#August2017
Views From The Space-Ship: I’m Not Allowed! I’m Not Allowed!
I…haven’t done a Desktop Thursdays since April? Sweet, Christ! Sweet, Christmas! Time melts, evaporates, races, fades, but most infuriatingly: continues. Whelp, here we are! Returned! By Christ, By Cthulhu, By Your Gods and Mine! So, let’s do this, comrades, enemies, bitter but sexually charged rivals! Let’s share our world(s!) Our real worlds! Our virtual! Anything, everything, yadda yadda, et cetera.
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Monday Morning Commute: Everything good everything good gravy
It’s been a minute, Space-Ship OMEGA. A hot minute, since I’ve dusted off and rolled out Monday Morning Commute. For that, to the three dedicated community members we have, I prostrate (and if you’d like, prostate) myself before you and beg forgiveness.
Rendar was doing them, and then he was maybe doing then, and then it seems life sped up and he simply wasn’t doing them, and I should have intervened. But, you know how it goes. Life speeds up, the mind slows down. It’s Monday evening at 10pm and I could idly blink at the TeleVisor, or I could activate the neurons. Lethargy always, entropy claims, I choose not to fight the great unwinding.
Anyways, hey! I hope you’re still here. Anyways, hey! I hope you’re still down to play the old game of Monday Morning Commute — where we share the various distractions, dalliances, and distillations that are helping us combat the weekly drudgery.
Weekend Open Bar: Upon the gilded plains of mortality
My wife turns thirty this weekend, Saturday to be specific. It’s a weird sensation, knowing that she has shacked up with me for life, and been with me since she was literally twenty. Spent her golden years with a guaranteed Garbage Lord. It’s nice though, to chart our progress together, to check off life events together, and even more specifically to get high, eat cookies, and watch Workaholics together.
It’s nice, it’s quaint, it’s quiet.
I like spending time with her, and I like spending time with you folks, you denizens of the Space-Ship Omega. So let’s hang out at the Weekend Open Bar. Pass some marginal time within our comfortably marginal existences together, as we are lucky enough (or not lucky enough, the grape press of industry is whittling away our off-time) to have the next couple of days off.
So comrades, what are you doing this weekend? What are you watching? Eating? Reading? Thinking about? Anything and everything goes, so long as you adhere to the sign above the Tavern entrance: Thou Shalt Not Be A Douche.
