It is like trying to deflate an airbed when you’re visiting your parents, only you and your brother are both Artie Lange and the airbed has horrific genital herpes.

It is like trying to fit a genie back into a bottle, except the genie is made of a whole cloud system of wing burps and the bottle is a crumpled pony can of Bud Light.

It is like crawling into bed and giving yourself a Dutch oven of lost hopes and failed dreams.