Apologies! Apologies for the tardiness! I didn’t know Rendar wasn’t able to do the column this week until he didn’t do it. I received a message by nightingale this morning. Told the bro to not go necking any beautiful androgynous bitties on the moons of Jupiter but goddamn if we don’t all have to learn from experience. Now the kid is in bed. Testicles the size of basketballs, scrotum the shade of an egg plant. Oh sure they’ll go down in time — it’s merely an intergalactic viral infection. But let’s not talk about the sores, the oozing, the buckets of indescribable white sludge that drain slowly down his bed within the Spaceship Omega. Those will be gone too, but at what psychic cost? For all of us?

Let’s instead quickly run down the various arts, farts, and shenanigans we’re enjoying this week. This is Monday Morning Commute.

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I don’t know about you, but I ain’t spending $10,000 on much. Maybe a dinosaur egg. Maybe Bo Jackson’s artificial hip. Definitely not 1990s barbecue sauce from McDonald’s.

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