There’s a pain in your stomach that can only be cured with Russian magic.

Go ahead, clench the side of your abdomen. C’mon, admit it already! Y’know that you feel an inflammation somewhere in your gut! In the darkest recesses of your tummy! Maybe it feels like a itch at the bottom of your cecum. Or maybe it throbs like a patch of warts in your large intestine. Hell, some of you might even have a burning in the colon, and you’d damn well better pray that it doesn’t keep runnin’ down your digestive tract.

The truth is that you’re afflicted with a goddamn existential bezoar.

Fortunately, the Russians have been attacking these motherfuckers for years. Although Rasputin’s mystical sojourns are well-documented, it’s not often mentioned that he was simply trying to remedy the bezoar ailing Russia’s collective unconscious. Later, during the dark days of the Soviet Empire, the mystic arts would be forfeited in favor of science. But even with the root of these explorations being the same desire to destroy all that ailed, these efforts would also fall short. As such, Mother Russia, proud and noble and willing to die trying, would forge ahead in search of a new solution. And it would be found.

The solution? Beer.

To be precise, tonight’s curative elixir is Raspberry Russian Imperial Stout `12.

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Come one, come all! Join the frenzy! This is the Monday Morning Commute, the little niche I carve for myself at the beginning of the work week to tell you about my tentative plans for the next few days. After you read about the nerdcore endeavors I’ll be undertaking, hit the comments section with your own course(s) of action.

Are you going to spend every night drankin’ beers and reading Lord of the Rings? Are you going to finally apologize to the mailman for assaulting him during a caffeinated rage of blinding proportions? Are you going meet your Internet girlfriend at a shady bowling alley? Let us know.

But for now, take a peek at what I’ll be doing.

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