How I know I have a bad case of "the Mondays"

I hear uncontrollable sobbing and realize it’s me.

Stopping to get breakfast on my way to work, I accidentally massacre 5 or 6 people at McDonald’s.

When I call my lawyer, I learn he’s in Cabo with my ex-wife.

I’m placed in a cell with a guy whose nickname is “Poo Flinger.”

When the judge sees I’m wearing a Dallas Cowboys t-shirt, he doubles my bail.

My request to the jail mess for gluten-free meals is ignored.

By this time, I’m really hungry, so I eat anyway; a gluten-laced pancake slices my intestines into ribbons.

As I lay bleeding to death internally, there’s a loud buzzing sound that I can’t get out of my head.

It’s my alarm clock. It’s Monday morning. For real.

I hear uncontrollable sobbing and realize it’s me.