Weekend Open Bar: Holiday With The New Scum

This is Weekend Open Bar.

I’ve got a cold this weekend, folks. This is how bad of a cold I’ve got, I’ll tell ya, I’ll tell ya. My cold is so fucking bad that I couldn’t even finish my chimichanga. How’s that for a fucking cold? My cold is so fucking bad that my farts are thick, hateful, nightmare blasts of Theraflu chemicals and phlegm-gut. How’s that for a fucking cold?

But the Theraflu does its job, oh yes. I knew the Theraflu was doing its job earlier tonight. I knew it while I was walking the Snowbeast and out of nowhere came the thought, “Man, I’m damn comfortable, I could just lay down.” Now mind you I may live on a rather comfortable, middle-class street. But at no time should a gangly man with a SpaceX hoodie be laying on the damp concrete sidewalk, a confused Great Pyrenees alternating between lapping at her owner and struggling to break free and run into the woods for a Vision Quest.

After I had that thought, after I processed that potential consequence, I thought to myself. Well golly, I’m straight fucked-up on Theraflu!

This is Weekend Open Bar.

I’ve got a cold this weekend, folks. This is how bad of a cold I’ve got, I’ll tell ya, I’ll tell ya.

A cold so bad I’ve been pounding Theraflu so hard I found myself eagerly anticipating a potential sidewalk nap.

Hey! The chemicals are kicking! Hey! My nostrils are clearing! Who can gave a hoot, lodge a complaint, foster a lament about the potential sidewalk side effects?

Not me. Not this guy.

So yeah, I’m here. This is Weekend Open Bar. Caffeine Powered+Theraflu Powered+Reclining on a Couch.

So yeah, I’m here. Tell me what you’re up to this weekend, friends. Let’s hang out. Let’s shoot the shit. Maybe snort chopped Theraflu dust and shake our fists at the Aeons of Ill-Body! It’ll be so fun.

This is Weekend Open Bar.