Saint Dirty Face

Today I was in Husband Mode™ — snacks, errands, Target run, you know, the gladiator’s path of suburban survival.

Pastry shop? 🔥 Good stuff. Wallet survived.

Target? OH, YOU MEAN THE BLOODY BEAST.

We walked in for “just a few dinner items and some grooming necessities” — and somehow $100 disintegrated like a magician snapped his fingers over our bank account.

And that, my friends, is where tonight’s rant takes off.

🎤 The Saturday Night Rant

This bullshit economy makes it nearly impossible to survive comfortably.

The Mrs. and I have college degrees, good jobs, and the grind in our bones — and yet? We’re still riding the check-to-check train.

But here’s the real punch in the gut:

What the hell are our kids walking into?

Even with a four-year degree, today’s starting salary barely buys gas, ramen, and a side of existential dread. Their graduation reward?

Welcome to “Live At Home: The Encore Tour.”

Yeah, yeah — some people say “Charge them rent! Toughen ‘em up!”

But let me tell you something:

It’s not their fault the cost of living is batshit crazy.

We’re Gen X — we raised ourselves on sarcasm, latchkey vibes, and leftover Hamburger Helper. We tried to give our kids a better ride. But now I wonder: Did we set them up, or did the system?

🍷 Flip Side: The Empty House Fantasy

Meanwhile, the Mrs. and I are READY for the next chapter:

Naked wandering. Kitchen moaning. Primal love in every room of the castle.

But noooo. These lovable freeloaders might be here a few extra years.

Thanks, economy.

So, you know what?

SCREW IT.

We’re getting our own weekend love shack.

Friday: vanish.

Sunday night: sneak back in.

Will they even notice?

Hell no — they’ll just text, “You bringing snacks?” 🤣

🖤 Final Thoughts from Saint Dirty Face

This is my Saturday night howl.

A Gen X love letter and middle finger to modern life.

A reminder that even when we’re broke, beat, and snack-hunting, we’re still standing.

See ya, bitches — and remember:

“Life will kick you in the nuts. Moan louder.”