Flynn Taggart, a resident electrician of 15 years and father of two, has decided to ignore recent developments at work
and home in favor of "slugging home a cold one."

"Yeah, the boss wants me to look into some shit online for figuring out my tax forms, and the kids are clamoring for
Flappy's Pizza," sighs Taggart, "but fuck it; I need a beer, y'know? It's only Tuesday and I feel burnt-out already."

He originally intended not to drink until the end of the week, but "copious amounts of utter bullshit" have forced him to
rethink his strategy.

"Well, that twelver was supposed to sit until Friday afternoon, but between the job's inherent aggravations and the
gauntlet I've got to run here at home, I think I'll kill half of it or better tonight, right here on this recliner."

When asked to elaborate he became agitated.

"Don't get me started," he warned. "My life is pure ass right now. Long story short: the prick salesmen, as always, have
no regard for the people who do the actual work, and so I end up working yet another contract that's been sport-fucked on
camera. Boss-man needs a stiff uppercut to the gonads, and that jack-off Lance (coworker) is about to get slapped with a
shit-filled glove, 18th century duel-style."

His home life was not faring much better.

"Oh, those kids drive me nuts. And [wife] Daisy? Yeah, not much good lovin' for Flynn lately. She's either raggin' or
bloated or too self-conscious to get down with Ol' Pappy here," he laments, "though I can see why. She's been fattening
up lately for no apparent reason. She says it's stress. Whatever! I got stress too, but I lug spools and ladders around for
12 hours a day, which prevents my ass from expanding like Akira all over the damned place. I guess those faggoty yoga
tapes don't do enough of the work for her," he gripes. "I'm gonna start callin' her Dairy."

He went on to express his determination not to run any errands until the weekend.

"There's a bunch of soul-draining crapola on the to-do list, but it's gonna wait. It's got to," he pleads. "I need to seal
myself off, because I'm about one little annoyance away from grabbing an axe and swinging away like Evil
Dead. I might stop at the piggly-wiggly to fetch some limes for that cold Mexican brew I got in the fridge, but that's about it."

Impending mortgage and car payments didn't seem to faze him in the least.

"Yeah, everything's due on the 30th, and I'm flat broke. That's what the hard shit is for: coping with hard times. After the
10th the mortgage goes up another 70 dollars. Hell, I got almost a full bottle of the best 18-year-old Scotch up in the
cupboard. I'm not really worried about it."