It hadn’t been my intention to light the mailman on fire.

I’d just wanted to give him a good scare. A shake-up. A reminder that I’m entitled to nothing less than the respect granted to all employers. `Cause love `em or hate `em, it’s the employers that give us the money for bill-payin’. Don’t believe me? Well, get caught screwin’ your boss’ husband and see how long you can keep payin’ for cable television and discount lapdances and beer and horny-videos and everything else worth livin’ for.

But seriously, I never thought the mailman’d actually go up in flames.

The way I sees it, I’m the mailman’s employer. Why’s that? Well, the mailman’s paycheck comes from taxes. And since I pay taxes most years, it’s my money that becomes his money. Sine qua pro bono. As his employer, it frustrates me to no damn end to see him royally bangin’ the job up the `ole keister. Parcel-delivery is one of the foundations of our friggin democracy! Without it we ain’t more than savages! There’s no excuse for the job bein’ done haphazardly!

And there’s no ignorin’ the fact that the mailman’s been stealin’ my goddamn TV Guides!

So yesterday, I waited by my mailbox. As the mailman approached I asked if he had my TV Guide. When he told me it must’ve been lost in the shuffle, I politely informed him that he was going to lose all of his “filth-riddle ass hairs.” Seizing his moment of confusion, I pushed him into my bushes, sending letters and packages all over the sidewalk. I quickly pulled down the back of his state-issued shorts and covered his buttcheeks with hairspray. As he screamed and squirmed and protested, I kept sprayin’, followin’ the cannister’s instructions to “apply thoroughly.” As I lit the match, I told him that I believed in poetic justice and his theft of my TV Guides had really been chappin’ my ass.

It hadn’t been my intention to light the mailman on fire. But I can’t say I regret it. Where’s my TV Guide?

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Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to list the activities that’ll keep me entertained throughout the week. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share your own suggestions for fun-havin’!

Rock! Roll! Lose control!

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You’ve been put on notice, Danny Dorito.

I don’t know who made this, or what it’s for, but I applaud it. Our future is bright, as we ride on the coattails of the Übermensch. Danny Dorito.

The creator for G.I. Joe passed away on Thursday. While I never knew the good sir Donald Levine by name, what he unleashed on the world has certainly sculpted my grey matter to some extent. From a young age I’ve been certain that knowing was half the battle, and have wandered aimlessly, anxiously, despairingly, wondering what the fuck the other half was.

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Listen to the rogues that you come across.

These scoundrels are going to tell you things that make you uncomfortable. Hell, they might just tell you that your way of life is wrong, that it’s contributing to greater evils. When you give them an open ear, they’ll fill it with all sorts of detritus. Stuff that’s bound to upset your sensibilities. Ideas that make you want to vomit. Maybe they’ll ask you to chew on the notion that everything you believe is a lie. They’ll be vulgar and angry and a bit discomfiting.

And you need to listen to them.

`Cause right or wrong, if we don’t entertain roguish ideas then we have no right to accept the easy ones. Sure, some of the time the doomsayers and fringe-dwelling miscreants are wrong. But we can’t know that for sure unless we give `em a chance. And every now and then, when the blue moon turns blood red, the rogues are right. And when this is the case, they’re usually showing us that Daddy Society’s been belting the most hapless, defenseless of his children.

Listen to the rogues.

—-

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to highlight some of the pop-culture junk I’ll be snackin’ on over the course of the week. Then, you hit up the comments and share your own recipes for entertainment-treats. It’s show-and-tell amongst the crew and passengers of Spaceship OL.

LIFT OFF!

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Come one, come all!

Step right up to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is the carny freakshow extraordinaire, spectacular spectacle  for all of us disposable zeroes who’ve climbed aboard Spaceship OL. What’re we doin’ here? Well, we’re goin’ to show off the various ways we’ll entertain ourselves throughout the course of the workweek.

`Cause without music and movies and television and comics and action figures and greasy burgers, what’s the goddamn point?

Let’s do this!

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Interesting. Stephen Colbert will be replacing David Letterman next year as host of Late Show. First blush: nice. Second blush: how effective is Colbert when he is…himself? And not that caricature he effectively wields on The Colbert Report? This is not a rhetorical question, I’m genuinely wondering.

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