5 Reasons Springing Forward is a Steaming Pile of Excrement

Sometime around 2am Sunday, we lost an hour of our day by springing forward, thus fulfilling our commitment to perhaps the stupidest fucking practice dutifully executed by the human race: Daylight Savings Time.

Yes, we vaporized an hour of sleep that all people–babies, teens, millennials, parents, and KellyAnne Conway–could surely have used so our precious sun can shine upon us a little longer.

I wake up with my boys on Sundays, and I spent my Saturday obsessing over how tired I’d be the next day. All I did was stare at the time, fast-forward an hour, and curse.

I’m fun.

We have Benjamin Franklin and a guy from New Zealand named George Hudson to thank for creating Daylight Savings Time, and The German Empire for organizing the first nationwide implementation of it–the second worst thing the Germans have done.

Then there was this nudnik: William Willet, the British Builder and “tireless promoter of British Summer Time“, who wrote in 1907, “The sun shines upon the land for several hours each day while we are asleep, and yet there remains only a brief spell of declining daylight in which to spend the short period of leisure at our disposal.”

Oh crumpets, you say! I wish the tireless promoter of British Summer Time were still alive so I could spend a short period of leisure punching him in the dick.

Here are five reasons springing forward is a steaming pile of excrement:

My Kids Still Wake Up at 6:30am No Matter What
We can fall back, spring forward, and hokey pokey all we want, but my kids abide by their clocks. If we kept them up all night and put them down at 6:29, they’d wake up a minute later ready to go. However, since we’re shittier people than they are, we figured out a way to trick them. We don’t change their clocks during the transition. When they woke up yesterday, it was actually 7:30am. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! I’ll take the little victory.

It Gets Later Quicker
I recognize that we only have a shorter day on the day we spring forward, but still, time seems to move faster for the next six months. “Isn’t it so nice that it’s light out?” the optimistic say. “Doesn’t it suck that it’s already 8pm,” I’ll answer. Though dusk occurs in Chicago by 2pm during the fall and winter months, I still have a lot more of the day to accomplish things like passing levels in Halo.

It’s Actually Daylight Saving Time
Everything about this disruptive, idiotic thing is wrong, including the way we say it. To be fair, Americans, save for the coastal elites, pathologically make singular brand names possessive. It’s Nordstrom, not Nordstrom’s. Potbelly, not Potbelly’s. I will indulge the visual learners:


If you look really hard, you still won’t find the ‘S because there fucking isn’t one.

Nope, not here either

Nope, not here either.

Now I have to go back and correct my earlier erroneous references to Daylight Savings time in this post. No. To hell with that. I will not give it more power!

It Does Not Lead to Energy Savings
Wait. What? You mean to tell me that an idea contrived as an energy conservation trick during World War I has no application today? Go figure that amidst our current era in which we’ve sucked dry the energy teat, that the “presumed electricity conservation from the time change is unclear or nonexistent.”

The Mere Mention of Spring Makes Me Want to Choke on My Own Vomit
“Springing forward” is the romantic preamble to the spring season, which I happen to dread. Perhaps you live in a region that actually experiences a real spring. If you do 1) up yours and 2) the earth is melting, so I hope you enjoyed your last one. As I have previously written, spring in Chicago is the worst. If you wanted to simulate spring here, soak a comforter in cold water and wrap yourself in it for three months. Or don’t. Either way you lose.

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    Chocolate Diapers

    I am a vitamin D-deficient former Floridian--who, despite the spring...er...extended winter--loves Chicago. I contradicted convention (and common sense) by moving FROM the beach to the Midwest, but Lou Malnati's and any Italian beef sandwich reinforce that I made the right decision. I also got a wife and two sons out of it, and I would do anything for my family, except miss a Miami Hurricanes football game. This is my take on fatherhood. You can contact me at david.telisman@gmail.com. Thank you for reading!

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