I raise my hand to being a weekender. Party all night, sleep all day, then make it a sequel the following day, and keeping Sunday a day of rest. But if you mean weekender, as in being ordered by a judge to go to jail to serve my temporary sentence for being punk in drublic and vandalizing the mayor's prized 1978 Pontiac Firebird, and asked to attend incarceration on my own just on the weekends, just so I can continue my weekly schedule to commit to serving my life sentence of a cheating wife, dead-end job and a thirteen-year-old-slut-of-a-daughter experiencing her third abortion, then I can't raise my hand for that. Crossing fingers, now.
Weekenders by Tom Staar
