Another Denver Debacle? Who Gives a Shit.

Megan Moroney's Denver show. Stopped.

Heard about it. Didn't care then. Don't care now.

Look, I'm trying to remember if I locked the back door.

Or if I just pissed off my wife again.

Probably both.

And someone's talking about a country singer's interrupted gig?

Seriously?

It's Sunday. I got three hours of sleep, maybe four if you count the nodding off on the toilet.

Coffee's doing its best against the Jameson still actively wrestling my brain stem.

Wife's still asleep. Thank fuck.

Kids are already up. Of course.

Asking for pancakes. Again.

Pancakes always feel like a trap when you're hungover.

Too much work. Too much sugary bullshit to regret later.

Anyway, a show got stopped.

Big deal.

Denver, huh? That's where you go to get high and forget your problems.

Guess some problems follow you.

My problems are currently arguing about which cartoon to watch.

And whether I can successfully make these pancakes without burning the whole damn house down.

Priorities, people. Priorities.

Rich people problems. Famous people problems.

My problem is that I'm out of Advil.

And probably out of clean socks.

Someone's show got cut short. Boo hoo.

My weekend felt cut short. Every damn weekend feels cut short.

Life does.

Wonder if she got paid anyway.

Probably. Fucking rich people.

Now, about those pancakes. And that Advil.

Fuck this.