Carlsberg don't do Monday mornings

Well, actually they do.
But for some reason they choose not to include them in their marketing campaigns. I have an odd feeling that they'd rather emphasize the sexy and young and slightly-wacky-but-in-an-attractive-king-of-way and effortlessly cool attributes of the generation they are attempting to ensnare in a government-backed scheme promoting alcohol addiction.

Carlsberg do do Monday mornings. With a vengeance. And exorbitant interests and repayment terms.

Carlsberg do do post festival syndrome.

Carlsberg do do down in the doldrums of depression.

Carlsberg do do dedum bam bam.

My heart goes to that suffering young female form that was crashed in the disabled spot (how apt) of my Monday morning carriage. The sight that greeted me as I was about to disembark the Dublin Area Rapid Transit train immediately lifted my spirits. The poor thing was the (barely) living proof that everything in the universe is dictated by the laws of the Yin and the Yang. For every period of decibel and alcohol-fueled high, there is a proportional sentence of solitary confinement in the pain and anguish of the post tribal excesses. Your pain, young lady, has made my day. And brought back so many memories. The feeble "Aw. My. Gawd" that you managed to mumble when I told you that I had just taken your photograph in this rare moment of post Oxegen pain tells me that you'll survive. And possibly learn from it (yeah roight...) I definitely took it as an authorisation to post this blip!

PS: I am well aware that the photo itself is pants. I had about 0.7 seconds to take this before getting off my train. But this is definitely my image of the day.