Another Monday. Another snow day. The Frost God gives no fuck about the Northeast Corridor of the Empire. Week after week The Frostbitten-Fuck Deity has pummeled us, twisting our psychic-nipples and daring us to concede. There sure ain’t no fucking commuting going on for this guy. There sure ain’t no fucking classes being taught. But at least if the heat goes out, I can use all the syllabi I’ve printed out as fucking kindling. ‘Cause they sure aren’t representative of our semester progression any longer. Alas! Alack! And while there isn’t any shuffling to work today, there is the Abyss that is yet another day or two of Cabin Fever.

Here’s what I’m looking forward to and digging this week. Should I be able to leave the house. Should the power remain on.

What are you sweating over the next seven?

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True story: last night the Wife and I went out to eat with an former professor of ours. I had two beers. Was completely rocked because I never drink. Got home. Ate three bagels while lå down on the coach and watching NHL Tonight. And then fell asleep. Which is to say, that’s why I haven’t opened the fucking bar yet! But here it is! Weekend Open Bar. The gathering point for the Degenerates that roam the halls of the Space-Ship Omega. Come one, come all! Hang out. Share what you’re up to this weekend. Ridicule me for being a lightweight when it comes to adult sodas! Commiserate with me about the fact that there is eighty-five hours of snowfall hitting New England.

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I’m an overeater. Like, I eat a fucking fuckload. Like, a couple of nights ago the Wife woke me up. I was on the couch. I was on the couch because I decided I would eat a couple of chocolate chip bagels after taking a piss. Covered in crumbs and chocolate, I sauntered to bed. Where am I going with this? Chill. Chill. Sometimes I think of doing a diet blog to keep myself honest. But I’ll level with you — I like being a fatso too much. However, I also, also!, struggle with reading comics.

CAN YOU SMELL A FUCKING SEGUE?

Sometimes I get behind on my reading. Or I get overwhelmed by the sheer backlog of all the funnies I haven’t read. And I quit! Just straight-up fucking quit for months at a time. I drain away the nights I should be injecting sequential art to the meat-squash by refreshing asses on Tumblr. Or watching Vines of people I hate because hating things is easier than being productive.

So here I am. In Buy These Flippin’ Comics. I can’t fucking believe I haven’t burped up another one of these columns since September, since the HotSauce left us for Greener Pastures. I don’t really have a fucking reason. Laziness. Or business. Or both. Whatever. And so to tie it back into my overeating, chocolate-fingered nightmare, I’m hoping writing this column will keep me honest on my comics game.

And I’m hoping you’ll keep me honest by recommending froggy-fresh titles I should be checking out. I’m months behind, but I’m an Eager Beaver for Comic Wood.

Don’t know what’s dropping this week? Check out the releases right here.

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It is officially the fucking doldrums, yo. The Prole Bowl has come and gone (The Lords of Kobol are kind to me), and now darkness descends upon my sad, empty life. Oh sure I could stare even further into the Abyss what, with the White Noise of sports-based distraction shuffling back into the Miasma. But who wants that? Not this bro.

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It’s time, friends. Hit the bar. Grab your chemical alteration of choice. Be it Cosmic Dust. Be it Titan Hops. Be it Europa Greenery, grown on our latest terraformed installment of the Empire. And then saunter up to the roundtable at intersection of The End of Good Taste and Unbridled Geek Revelry. This is the Open Bar.

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Been a minute since I’ve shared a view from the Space-Ship. Life, it finds a way. That’s what they say. But they don’t finish the statement. Life, it finds a way to become really overwhelming, depressing, complicated, and confusing. But here I am! I think, I think I’m through my latest batch of depressing existential agony. Ready to reengage. Here’s my life. I’d love to see you share yours.

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As you may or may not know, it’s the fucking Snowpocalypse here on the Northeastern Seaboard of the Empire. We ain’t fucking Commuting Anywhere! It’s the End Times! That’s what the media says! No worries. No sweat. I have serious provisions: four twelve-packs of Diet Dews. Five pounds of Laffy Taffy. A family-sized box of Chez-Its. And I have serious amounts of time on my hands, too. Multiple feet of snow coming in. Multiple miles-per-hour of serious wind. Probably ain’t going to teach again until Friday. So this is what I’m filling my week with. Both during the Snowpocalypse and after we dig out.

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Oh dip! Living the Hoth Life here on the Eastern Seaboard of the Empire. I can’t grouse too much, though. It’s been a mild winter thus far. But whether or not you’re hunkering down away from the snow or surfing gnarly rays of light, come hither! Gather up to one of my Post-Apocalyptic Trash Fires burning in the Space-Ship Omega. Grab your favorite beverage from the Open Bar. And then share what you’re doing this weekend!

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Oh shit! Yeah! We didn’t forget about you! And we didn’t forget about this podcast that we recorded a month ago. #STEVEBRULEWINK. This is pretty much our fucking 2014 RECAP. But. You know. A month into 20-FUCKING-15. We discuss our favorite movies (#OSCAR TIE-IN?!), Denzel Washington’s stroke face, Caff’s disdain for Seth Rogen, and Bateman’s new insulin pump. Among other things.

It’s funny we promise.

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No one reads this, so why bother? No one posts here, so why both? No one lives forever, so why bother? And I sat in bed with a tirade stuck in my head that not even the medication could medicate out. “How can I UnBe? How can I Not? How can this loosely tethered string of characteristics that is Me stop? Where will I go? What will it feel like?” This is Tuesday afternoon’s edition of what is supposed to be Monday morning’s commute. A column that used to be a place where lovely folk would gather and share their existential happenings. But now it’s a place primarily vacant. Primarily perpetuated by habit. A fading dissociation, the entropic nature of this formerly lively website-blog-collection of-Depraves mimicking the entropic nature of it All. Nothing stays, everything ends, energy can be neither created nor destroyed but it certainly fucking disperse. This is what this anxious, rotting, jittery Meat-Bag is up to this week. Feel free to ignore me, said the Lonely Man to the Empty Hallway.

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