“This seems like a Saturday sort of thing,” he thought out loud, not quite sure whether or not it was even Saturday. He proceeded to lift his butt from the chair and slowly released vicious gas. It sounded like the last sputter of a dilapidated motorboat, and it was with this new discovery of foul air that he realized it was actually Sunday. This would not be the first time Ralph Lawrence was acquainted with shame.
And now, a mash up.