What is the Point of Tuesday?

If you thought Monday was pointless, just think how Tuesday feels. If Monday—as I discussed when talking about the pointless of Monday—is the anus of the week, or the Mundanus, as the ancients used to call it, Tuesday is just a notch away from that disgusting point. At least the anus is a technical endpoint to something.

Tuesday, on the other hand, is where none of the action takes place, unpleasant or otherwise. Thus, Tuesday is likely the most pointless day next to Wednesday and Thursday. You might be thinking, "How can I skip these three days and go straight to Friday?" Well, wake-up call, you can't. Ever. If we had a time travel device that allowed us to skip any day of the week, we might as well just use it to travel all the way to our death so we can escape the mundanity of the week forever. But alas, we can't, and I'd like to spend more time making it clear why Tuesday is the saddest and most tragic day of the wholly pointless week.

And why would you want to travel to Friday, anyway? All Friday is is a glorified Saturday, the day of pointless anticipation before Sunday, which is the head of the week that ultimately only has itself planted firmly up the ass of Monday.

Why is Tuesday Pointless?

If you're still asking that at this pointless point, I doubt you'll ever get it, but let me try to get it through your skull that's clearly as thick as the Great Pointless Wall of China.

Tuesday comes from the made-up Latin word "Twosdum," which means "two is dumb." This is true because this second day of the week is actually the third, so calling it the second is dumb, considering Sunday is the actual start of the week, not Monday, which only serves as the ass. So, if we're being truly technical, then Saturday would be the ass and Sunday the head, wouldn't it? And then after being eaten by Sunday we'd travel down the serpent's body all the way back to the ass of Saturday.

However, considering Monday actually feels much more like an ass of a day than Saturday, we visually conjoin it with the head of Sunday, while the rest of the Ouroboros consists of a long thorax and intestinal tract beginning with Tuesday and ending with the ever-anticlimactic neck of Saturday.

This means that Tuesday serves as the intestines in this sad autocannibalizing Week Snake. That's right, Tuesday is just the storage tube for the week's fecal matter; it doesn't move and it stinks like hell.

What Else Makes Tuesday Pointless?

Fine, I could go on and on for countless futile weeks about why Tuesday is pointless.

Just ask yourself, what day do we have to look forward to after Tuesday? That's right, Wednesday, the day when absolutely nothing makes sense and we're almost stuck right in the dead center of an otherwise relentlessly disappointing week. We often think of Wednesday as the middle and the "hump," but you'll be depressed to find that that title belongs to Thursday, the stomach. Wednesday is but the beginning of the Week Snake's intestines, which I'll explore when I talk all about the pointlessness of that pitiful weekday.

Nope, Tuesday leads nowhere, and we know that Friday and Saturday are still so far away from our grasp, even though those days are equally worthless in the end.

Just consider how a typical Tuesday goes:

You wake up in the morning and fix yourself a bowl of rats' livers that have been sitting in your fridge for a month, followed by taking the train to work as it keeps stopping every five minutes because the train directly in front of yours is 100 years old and slow as shit, but the public transit system won't get rid of it because it's still somehow barely functional and haunted by an old conductor, who threatened to open a portal he found to the afterlife and let all the ghosts and demons into the realm of the living if the train was ever decommissioned.

Once you get to work five hours late and the boss chews you out by sitting on your shoulders and riding you around the office like a horse until your back almost breaks, you sit at your desk and sort through paperwork that's still not on your computer because your boss threw the old one out the window at the beginning (or anus) of last week and refuses to buy a new one, at least until you admit you're a "womp catcher," whatever that is.

The rotting corpse of your coworker, who's been dead for a month, sits beside you and can't be moved because he's technically still employed and receiving a paycheck for doing precisely nothing. This means you have to sit there and breathe in that toxic stench of lazy death as you ponder why you're still alive and paid nickels and dimes while the mostly decomposed carcass next to you gets to enjoy the sweet release of death AND a higher salary than yours, with FREE health insurance he doesn't even need and without the burden of paying taxes ever again. He doesn't even have a desk! He just lies on the floor there as the last remaining hopeless maggots feast on the dried, crusty flesh flaps that flake off his stale ribs. His brain has disintegrated entirely and now resembles rotten pudding that stains the nearly matching brown carpet. It isn't fair, but then again life and death never have been.

Then at the end of the day you return to your apartment, which is still flooded because of your sink that continues to fill the place with water as a result of its incurable shamanic curse, and you can only drain the apartment once in a while by opening the front door, which still leaves the water level knee deep and the hallway an ankle-deep aisle of swampland.

Sitting on your couch, you put a .357 magnum to your head—which a homeless man randomly gave you on the street one Saturday when he decided even suicide wasn't worth the trouble of buying bullets—and pull the trigger, only to remember that you don't have money for bullets, either, and that the gun is full of water, anyway, as it releases an exhausted gurgle in your ear.

So then you go to bed and think of other ways to end it all before you have to suffer another Twosdum.

And that, my enemies, is why Tuesday is pointless.

What an awful goddamn day.