Come one, come all.

It’s Hot as Fuck along the Northeastern seaboard of the Empire. Our West Coast comrades seem to be dealing with their own Raging Fires and Non-Moisture. And the Midwest? The Rest of the Earth? I don’t know, but I imagine there are Failings and Fantastic Findings there as well.

Come one, come all.

To the Weekend Open Bar. Soothe your scorched Existence with a cold ale, a back rub that lingers perhaps a bit too long from yours truly, and some good old fashion Shooting of the Shit with fellow kind pop culture kindred. Let’s hang out across the next couple of days, sharing what we’re doing to enjoy Life.

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Your Flesh Sac will whisper wearingly to you, if you let it. Letting you know that your knees are giving, your rib cage is creaking, and your heart is just sort of fucking tired. Your Flesh Sac will point out the fleeting Liminal Burp that is all your life. Do not listen. Do not believe its lies. It is the only way to sally forth into the resplendent Gloom of Oblivion that awaits us all with your head held high.

(Unless someone decapitates you and raids the Gates of Eternity with your Head on a Pike. There is also that way.)

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