Monday. Morning. Commute. Welcome to its Insides. The Place where we share what we’re up to during the current work week. It’s rife with strife, gloom, and malaise. JUST KIDDING. Let’s party! Fuck the Frowns, Embrace the Clowns?! Do I mean this?! I don’t know! Am I pumped up on Diet Dew and a False Sense of Excitement?! You fucking bet!

This is what I’m up to this week. Happily.

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Truth be told, this podcast was a long time coming. And I ain’t sure it even should have come. You see a couple of months ago Rendar found himself a beautiful OMNI-DIMENSIONAL babe upon the silicate dunes of Io. Packed up his stuff, took the boarding shuttle down to her hut, and ain’t been seen since. We get glorious missives from him every once in a while — he’s happy. Kid on the way, arthritis salved by the regenerative sand-leeches he found down by the Cloaked Bay. But the drawback is that we couldn’t cut a podcast. Eventually we decided to record one without him – heresy I know – and pray he’d return before we dared record a follow-up.

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It’s the Weekend! That can only mean one thing! Exerting a feigned since of self-autonomy through consumption and reproduction! The Man can’t hold us down! Not as long as we eat shitty food, buy shitty baubles, and consume shitty entertainment they engineer to distract us! Ha! Fuck you, The Man! And as a final, fleeting mechanism for self-actualization, we will gather here in the Weekend Open Bar.

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It’s Thursday! That can only mean one thing! Uh. The resurrection of a column from bygone days. Views From The Space-Ship. In an effort to generate that wanky, let’s all piss together holding one another’s genitals-type inclusive vibe, I share sights and sounds from my virtual and real world. Then I ask you to do the same. It’s like Instagram, but not as cool. Or inhabited. Or frequented. Or even acknowledged. But fuck I’m busy lately, so here’s something about me. In picture form. Hope you share too.

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And on the 22 of September 2014, I am writing this column. Monday Morning Commute. High on cough syrup, low on existence, I’m coming to you live from the Space-Ship Omega. Per par for the perpetual course, these are the niceties that are capturing my attention, imagination, and speculation during this week. Serving as a ship to hopefully sail me across the tempestuous work week waves.

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Welcome, friends! To the pub at the end of the Internet’s Leaking Maw. The most Open of Bars where we come together every weekend. To mourn those who didn’t make it through the Existential Thresher. To cry on the shoulder of those who did, about, well…anything, really.

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Monday! Monday! Monday! Here in the Armpit of the Internet. The Space-Ship Omega. Air recyclers busted. Stuck in a orbit around Io, praying for the tug-ship to come in with replacement thrusters. Ain’t got nothing to do but fuck one another, wax poetic about existence, and drink whatever stock of cheap synthetic whiskey we can find. Empty your pockets and pull down your trousers, we’re going to make the best of it.

Oh. Oh Yeah. And in case you didn’t know, this is MondayMorningCommute, the column where we share what we’re up to this week.

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Hello, friends. And welcome to Weekend Open Bar. The column that sits us around the poisoned watering hole at the End of the Pop Culture Universe. It’s a little gathering we do every week. Where share how we’re celebrating the End of the (Theoretical) Work Week. Certainly many still work, but for others like myself there is the illusion of reprieve. I tell you what, it certainly will feel like an illusion tonight when I’m lesson planning for next week’s classes.

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Ladies, germs.  I am not well.  What started out Monday as a simple sore throat, just the tiniest of itches, has mutated inside of me.  I am transformed now.  I feel wholly different.  I’m like Vincent D’Onofrio in Men In Black – just a human shell for an alien bug that is wearing me like a Member’s Only jacket, talking in slurred speech and a weird non-Midwestern dialect.  I feel like my mutant power is whining like an infant child.  Get Xavier on the phone, see if this is Omega Level or not.  Feels like it.  I have a few solaces, though:  hot liquids, cold ice cubes, a bunch of purple pills from Dr. Spaceman that soothe the throat but has the unfortunate side effect of “trickle nipple.”  And comics.  Comics have been a longtime sick-day savior, comforting me when medicine and absentee parenting did not.  So I venture out, my throat a hot barrel of fire.  So what if I’m Patient Zero for some new super-strain of Sarlaac Esophogeal Syndrome, I need mah comics!  And now I bring my buy-sies to you.  I’ve seen better days, sure, but sharing my weekly comic-book haul works better than any goddamned, bitter-tasting throat lozenge.  So step inside, friends.  Let’s heal through the power of funnybooks.

A full list of this week’s comics can be found right HERE.

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In short, because I’m fucking busy! This is Monday Morning Commute. The cavernous post at the end of the Internet where we all share what we’re up to during a given week. The arts and distractions that are helping us Mind The Grind. Spittin’ about our anxiety-laden lives because of Said Grind. Maybe a random anecdote about the time your donger got caught in that chalupa (is this a euphemism? I don’t know!) in the Taco Bell bathroom.

I’ll go first.

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