Holy Tits on a Sacred Idol, I haven’t issued forth a meaningless communique in six days? ‘Tis the season for negligence or something. Is this inter-microphone on? Is anyone hearing this? Or am I, as always, a captive spectator in the Theater of My Own Mind? None the less. Here I am. Over-caffeinated, under-medicated, and ready to dive headfirst into Monday Morning Commute. The column where we share what we’re excited for during a given week. Maybe it’s a movie. Maybe it’s a meal. Maybe it’s a secret rendezvous in a Burger King bathroom with an omni-gendered, multiverse alien with all the holes, phalanges, phalluses, and proclivities to finally sate a very (very) nuanced sexual appetite.

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