We’re celebrating Fourth of July weekend here in the Empire. That means the usual things, which have been enumerated some six or seven times here aboard the Space-Ship. Hormone-soaked beef. Testosterone-fueled chants of questionable supremacy. And other cynical shit. But it also means a great reason to gather ’round with your loved ones, throw back a few Adult Sodas, smoke some Shire Green, and have a good time. Not just your tangi-friends, either! But us, too. You know! Your favorite Monsters at the End of the Internet. So join us! At the Weekend Open Bar.

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They soar! Fuck limitations, man. Kick the hinges off the Impossible Door, and run into the Halls of Improbability dropping stone-cold stunners and rock bottoms! This is Monday Morning Commute. And together we shall brave the perpetual irradiation that is Life, uniting in some sort of Existential Voltron. Or! Or at the very least. With fingers with nails with caked-on Dominos pizza crust, we shall what we’re up to this week.

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