Weekend Open Bar! And a content one at that.

My wife is home, tucked into bed. Home for the first time in more or less two weeks. Laffy Taff is in my gut, tucked into my digestive tract via my head-hole. In my gut for the first time in more or less too long. Outside, the crickets are chirping. A cool breeze passes by. Inside, the Red Sox are playing. A cool breeze passes by.

The Summer is winding down here in the Eastern arm of the Empire, and it was a damn good one for me. A mellow, unremarkable jaunt filled with teaching, quality time with my wife, some passable cinema, and a lot of really good wrestling.

I will not lament it leaving, though. For as I shed the husk of my most enjoyable Summer in years, it is being ushered out the door in lieu of the Most Wonderful time of the Year.

Fall!

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Can I get a fuck yeah?! It’s Friday! Which means it’s time for many, many things. Provided you are one of us proles blessed (and it is more and more becoming a genuine blessing) with having the weekend off. Drinking! TV binging. Maybe some sexy-sex? Reading, gaming. All sorts of shit! And this is Weekend Open Bar! Where we come together. Pop a soda-beer-bottle-of-wine-whiskey, whatever. Share in the revelry of the next two days.

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Woo! Look at Killer Mike fucking have at it! From a super-froggy-fresh live performance of “Run the Jewels.” Killer Mike? That’s how I’m feeling on this final day of the long weekend. Nothing like sleeping in late three days in a row to revive the synapses, restore the soul, and pack on an easy five pounds or so. This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where I share the esoteric entities (not really) in my existence that are helping me get through a given week. I spread them all around the ground, pointing at them while shouting “Fuck!, Fuck!, Fuck!, Delicious!” This serves to let you know I love them. After that, you share your dilly dallyings in the comments.

Let’s groove, folks.

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