I can't believe all you fucking people working your monotonously boring jobs Monday through Friday, anxiously waiting—fantasizing—about Sunday, when you can finally stand in line for BRUNCH! Just because you didn't choose a career like mine—washing dishes at your local dive bar and selling weed to your neighbor—doesn't give you the right to crowd my favorite restaurant every Sunday just so you can eat! Heck, I don't even know it is Sunday until I drive by and see all you pathetic souls standing out there in the cold, clutching your lukewarm coffee, hoping yours is the next name they'll call, but knowing it won't be. So, next time I drive by and realize it is in fact Sunday, instead of cursing your very existence I'll simply chalk Sunday up as the one day a week I do not get to do whatever I want, whenever I want, honk my horn, and yell, "Suckers!!!" Because I already ate there on Wednesday, and there was no line, the food was fresh, and they didn't run out of chicken apple sausage.—Anonymous