is “hump” day. As much as I abhor goobers who say “Happy Hump Day,” they're at least onto something. It's true. Once lunchtime has passed on Wednesday, it feels like a million pounds have been lifted off your chest. If you've ever run a race, it's similar to reaching the halfway point. You're dog tired, running out of gas, beat down, brain dead. You wanna quit, but you've already made it this far. Besides stopping and walking would be stupid. You still gotta finish the course—stopping will take even longer. Thursday is the day you see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's busy as hell, but you feel like you're blood, sweat, and tears are finally about to pay off. Friday might as well be the third day of the weekend. You still have to go into work, but nothing gets done because everybody fears making the mistake—the one that'll bring you in on Saturday to fix it.

The only true working days are Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I propose we abolish Tuesday. It's a complete drag on society—its destruction will make the world a happier place. It's the least productive working day since everyone is so depressed. It's the day of “it'll never end.” So, I'm taking it out. That leaves six days in the week, which doesn't divide into 365 very cleanly. Neither does seven for that matter. While we're at it let's fix that retarded mess. We could add another day to each year to make it 366 days for a clean 61 weeks. Or, even better, let's keep it at 365 days a year. We'll take out Friday along with it.

Sure Friday is fun, but it's entirely useless. It's a weekday in weekend day's clothing. It's there to fool you. It's like a transvestite day. It certainly looks like weekend day—it acts the part. Then you take it home and BLAM! some nasty old dick falls out. You can either be gay and play along or you can kick its ass out. I vote for the latter. Let's stop with this Friday charade and just ditch the stupid day. At least until the leap year. I think we can give the trannies one day every four years to celebrate peckers and fake boobs. Or not.

So now we have five-day weeks: three days of work, two days of play. Thursday, the most productive and hopeful day of the week, becomes the final weekday. Now you have 146 weekend days instead of 105 and 219 working days instead of 260. We've eliminated 104 worthless or soul-sucking days and replaced them with a healthy mix of productive days and days off. It only cost us a total of 41 working days. However, you actually gain 11 days of pure production since Fridays are a waste and we just trashed 52 of them. You see—more time for family, friends, drinking, eating, hobbies and more production for the Man. Everybody wins!

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