This was the night I said I would get to sleep early. I told my friend that after work I would go home, read my Criminal Law casebook, and get some good sleep, in bed by 11. Instead, the night featured Tweet Sampras (the bird we found dead on our patio), games of Oh Hell, a meat cleaver, underwear time, Simpsons watching, and a mini torch.

(The author now allows you to ponder the various manners in which the mentioned elements could co-exist in one flowing Monday night.)

Well, this is earlier than normal bed time. That amounts for something, yes?