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60 seconds, motherfuckers. Just hang on for 60-fucking ticks. Christ, this is dick-sandwich time. Stop it. No bad thoughts. No bad juju, not now. Now is when the Fish need you most. It's now time. Hold the line. "Hold it. Right here, baby! We hold them here and it's ball game! Sweet Jesus who art in heaven, please let them hold it right here!" "Does baby Jesus root for the Dolphins too, Daddy?" asks Charlene, the yelling guy's precocious 6-year-old daughter. "Ask your mother, Char, Daddy's focusing...” The Dolphins don't hold. "Fuck!"

Matt used to be a great sleeper, until he took a philosophy class and learned he might easily be dreaming his entire existence.

Some 20 years later, that was the moment Hank realized he’d never been better at anything in his whole life than Sega Hockey '94.

Toby liked to start his day with a game of solitaire. It got the mind moving while his bowels did the same. And what else was there to do once he'd finished scanning five self-allotted minutes of Facebook? Unfortunately, Toby also allotted himself exactly one solitaire victory. How else could he move on with the day if the game didn't finish to its proper completion? Unfortunately, this day, Toby never won that game. So he never left the toilet. 

Ed was afraid of his own shadow. And Hitler's.

Like he did most Mondays, George spent the better part of an hour washing nearly every knife in the house. Granted, most of these knives were used by his wife to cook his lucky-ass dinner, but still, it was a lot of knives. It never used to be this many knives when George and Melinda were just living together. But now they had wedding-knives. And wedding-steak-knives. And that meant washing by hand. Every Monday. Hundreds of them.

Don had promised his wife he wouldn't eat the whole pint, but the Chocolate Fudge Brownie had almost reached that perfect consistency – no longer frozen, not quite soupy, little chunks of brownie beginning to soften. And if Don didn't know whether his cholesterol would allow him to see the bottom of another pint anyway, why shouldn't he take a stab at perfection? 

Harry understood that he was the only one getting in the way of his own happiness, but he was a big scary guy with a black belt and a temper.