Taylor Sheridan’s movies are consistently fucking enjoyable. I mean, they oscillate between absolute fucking classic (Sicario, which he wrote) and enjoyably miserable affair (Wind River which he wrote and directed). So, throw some fucking Chris Pratt into mix? Hell yes.

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SK3RTT | slimesunday

One of the things that has struck me, on this, my wife’s fourth day away on her current business trip, is how much time I used to spend alone. Reflecting back, graduate school was just hours upon hours of me by myself, stuck in a study. Staring at a computer screen. Reading works. Contemplating bullshit academic sophistry. And, of course, writing for Omega Level.

On this, my wife’s fourth day away on her current business trip, I think I understand why I wrote so much and so openly about my cock, balls, fluids, and all sorts of weird fetishes (I still do have, but no longer flaunt so openly).

Being alone does things to you, man.

Each of these days I’ve found myself soaked in a Diet Dew haze, my hands covered in failed-children and coconut Vaseline, a stupor of unwanted freedom for a countenance. The more I seem to caffeinate, the more trips to PornHub I make, the more concerned my dog looks as I stumble around the house with my underwear around my ankles and the paper towels eluding me, the more I understand my former-self.

My former-self is really just my current-self, but far more lonely, and with far too much time on his hands.

On this, my wife’s fourth day away on her current business trip, I think I should point out to you that she’s going to be gone for another ten out of fourteen days or so.

Buckle up, good friends, OverCaffeinatedCaffeinePowered is upon you.

This is Monday Morning Commute. This is the weekly column where I list what I’m up to during a given week. I hope you’ll share what you’re doing in the comments section below. I hope you’ll keep me company. For me. For my concerned dog. For my chaffed cock and balls and crusty t-shirts and my shattered sanity and my Diet Dew-fort and my anxiety.

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untitled | christopher zelaya

We can dance if you want to!

We can leave the Material Realm behind! ‘

Cause your connection to the Linear Tangible Time-Cord is weak and if it’s weak, well, let’s leave this Plane behind!

What’s up, you fucking degenerates! Oh, don’t take offense. We’re all degenerating into worm-food, into former-human, entrapped by failing meat-cases.

So we might as well dance.

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