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How To Stop Hating Mondays


Mondays are historically awful, but it feels like this specific Monday — a Monday that falls directly after a Fourth of July weekend — is earning widespread infamy as "one of the worst Mondays of all time." And rightfully so! Not only are you uncomfortably moist and depressed due to your recent summer bender, but your serotonin is depleted in such a way that you can physically feel the weight your brain lost. Like a microscopic Cold Stone Creamery employee turned a scoop of your amygdala into a “Gotta Have It” cup and then obnoxiously sang a never-ending jingle into your aural canal from the inside out. All five of your senses feel like their covered in seven layers of grime and static. Processing a simple thought is harder than processing a Heirloom chicken from scratch. Having ordinary conversations feels like having triplets. And for men, it feels like something even more painful and excruciating, like taking a Nor’easter gust of wind or lake-effect snowflake directly to the scrotum. Your sex drive is clinically nonexistent to the point where you can't even justify a flame emoji response to her Spotify screenshot story. Your will to survive is deteriorating and you're effectively fucked. Old and fucked. But what if I told you it didn't have to be this way after every long holiday weekend? What if I told you that, as a working-class adult in your twenties/thirties, you just needed a brand new role model?



The powerful phrase, "father figure" has a diverse range of definitions and interpretations, depending on who you ask. A confidently well-dressed and recreationally wide-eyed Naperville transplant in Manhattan may lend that term to the man who funds her Hudson Yards apartment and communicates to her strictly via the talk-to-text sentence fragments in her PayPal notes. And an elementary-aged Mississippi transplant in New Jersey may reserve that title for the aching 270-pound figure that polices his family's fridges for bacon burglars. 





But for the rest of us — the people who earned our success — our “father figure” is likely someone more than that just a biological male parent or tangible human. It’s probably someone like Twitter's very own The Wealth Dad...



At first glance, this gentleman's bio might make him come across as an index fund investor. But after the second and third glances, it's almost undeniable that he's an index fund investor.




And as someone who just so happens to firmly fall into the 25-30 age range, this self-help tweet from the self-proclaimed father of affluence especially resonated with me. Call it "tough love" if you want, but I think a large percentage of the people (losers) reading this blog can benefit from it, much like I did when I was even younger and less fuckable.








Shape wise, my "main social circle" is more of a dot on a scatterplot or line segment, but I'm still constantly looking for ways to elevate it. And I’m constantly heeding the advice of TWD, who is very rich and also has a real spouse. 




But just in case you struggle with basic comprehension, let me repeat what you MUST refrain from discussing with your main circle:

~Getting high/drunk

Getting fucked up on drugs and/or binge drinking high-percentage, fruit-infused liquor is one thing, but having discussions about it with your boys is objectively wack and counterproductive.


~1 night stands

As much as I'd hate to admit it, The Wealth Dad is referring to getting pussy out of wedlock with this one (fucking and sucking random bitches you only recently met). Doing it is obviously lame, but discussing the concept with your primary friend group is extra crappy. 

~The good ol'e days


I don't know if Wealth Dad was criticizing matadors who peaked in high school or Spanish soccer fans who still reminisce about 2010, but discussing "the good ol'e days" of yesteryear with your boys is the ultimate red flag for identifying a gigantic fucking loser. 





Conversely, orchestrating a full-blown celebration for yourself solely for obtaining 15% of the Twitter following of Deke Zucker is something that screams “success” while also remaining just subtle enough to not come across as pathetic or attention seeking. Especially when you're a 30-year-old dude. That’s the modest move of an irreplaceable father figure humbly promoting the number one-selling $16 book about index fund investing for beginners in his specific geographic region. Oh, and fun fact: he's doing that on top of cooking three daily meals for his sexually satisfied and culinarily worthless wife. 


Using a cluster of emojis that correspond to your tweet >>>>>>>>>>>>>