What is the Point of the Week?

To kick off my blog about the perpetual pointlessness that I've found in this tiring universe, I want to start by examining the pointlessness of the week. Here's my breakdown of what actually makes the week just as pointless as every other element you'll find in this useless universe.

Why is the Week Pointless?

Because it is. Why do we wake up and go to work or school during the week, only to find that the next day is a repeat of the exact same thing? We eat our boring sandpaper oatmeal in the mornings, drink our week-old coffee that tastes like tar at our breakfast tables that for some reason are shaped like stupid squares even though we always hit our hips in the corners and scrape ourselves every damn morning, and we get in our cars and drive on the moronic roads where other moronic drivers can't seem to figure out how to avoid getting in your way. One car even crashes into a gas station and causes it to explode as the driver complains about his only family being a bunch of lifeless cacti.

The skies remain eternally gray as you cruise beneath them to your useless job. You then walk into our offices where the boss decides to wear pants on his head one day and his shirt on his legs, while his topless self is covered in yellow paint as he screeches like a crow while standing on his desk in a crab stance.

Then you sit at your desk, which is upside-down for some reason, and organize all of your computer files, only they aren't actually on your computer because for some reason your boss has printed out and told you to organize physically before scanning them and putting them back into the computer in alphanumerical order.

You also find that your computer boss has painted your computer black and told you it's now a black box to be used in commercial flights, before he throws it out the window and makes a flying motion with his outstretched arms and propeller sounds with his farting mouth.

What About the Weekend?

I'll get into that in another post, but let me continue why the week—which the weekend is technically a part of anyway—is pointless.

So, your computer is broken on the ground of the business plaza and your paperwork is sitting there on your overturned desk without any way for you to revert it all back into digital form, and your boss tells your female coworkers that they're now all getting paid in the form of Tootsie Rolls, before dragging out a bowl of them from the IT room and placing it in the center of the office. All of the women then look at each other and jump out of the office window collectively while holding hands, leaving you and two other men as the only employees in the office as the women plummet to their groundly demise.

On your lunch break, what do you eat? Of course, another snack-sized bowl of sandpaper oatmeal as you chew into the ground up bits of brown squares, cutting your tongue and gums as you bleed into the bowl, all the while wondering, "What is the point of the week?" Of course, the only thing that answers you is the microwave in the break room, which jumps up and down furiously as it spews sparks while shouting, "What does it mean to cook?"

Then there's the one employee in the office whose job is to just sit there at his desk and stare at nothing as he earns a paycheck, until he dies of thirst and decomposes in the same place while still getting paid more than you. Complaints to the boss about post-mortem paychecks only lead to you getting eggs cracked and dripped onto your head as he sobs.

Then when the day ends your egg-covered self goes home to your empty apartment and sits there on the sofa as the ceiling melts into a thousand blank moaning faces before you fall asleep and have to wake up the next day to do it all over again.

The Week is Ultimately Pointless, if You Didn't Know That Already

If it wasn't clear already, I think I've done a decent job at explaining to you all exactly why the week is pointless from start to finish for each and every one of you. The experience I described above is what at least 98% of Americans go through on a weekly basis, only for it all to end in death and a slipping into that infinite black void we all both dread and welcome at the same time.

So, if you come to me telling me that the week isn't in fact pointless, I'll probably laugh in your face until your skin falls off and reveals that what's inside is a pointless amalgam of muscle and bone just waiting to deteriorate from old age and decrepitude. 

So, have fun with your pointless week, you plebs.