#Weekend Open Bar
Weekend Open Bar: And I Want My Scalps!
It’s the Weekend! It’s the Open Bar. Arriving not a moment too soon, too. For some reason, it’s been a long goddamn week. That ain’t a rhetorical opener, either. Don’t know why, but this week has run me ragged. The good news, oh the good news, is that I have two fucking weddings lined up to really put the nail through my emotional skull. But, I can’t complain too much. The weekend is stacked with merriment, outside of the culturally produced, economically encouraged social obligations.
I got scalps on my mind! Nazi-hunting on my mind. Got some (wait for) stranger things on my mind too, involving the 1980s and Lovecraftian monsters.
So, all in all, I suppose I ain’t too despondent about the weekend.
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Weekend Open Bar: The Horizon Smelled Like Pleasant Lies
Man. If you only knew how much time I burned through looking for a header image for this post. If you only knew how much time I burned through trying to come up with a title for this post. But here I am, folks. Opening up the Weekend Open Bar for one and all.
Now. I’m covered in sweat, lowered in the couch, delayed in showering before this evening’s activities.
Later. I’ll be covering myself in crumbs, lowering myself in the couch, consuming media with Bateman.
You. What are you doing tonight? Saturday? This weekend? What are you playing? Eating? Watching? Reading? Contemplating?
Somehow. It’s time for yet another Weekend Open Bar.
Weekend Open Bar: Informal Gluttony
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
Not a minute too soon, not a moment too early. Caught myself some Blade Runner 2049 last night (it’s fucking amazing), and it was worth it! But goddamn, did I ever mentally and physically pay the Iron Price for it. No sleep, very little sleep, what sleep was had was shoddily attained that.
But!
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
Weekend Open Bar: Lake of Fire
We are literally awash in Biblical Ass Shit these days, folks. Official term for the fires gnashing their away across Western portion of the Empire, and the Hurricanes engulfing the Eastern portion. The Earth’s melting, the boot of the Empire is stomping, and the Universe itself is dying. Thus, while there are bigger things to worry about than being late opening the Weekend Bar, I still feel bad. For if we can’t dance together as the Palaces burn, what can we do?
So, let’s hang out! Indulge in the chemicals and calories of your choice, pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me.
Weekend Open Bar: Ba De Ya – Dancing In September
Oh, Oh, Oh! Dancing in September! Welcome to Weekend Open Bar! And it’s a uniquely special one, at least on the annual tip. It’s the first Weekend Open Bar of my favorite time of year. Mother. Fucking. Fall. Though not officially penetrating the calendar until later this month, this weekend begins a maelstrom of miscellany during the upcoming week which officially signals it for yours truly. So I’m lighting the autumn candles, slipping into a hoodie, and wanking it to rotting leaves, spectral forms populating our general psyche, gridiron collisions, and blockbuster games dropping.
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.
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!
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.
Weekend Open Bar: The Light At The Start Of The Tunnel
It’s the Weekend Open Bar and goddamn am I happy to be spending it with you.
Long weeks seem to be relative, you know? Like cock size, intelligence, and the amount of pseudo-beef in our CancerBurgers™. So, despite the fact that I had Tuesday off (America, baby!) and today off (teaching schedule, baby!), I’m still heartened it’s the Weekend. I think most of my brain-gut-tumult this week was the result of Sam starting her new job. She was segueing from the former one, and acclimating herself to the new one.
A pervasive talent of anxiety is the ability to just straight fuckin’ OpticBlast that shit all over myriad elements of one’s own life. Money stressors? OpticBlast! Papers to grade? OpticBlast! Wife starting a new job? OpticBlast!
Weekend Open Bar: The Jingoism Jingle Jangle!
I’m a sucker for the Fourth of July. Or at the very least, the notion of it. As someone who is both a recluse *and* has to fucking work on the 3rd and the 5th, I imagine I won’t be doing much literal celebrating. But, the holiday gets to me.
Maybe it’s the programming from growing up a KidBot during the end of the Cold War and into the Myth of a New Golden age, but I have to admit — there’s a twinge of excitement at the idea of Seared Flesh and American Flags.
It’s the sort of deep-seated, inextricable programming that pops up from time to time, attempt to defy it as I may. The same programming that has me unconsciously doing the Sign of the Cross during a Catholic wedding or some shit. Which, has happened, and as it happened I looked appalled at my own gestures like I had a fucking Ghost Hand.
So here I sit, melancholic for the old days when I Believe In Things, and Celebrated Stuff. So here I sit, melancholic for the days when folks used to come around these parts, and spend the Weekend Open Bar with me.
