#Weekend Open Bar
Weekend Open Bar: It’s Always Sunny On Space-Ship Omega
It’s the Weekend Open Bar.
Here on the Space-Ship Omega.
Round and round and round the Sun we go. Harboring ill memories, favorable moments, abject disproofs of karma, and transformative moments of kindness. In the grand scheme of things, we, the Sun, these burps and blips don’t matter one lick. In the grand scheme of things, these random scatterings of electrical impulses, of poor choices, of wise decisions, of moments of passion and anger, they’re all we fucking got.
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Weekend Open Bar: Merry Christmas, Ya Filthy Animal(s)
Hey! Oh. Oh, hey! It’s Weekend Open Bar! Pray tell, are you being a dedicated consumer? Buying those you love their trinkets, both asked for and unasked? Are you wearied from long lines, or did you abstain from corporeal-shopping in lieu of the gilded pipes of the Amazonian forms of commerce? Hey — man. If the Titanic is going down (and oh, are sinking), we might as well raid the gift shop. Hey man — if the Titanic is going down, we might as well all congregate at the (open) bar!
That’s bleak, that’s burnt, that’s bluster. I’m actually quite content right now! It’s warm here in my cabin on the Space-Ship Omega. I don’t want nothing other than to spend the weekend with friends and loved ones. You folks, included!
Weekend Open Bar: Cold Out There In Cosmoblivion (Warm In Here)
It’s the Weekend Open Bar, man. Come, come join me. But for Space’s Sake, slam that hatch closed tight. It’s cold out there, in Cosmoblivion. Yes, yes indeed. Cold out there, but warm in here. At the Open Bar. Familiar fellows who frequent these grounds know the drill. They’re already perched atop their favorite stool, ready to rock.
For those not familiar, for those just embarking on the Space-Ship Omega, I’ll help you out. Throw you a Martian Ale, or prep-up the mind-gun with the finest of Jovian dust. Introduce you to the rest of the gang. Introduce you to what this here Open Bar is all about.
Watch: Atari 2600 Emulator Running Inside ‘Minecraft’
I can’t even begin to understand how someone can get an Atari 2600 emulator running inside of Minecraft. But I fuck with it.
Weekend Open Bar: You Can Still Find The Sun
It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! This is the freakin’ Weekend Open Bar, baby! After a particularly strenuous week, I’m happy to report I’m currently supine. Type-type-typing away. Next to Mrs. Omega. Got a weekend of gaming, reading, watching, and sleeping on the docket. Can’t complain, can’t complain.
Weekend Open Bar: It Was An Illusion. Even A Pleasant One For Some
The bar is open early, friends. It’s Thanksgiving Eve here on the eastern arm of the Empire. I’m blessed enough to have the rest of the week off. So why not let the Asgardian ale flow already? So why not let the Martian space spice be smoked already? I have no good reasons for why not to, I have no good explanations. All I know is that life is too short, too vicious for even the most blessed, to not seize upon moments of revelry with you and yours.
Weekend Open Bar on a Wednesday evening.
Weekend Open Bar: Beyond The Impossible!
This is Weekend Open Bar. The weekly invitation to come and hang out, share what you’re doing the next couple of days. What you’re eating, drinking, smoking, playing, reading, et cetera. Et cetera.
It’s week two of the Empire’s descent into Trumplandia. I’ve been struggling to make sense of how to behave in the face of such gravity. The best I can think of, is to simply continue persisting. To continue doing things like typing up the Weekend Open Bar.
As a hero of mine opines, the most “daring thing is to create stable communities in which the terrible disease of loneliness can be cured.” So so I persist, here, at Weekend Open Bar. Week after week, inviting likeminded folks to spend time together. Week after week, offering likeminded folks a space-oasis in which we can pass the time in good nature together.
Weekend Open Bar: Rum Ham Rum Ham Rum Ham!
Woah, hey, woah! CaffPow here, coming to you. Late from Portland, Maine. Bateman, Riff, Pluto, and a friend are here for the weekend. Eating, dancing, eating, smoking (it’s legal now!), drinking (though, I don’t drink), eating, bouncing on a trampoline, and eating. But I’m here! Opening the Bar. The Weekend Open Bar! What are you up to this Weekend?
Weekend Open Bar: Perspective Is A Hell Of A Drug
It’s that time again, folks. Weekend Open Bar, folks. I’ll level with you: I’m tired. I’ll level with you: I have nary an ounce of creative juice to squeeze out of my mind-guts, and that’s if you’re being optimistic and crediting me with creativity on occasion. But. Hey. It’s that time again, folks. Weekend Open Bar, folks. Someone has got to turn on the neon lights. Someone has got to make sure the hearth is lit. Someone gotta hook up the draught. That’s me, that’s me, that’s me! None the less, outside of that fact, with that taken into consideration, I’m pretty fucking good.
A little fatigued, a little woozy, a little weary. But here! Here, dammit.
Weekend Open Bar: You Are Ready For Upload
Stand by, your consciousness is ready for upload. Say goodbye to the rot-filth of tangibility, and embrace the ephemeral. You cannot escape Entropy, cause brother the Universe is still dying on you. But hey, no more meat-case. You cannot escape Entropy, cause brother every time we re-upload you to split processing load, you lose a few bits and bytes of yourself. But hey, no more meat-case. So what to do, what to do in the Digital-Oblivion? Why, why not hang out at Weekend Open Bar? The weekly wank-off session at the Space-Ship OMEGA. Tunnel in to one of our android-bodies. Submit your credit codes, cause capitalism don’t need physical space. Drive that android-body up to the bar, and kick the time with us flesh-rats in the Tavern.
