Why I Dread the Monday Work Week

Excited, my boss told me that he had a white trash weekend. “Three words for you” he said, “Spiral. Cut. French Fries…I guess that’s four.”
He had gone to the carnival up near the tribal outlest stores, and was apparently very excited.
Convinced that carnies have “the life” he spent hours researching their life. Hours. Specifically three.
Carnies have their own language, and spend their lives, traveling, getting wasted and getting into fights, and something about that appeals to my boss. I told him to join the carnival then, somehow I don’t think he will.
A bag of potatoes costs $4-5 and you can sell spiral cut fried for $5 a potato. Plus everyone has tattoos.
He went on about the elaborate ways they “get” you at carnival games, which I originally intended to share here, but I am really sick of hearing about carnies. This is what I get for coming into work on Monday. Converstation is deadly when it has a weekend to ferment.

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