What? You expect me to work in this heat? For a salary of zero dollars and zero cents? That's not enough to keep me in sweat-stained trucker caps. I could topple off my paving machine, delirious from the sizzle of my broiled brain.
The road to submission if fraught with obstacles. You might as well try to taxi your yellow Alaskan bush plane with the bouncy fat rubber inner-tube tires down an interstate highway laid with police criminal-stopping spiky nail strips. Don't expect to get from Point A to Point B in the time listed on Google Maps. Even though, in your misspent youth, you could dash off an 'A' paper in fifty minutes, after two hours of sleep, and of questionable sobriety, that approach now will be about as successful as your yellow Alaskan bush plane take-off.
Time must be budgeted for obstacles. Side trips. You don't want to miss a stop by the Russell Stover candy outlet. CANDY, people! Cheap! And samples! Or you might want to ride a ferry across the Mississippi river and back, just to say you did. Or hike down a trail to see where a mastodon fossil was excavated. Or eat a delicious homestyle meal while dodging thrown rolls. Stop and smell the azaleas.
Good intentions are not good enough to pave this pig trail. I have a deadline to meet. And I need to find a flea market where I can purchase one of those Olivia Newton-John Let's Get Physical headbands.
The sweat of my brow is hindering my progress.