Today, I watched in horror as the violent flush of the handicapped stall shot a pellet-sized turd directly at me. It hit my crotch and then bounced into my shoe. PGP.

I’ve gone out six Saturdays in a row. I need to cool it this weekend. PGP.

My company’s life insurance policy makes me worth more dead than alive. PGP.

My recent calls consist of a mayor, drug dealer, our HR rep, a state senator, and three Tinder girls. PGPM.

The combined record of my college team, my pro team, and my two fantasy football teams: 1-12. PGP.

My co-worker said he had the “gift of gab,” but really he has the “curse of not being able to shut the fuck up”. PGP.

Paying off office gambling debts with Adderall. PGP.

When you’re still paying the price for going out on Friday the following Tuesday. PGP.

Staying up way past your bed time just to watch your team lose. Again. PGP.