#August2018
Weekend Open Bar: Salt + Charcoal
Salutations, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega. It is I, your over-caffeinated, mentally-compromised captain! Why, when I’m not hurtling us into the gaping maw of echo-chamber buffoonery, talking about my own dick (and how it pumped, oh did it pump for the Doom Eternal gameplay), and generally embarrassing myself, I like to open up the Open Bar on the weekend! I know, oh do I know. I’m infrequent these days. Apologies all around. Here, here. Take a moist, poorly-wrapped candy from my pocket. Here, here. Take an I.O.U, redeemable for approximately one brutal high-five and chest-bump.
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Weekend Open Bar: the turtles were on to something
Welcome to Weekend Open Bar, my friends!
I’m not dead, not sad, just busy these days my friend! That said, I apologize! How the fucking fuck have you fucking folks been? Me? I feel eerily content. Not euphoric which is rare, not happy which is fleeting, but generally content. I can’t explain it. Or, rather, I suppose I can. Teaching is fantastic, my diet is good, I’m getting a lot of sleep and exercise, and by god, I swear it, yoga fucking works.
Monday Morning Commute: It’s hell on Earth and the city’s on fire
It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.
Yesterday was one of those days where the laptop didn’t leave the book bag upon my return to the Mother-Ship. But, I’m here now! Ready to give you the rundown of what I’m looking forward to this week! Ready to eagerly anticipate your own happenings in the comments section.
It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.
Weekend Open Bar: Lake of Fire
We are literally awash in Biblical Ass Shit these days, folks. Official term for the fires gnashing their away across Western portion of the Empire, and the Hurricanes engulfing the Eastern portion. The Earth’s melting, the boot of the Empire is stomping, and the Universe itself is dying. Thus, while there are bigger things to worry about than being late opening the Weekend Bar, I still feel bad. For if we can’t dance together as the Palaces burn, what can we do?
So, let’s hang out! Indulge in the chemicals and calories of your choice, pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me.
Weekend Open Bar: The Light At The Start Of The Tunnel
It’s the Weekend Open Bar and goddamn am I happy to be spending it with you.
Long weeks seem to be relative, you know? Like cock size, intelligence, and the amount of pseudo-beef in our CancerBurgers™. So, despite the fact that I had Tuesday off (America, baby!) and today off (teaching schedule, baby!), I’m still heartened it’s the Weekend. I think most of my brain-gut-tumult this week was the result of Sam starting her new job. She was segueing from the former one, and acclimating herself to the new one.
A pervasive talent of anxiety is the ability to just straight fuckin’ OpticBlast that shit all over myriad elements of one’s own life. Money stressors? OpticBlast! Papers to grade? OpticBlast! Wife starting a new job? OpticBlast!
Tuesday Afternoon Commute: The March of the Monsters!
The March of the Monsters.
It will reach its first crescendo, as they slither into the symbolic house of power this week. Here they come! Ancient ones! With gnarled fangs protruding from ruptured sockets. Here they come! With blasphemous sores upon oozing phalanges! Gnashing and beying for the life-force of the wounded, the wearied. Here they come! Tentacles and ill-intent! Here they come! Smashing and ripping and devouring. Here they come! Blood in their eyes, death in their mouths! Here they come!
What can you do? Shelter-in-place! Here! At the Space-Ship Omega! In this here post! Monday Morning Commute! By way of Tuesday Afternoon. Where we share what we’re doing this week, what we’re looking forward to this week. You know, when we’re not preparing the survival kits, building the house-sized umbrellas to shield our domiciles from the shrapnel borne out of shorn blood-meat from conquered deities.
The March of the Monsters.
Weekend Open Bar: The Last Weekend In America
Last Friday evening my family and I gathered for a bit of delicious ass (and if you’re confused, ass is delicious) Mexican food to celebrate my birthday. As my brother left, he told us all to “enjoy the last two weekends in America” — a resonant, if not hyperbolic statement. That leaves us, friends, on the precipice of the Last Weekend In America — a resonant, if not hyperbolic statement.
In a country that seems to be unspooling (on both sides of the political spectrum, mind you, I choose no side in this fusillade of suck), what is there to do?
Why, spend some time with you folks at the Weekend Open Bar.
Gather round, folks. The Vampires at the Throat at here, have been here. But as they drink from us, let us drink together. There is Nowhere to go, so let’s go to Nowhere together.
Weekend Open Bar: Rocket Fuel & Rockin’ Fools
It’s the Weekend! Open Bar! Fuck, I know I’m late. Last night was a birthday dinner with family, rolled immediately into five hours of wrestling with Bateman. Oh! Lucha Underground. Oh! Wrestle Kingdom 11. Truthfully? I squeezed in a couple hours of Final Fantasy XV between the former ending and the latter beginning. Oh! No matter, no matter.
Monday Morning Commute: the guy in the moderately tall skyscraper
Oh what a day, what a lovely day. The terrifying, inevitable transition from cultural entropy into the feigned doubling-down of effort and self-disciplined. Yes, yes, friends. Comrades. Frequenters of Space-Ship Omega. It’s the beginning of a new year, the cessation of the end-of-year celebrations. Darkness looms. Deadlines loom.
Hark, hark, may the Ennui strike you more as a honeyed blanket of anaesthetization. And not, oh dear god, and not as the sort of bowels-liquefying anxiety that plunges you through your corpus, through your bed, through your plane of existence and onto the bottom of the bottomless chasm of existential dread.
Oh, you need a lifeline? Oh, you need something to help with this transition back into the wild world of labor extraction? Well, buddy. Well, pal. Well, comrade. I got you. I got you.
See, this here jam is the Monday Morning Commute jam. And here at this here jam I list the various things I’m using to get myself through a work week. The TV I’m watching to close my third-eye, the music I’m using to block out the droning clarion call of Listlessness. The video games I’m employ for the total deinvigorating oculuar-auditory shutdown I just may need.
That uh, pal, that uh. Got a bit dark. But fuck it, fuck it with gumption and assertiveness.
We get can make it through this reentry together.
Weekend Open Bar: You Can Still Find The Sun
It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! This is the freakin’ Weekend Open Bar, baby! After a particularly strenuous week, I’m happy to report I’m currently supine. Type-type-typing away. Next to Mrs. Omega. Got a weekend of gaming, reading, watching, and sleeping on the docket. Can’t complain, can’t complain.
