#Featured Articles
Weekend Open Bar: Here and There
Still though!
I, I don’t got nothing to say. Been up since around 9 am, peak caffeine hit around six hours ago, and now I’m sort of downshifting my horrid, horrid, chemically-abysmal blood in preparation for a more relaxed evening. So, the invocations bring nothing to the finger tips. Especially since, if I’m being honest, I really want to be supine with a couple of funny books in my grubby paws.
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Views From The Space-Ship: Go Ahead And Kiss It
Two weeks in a row! Desktop Thursdays! Go ahead, friends. Kiss it. It won’t bite back. May give you a little smooch in an honest attempt at reciprocity, though. What is “It”, you ask? Good question. The Universe? My stunning, cut, lean, mesmerizing bicep? A dumpster behind 7-Eleven? The choice is yours.
But!
Uh!
After you get done with your obligatory, state-mandated (the state of OmegaLevelia, obviously) smooch, hit the jump! Check out some peeks into my worlds(s) from the past week.
Then, after the smooch, after the checking-out-of-my-world(s hyphen-hyphen), display your own existence in the comments section.
Monday Morning Commute: One More Packet
I only needed one more packet.
My palm couldn’t stop my nosebleed any longer. The old lady behind the counter looked at the rivulets dripping into the crook of my elbow. She shook her head. I kept pleading.
“Please, lady, y’gotta help me out! I only need one more packet!”
“Sorry, Bucko, but the policy’s to stop servin’ after seven packets!”
“C’mon, you already gave me nine!”
“That’s right, I already broke policy for your ass!” She looked at the ceiling in that way mastered only by crusty diner waitresses with stories to tell. “Now, I’ll keep slingin’ coffees your way all night, and we won’t have to have any more frustrated words with — or cross looks at — one another.”
“But, but –”
“No butts, no asses, and the only titty will be a tough-titty for you!” She slid an entire carafe of coffee in front of me. “You wanna light your brain on fire? Try doin’ it with that! But I ain’t givin’ another goddamn packet of Nestle Cocaine.”
I only needed one more packet.
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This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!
Posted above is some of my patented drivel fiction. I hope you enjoyed it, but don’t blame you if you didn’t. Posted below is a list of some of stuff I’ll be checking out this week. Y’know, things to [excite/expand/extinguish] my brain. After you check out my entertainment itinerary, hit up the comments section and share your own.
TALLY-HO!!!!
Weekend Open Bar: Electric Paradise
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, rhythmically at first! Ignore, ignore your eyes rolling into the back of your head!
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, now with a bit of horror, a pinch of fear! Ignore, ignore your mind being severed from your body!
For! My friends! To the Omniverse!
Views From The Space-Ship: I’m Not Allowed! I’m Not Allowed!
I…haven’t done a Desktop Thursdays since April? Sweet, Christ! Sweet, Christmas! Time melts, evaporates, races, fades, but most infuriatingly: continues. Whelp, here we are! Returned! By Christ, By Cthulhu, By Your Gods and Mine! So, let’s do this, comrades, enemies, bitter but sexually charged rivals! Let’s share our world(s!) Our real worlds! Our virtual! Anything, everything, yadda yadda, et cetera.
OMEGA-CAST #23: That Time Iron Maiden Said Let’s Have Three Guitarists
The OMEGA-CAST is back, jackholes! With Rendar, to boot! Oh, so, delicious! Not really. It’s a bunch of me being really phlegmy, burping, and realizing the reason no one likes me anymore is because I come off as a sports talk radio host! Oh, I’m being negative.
Okay, okay. Um. You could always just skip to the part where Rendar, who has returned, and whose returned I said I would wait for, until we recorded a new podcast, argues with bitchy, loveless Eduardo about Baby Driver.
There’s, uh, other stuff. Han Solo movie talk, Bateman’s typical sociopathy, and overall just degenerate garbage lord fun. I hope you’ll join us!
Monday Morning Commute: A Trip Away From Oblivion
How are you folks, doing? Me? This human? This flesh-sack, organic-computer, consumption-bot? I’m doing fine.
It’s that weird period of the summer where I’m done teaching, but I still have to go into work.
Just enough of a busy schedule to spend an hour, hour-and-fifteen, or hour-and-a-half in my car, each way, for four days a week.
Just enough of a busy schedule to fight traffic to tutor a couple folks to sit idly waiting to see if anyone else is will need tutoring.
Invariably: they won’t.
Invariably: I’ll sit, eyes-crossed, soul-exhaling-a-continuous-malaise, browsing Tumblr, Facebook, whateverwhatever.
Invariably: then I leave, fighting traffic back to my domicile.
How are you folks, doing? Me? This human? This animated-rot, permanent-horndog, masturbation-factory? I’m doing fine.
This is Monday Morning Commute.
Weekend Open Bar: Future Club
Man, it’s been a hot minute since I opened up the Bar, huh? Whelp, ain’t got no excuse outside of the usual ones. Lethargy, malaise, a preference for staring at butts and memes over creating. You know, the usual shit. But! Fuck! I’m here. But! Fuck! I’m excited to spend the Weekend (Open Bar) with you folks.
Monday Morning Commute: No Skills. No Supplies. No Signals. No Worries.
It was a brand new day on a planet as old as time itself.
Edie stumbled off the starcruiser’s ramp, footing as unsure as the color of the soil. Barely a glimpse at the atmospheric readings on her forearm-gauge and Edie was tearing off her helmet. She hadn’t travelled across the stars to gaze upon another planet through a hermetic seal.
Standing at the top of a ravine,Edie looked down at the landscape and gasped. Fields of silver wheat swayed in an electric breeze. Twin rivers of indigo fog raged into each other. A lone tree’s leaves burst into flames, shriveled, bloomed, and then ignited again.
“Fuckin’ brilliant.”
Edie wasn’t sure that she had the skills to repair the starcruiser herself. And she wasn’t sure how much of her supply compartment’d survived the crash. And she wasn’t sure if her distress signal’d ever be picked up.
No skills. No supplies. No signals.
And yet, having actually survived the voyage itself, Edie couldn’t worry. She couldn’t not smile. After all, there’re worse fates than dying in the midst of alien beauty.
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Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!
This is the regularly-scheduled feature for discussing what we’ll be checking out in the following week. After presenting some drivel-fiction (see above), I give you the prospective entertainment-highlights of the upcoming days. Then, you hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be consuming.
Yes, it’s basically digital show-and-tell.
Let’s rock!
Monday Morning Commute: It’s been a weird summer (so far)
Man, it’s been a weird summer so far. Today marked the sixth, and final week of the summer class that I teach for incoming freshmen students. There’s just been something off since the get-go, and as its conclusion nears, a sense of confusion that it’s really ending, and a sense of relief that it’s really ending are both making themselves known. But it’s the end, the conclusion, the finale this week.
And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to wear dress pants three more times until September.
And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to work four days a week until September.
So here we are. Frazzled, and fried, but fairly grateful, all things considered.
This is Monday Morning Commute. The wank-off section, where we wank, and oh do we stroke, and rub, and perhaps even lick ourselves to the arts&farts we’re looking forward to on a given week. I’ll go first.
Then you go. Get excited. Don’t worry. Wet naps and warm towels will be dispensed per your request.
