Happy Memorial Day to ya’ll living within the Empire! As a child, most of my worldview was shaped by the World Wrestling Federation. And to be honest, I’m almost positive I’m better for it. And one thing I learned is that those who turn their back on their country are thick-jawed, dastardly pieces of shit. (Like Sgt. Slaughter.) Don’t be a Sgt. Slaughter. Give big ups to those who have served in a moment of fleeting, momentary clarity. And then go about your proper Imperial means of celebration. Charred animal flesh. Excessive drinking. Maybe a jingoistic, statistically inaccurate proclamation about Whatever You Really Like In America.

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Every Sunday night we die, and every Friday evening we are born again. Those of us lucky enough to be afforded weekends. Those of us lucky enough to have a job. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Sometimes it can be a drag. Being a cog in Immortan Joe’s Extraction Machine. But sometimes it’s right to be like, “fuck, yo. I’m really glad to have a job that keeps the Aqua Cola running and the GasTown diesel powering the lights.” So with that quickly eroding gratitude, let’s open up the Weekend Open Bar.

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They’re back! This time the Dickheads Chaperoning the Space-Ship Omega dive into their general malaise regarding Age of Ultron. They also discuss that Star Wars movie coming up to the point of nausea. At one point, CaffPow’s discusses the depression that follows signing up for porn sites that haven’t been updated since 2001. We also cover Bateman’s crosswalk stop light fetish, and maybe a little about Daredevil. Dim the lights, doff your pants, and join them in their insanity. You can listen on iTunes, Stitcher, or after the jump.

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Welcome friends, to the weekly Commute. It’s early Monday evening as I type this. WWE’s finest thespians babbling incoherently on my Tele-Visor. Mrs. CaffPow preoccupied, whipping up some cupcakes for some sort of party at work. The sky is dark, the heart is light. My semester is over for a couple of weeks.

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So, I haven’t even *seen* Mad Max: Fury Road yet, but a lot of the regulars around here have. And so I figured it would make the most sense to give you folks (and me, tonight, around 10pm!) a space to discuss the movie. In all its fucking glory, in a spoiler-filled, Thunderdome-esque genitals-rubbing cataclysmic post.

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First weekend of my post-semester existence! Which, really, doesn’t mean much to me. Still papers to grade. Still college essays to read for placements. Still a conference presentation to cobble together. Still a looming summer semester to plan for. Still a wedding. Fuck, fuck, fuck! But honestly? I’m sort of addicted to the chaos. Whenever I truly have nothing to do, I sort of fart about. Eat too much. Lament my mortal coil’s sloughing. But when I’m busy? Miserable. Ah! To be bipolar. Ah! To be human. Enough about me, though. This is Weekend Open Bar!

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Oh come all ye degenerates! Hop in the back of my apocalypse van. Don your headgear. Station your flesh-sack safely within some of my finest armor, carved from jerkied Marauder flesh and cheap steel. And ride! Ride with me! On this Monday Morning Commute. Beclad in armor, mind rotting with the Hops and Leaves, we shall share what we’re enjoying this week.

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Oh dip! I’m seriously fucking busy today! But I’ve strapped a rocket to my well-oiled taint (to prevent burn), said my prayers to the Gods, Old and New, and I’m flying past the Space-Ship to ignite the Weekend Open Bar! The weekly two-day siesta-spanning column at the End of Good Taste and the Internet! Come in here, hammered! Come in here, bored! Come in here, well-feed and looking for conversation. The name of the game is sharing your weekend delights with likeminded, depraved individuals (hi!). Share plans, thoughts, meals, movies, games, gabbing. Anything goes!

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It’s getting nice out, folks. The sunshine is popping here on the Northeastern seaboard of the Empire. Temperatures are in the 80s today. The sky is blue. It’s almost enough to get you through the workday alone. If you’re one of those people who can appreciate leaving to Sol smiling upon your face, and not lament the fact that you’re indoors for eight-hours of its beauty. I am one of those people. So I’m feeling pretty fucking content, today. But that doesn’t mean I ain’t sweating a bunch of stuff this week. So Monday Morning Commute shall, of course, run its course. It just means that I’m going to be moderately less depressed as I toil through the week towards enjoying these arts, farts, and sundries.

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What’s next?! What’s next?! It’s the fucking Weekend! Kick open the doors to the Bar! Get the tap flowing! Gather around and share what you’re up to this these next two days! Be it seeing Age of Ultron. Or hunting aliens in Grand Theft Auto V. Share gifs, share stories. Share empirical evidence that somehow we survived the snow and that the color green still exists.

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