Sunday, Bloody Sunday

What's next? I'll tell you what's next, Sunday. That's what's next.
The recuperative powers of a good Sunday have been well documented through the annals of history. From the beginning of time as we know it (or as it has been told to us through the kaleidoscope of a religious lens) Sunday has been the day of rest. From Genesis 2:2 "By the seventh day God completed His work which He had done, and He rested on the seventh day from all His work which He had done". (What a wonderfully redundant and inefficient sentence).
Hell, even those crazy Romans who decided it best to off kill that same God's son, knew a thing or two about the restorative powers of a good Sunday. Knowing that all things come to life and live off the rays of that giant gas ball in the sky, they decided out of a show of respect, to name the first day of the week after the big yellow floating aspirin.
Now for an even more difficult and awkward segue, the Germans (who also happened to have invented the Aspirin) also had a hand in naming the day we so love to be lazy on. "The actual word "Sunday" is derived from the German word "Sonntag" (and they likely got it from the Scandinavians). These folk too placed a great deal of importance on the sun. Some tribes of these Germanic peoples invaded England in the 500's or so. They were known as the Angles and the Saxons. The old English word was "sunnandaeg" and it changed over time to become our current, "Sunday"".
But enough of the history lesson. History is for suckers and old people. And personally I don't want to be thinking on a Sunday.
Sunday's may have always been the day of rest, but I think the greatest invention and leap forward in the field of resting and relaxation, was the invention of the sofa...or couch...or chesterfield...whatever.
Sunday's on their own are great. Sofa's on their own are great. But together they create one of Universes' most powerful and destructive phenomena. The black hole. To quote the absolutely fabulous Wikopedia. "A black hole is an object predicted by general relativity,[1] with a gravitational field so powerful that even electromagnetic radiation (such as light) cannot escape its pull.[2]".
Once your ass hits the couch on a quite, sunny Sunday I defy anyone to "escape it's pull". Even if through some quirk in the inner workings of you television set, both your remote and your manual controls become unusable and the set some how freezes on TBS and they are showing back to back presentations of Martin Lawrence's Blue Streak, I bet, nay I know, you can't get up to avoid watching that absolute waste celluloid. Your best bet at that point is to just turn your head, pull the pillow over your ears, the blanket over your eyes and gently sob until you fall asleep. Trust me, it works.
Another great advancement made in the overall enjoyment of a good Sunday was the invention of the sandwich. Hell, even today I had a delectable ham, turkey, cheese, tomato, cheese, onion, cheese, red pepper, cheese, turkey, mayo, cheese sandwich on a lightly toasted bagel. It was beautiful. And on the side a wonderfully complex and flavourful Fuller's London Porter. In all it's silky smooth, coffee and chocolaty glory. Pouring out with a exquisite and brilliant creamy yet sturdy rocky head. It was the perfect accompaniment for the perfect sandwich on a perfect Sunday.
And as I get older these Sunday's become more and more important to my general well being. Knowing full well that the next sunrise will bring the headaches and stresses of another work week, it's becoming increasingly necessary for me to shut off my mind, relax my body and let the Sunday massage me back to health.
So if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go down stairs, turn on the boob tube, breach the event horizon and create myself a black hole.
So what's next?