How’s it going, folks? Are you segueing into Corpulence Season well? You must prepare to fulfill your duty as a member of the Empire!

Consumption! Things! Stuff! Food! Consumption! Consumption! Consumption!

Hail, Hail, Hail!

Toe the line! Nay, stand in line! You must be checking out mentally while checking out virtually, physically! The form doesn’t matter, only the consumption! The filling and emptying of stomachs, shopping carts, bank accounts, guts, shelves, savings.

Consumption! Things! Stuff! Food! Consumption! Consumption! Consumption!

That’s a negative spin on the whole ordeal, isn’t it?

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Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

Wife’s home. Wood stove pumping a pleasant, hearty heat. Admittedly, an unobtrusive but steady current of holiday corpulence-fueled diarrhea getting me up off the couch. But as I said, unobtrusive. A marginal push, a half-hearted wipe, and I’m back on the couch. Lounging. Admittedly, stank ass’d.

But hey.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

It’s that wonderful liminal state between Christmas and January 2nd. Where the entire world seems slumberous, if not not working.

So let’s spend the hour, the day, the week together. This is Monday Morning Commute! Where we share what we’re enjoying during a given week! So, hark! The Calories and Diarrhea Golems sing! What are you up to? Let’s hang.

‘Cause.

Man, I ain’t got nothing to do.

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Prepare to up the chemical-ante, folks. Twinkies are returning out of the bankruptcy abyss, planning on turning your blood stream into a sugar-and-chemistry set nightmare. I only wish they could have returned prior to July 4. I would have been a good America. You know. Grilled hot dogs and used the Twinkies as the bun.

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A couple of weeks ago, Rendar and I saw Marc Maron do a live recording of his podcast. As those who worship the crabby but hilarious son of a bitch know, his fans often bring him baked goods. At the show we attended he was given the “turducken of baked goods”, a concoction that shook Olympus itself. What the fuck was it? It was none other than oreos, wrapped in cookie dough batter, baked in brownie mix. At that moment, the Fat Kid in me knew I had to have it. For weeks at the Omega Dinner Table, Rendar and I would mention what a glory it would be to consume such a genuine piece of Fat Ass America. This week though, our own Momma Omega laid it down. She was going to create this Slight on God.

It was wonderful. Upon biting in I proclaimed, “I feel like a piece of shit!” It didn’t stop me though. It was truth made carbohydrate.