Tired today, man. Currently supine. Battling fatigue and a stomach stuffed with staggering tumult. Am I a diarrhea that dreams it’s a man, or a man that dreams he’s merely a flesh-bag filled with diarrhea? I’m not sure, I’m not sure. What am I sure of? This week contains multitudes, multitudes of various arts and farts I’m looking forward to enjoying. These arts, these farts, they are an Existential Ripcord. I need merely let my excitement yank said cord, and rip me through the miasma of malaise my rolling tide of brown-churn and soul are currently sunk in.

It is my mandate as the curator of Monday Morning Commute to list these arts. To high-five these farts. It is your mandate as the consumer (be it by accident or be it by accentuated agency) to list what you are sweating this week in the comments section.

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I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

For numerous reasons. Oh, today marks the first day out of the past eight where I’m not dealing directly with my grandmother’s day. I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

Oh, it marks the beginning of my glorious Cheat Days, where I can stuff my face with catastrophic amounts of calories with no guilt.  I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend.

Oh, it marks the beginning of a laundry list of Dope Shit I’m planning on watching, reading, playing.

I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend!

So why don’t you join me here, at Weekend Open Bar. The column where I implore all of you denizens of the Space-Ship Omega to gather, to hang out. To share the various things that are causing you to “I say goddamn!, I’m glad it’s the weekend”, with me, comrades.

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Welcome, friends. To the Extended Weekend Open Bar! Carrying us through the Fourth of July. For those of you lucky enough to have a long weekend, salutations! For those of you unlucky enough to have to work either this Weekend, or the Fourth, salutations anyways! I imagine there’s going to be some seared-flesh breath being aspirated at the computer screens and black mirrors as you folks hopefully join the Bar. Contributing to the camaraderie on the Space-Ship omega whenever you take a break from doing your duty of celebrating God’s Finest Creation, America. By consuming animals, hops, and igniting conversations at cookouts and fire-based sky sparkles.

If you don’t know, the Weekend Open Bar is your virtual one-stop for shooting the shit during the weekend. As Head Czar of the Space-Ship, I encourage one and all to share what they’re up to. Share the animal-flesh you’re going to sear in supplication to George Washington. Share the movie you’re going to see, doing your American best to prop up our economy. Share what you’re reading at the beach. Whatever you’re doing, join in.

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My wife tells me she ain’t waiting for me to eat the pizza. The pizza, it’s coming. This can only mean one thing: I must sprint as quickly as I can to open the Bar. The Weekend Open Bar. Turn on the halogen lights, kick the mechanized kegs of moon-juice to get them cranking. Dust the blood, tears, and forgotten ass-relics off of the chairs. And welcome you! Welcome you to the Weekend Open Bar!

The column at the (theoretical) end of the Work Week/Internet/Good Taste. Every week we gather, oh we gather! We share what we’re going to be eating (pizza!, and more!), what we’re going to be playing, what we’re going to be reading. Really, sharing anything. Half-baked thoughts about the End of the World, half-aroused thoughts about 1980’s babes (Kelly Lebrock from Weird Science haunts me), half-indecent proclamations about whatever sort of gastronomic problems that eighth burrito gave you.

Anything. Everything. So long as it follows the golden rule: thou shall not douche.

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Welcome one, welcome all to Weekend Open Bar. The weekly weekend column where those of us lucky enough to have the next couple of days off (and those unlucky enough to not have them off, too) gather around the Digital Hearth. We share stories of what we’re going to be doing to enjoy our weekend. We share stories of the games we’re going to play, the movies we’re going to watch. We share stories of the meals we’re going to eat, the mistakes we’re going to make.

And go ahead! Make mistakes! Kiss that guy you can’t see yourself with long-term. Eat that twelfth slice of pizza. Play Overwatch until 6:30 am, bleary-eyed and too caffeinated to sleep well. Too hungover to yield a non-spinning room. And go ahead! Make mistakes!

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Man, I don’t know what’s going on with my country. We’re spinning apart at both ends of the rigged political, we got heat waves, virii, droughts, colossal tornados. Both cheap metaphorical, and literal storms brewing. Man, I don’t know what’s going on with this planet. Same problems, larger scale, fewer solutions. Man, I don’t know what’s going on with this Universe. Fucking Fermi Paradox like “Hey”, fucking Entropy like “Stop Me, Bro!”

What do I know, though? It’s a long weekend. This is the Open Bar. And despite the being up to our knees in calamities on a cosmic, planetary, and national level, I’m still enjoying my life. What can you do, but dance as the Palaces burn (If you’re lucky enough)? What can you do, but share the weekend with your loved ones, friends, family, and hopefully me (If you’re lucky enough)?

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Weekend Open Bar! Come one, come all! Step right up into the saloon. Hang your jacket up by the fire, ignoring the blood trails. Step right up to the bar. Order your favorite drink, ignoring the bartender’s third eye. Step right up to the gathering in the corner. Tell me what you’re up to this weekend, ignoring my phlegmy laugh, and the circles under my eyes.

This is the weekly weekend column where we weakly, meekly, or enthusiastically (accounting for everything in-between) hang out. Sharing what we’re looking forward to this weekend. Be our foods, our games, our comics, our books, whatever the case! This is the place. Whatever the case!

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(Note: I started writing this Friday. It is now Saturday. I apologize. Life, man.)

I’m very excited for this weekend. It’s totally not because I popped a Sudafed for my allergies and it has slicked the synapses of reality, allowing me to glide across Existence with nary a care! I mean, how can you not be excited when it’s the weekend! And the stimulants in your blood tell you Everything Is Okay and Things Will Be Fun This Weekend!? Fuck, Sudafed! Mi amor! Mi amor!

This is Weekend Open Bar! Pop whatever sort of chemical into your bloodstream you want, and come hang out! Pop whatever sort of food into your stomach you want, and come hang out! Pop pop pop! Whatever you want! Everything is allowed, save for snark and bite. We keep it positive here, folks.

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Man, we got Presidential candidates debating dusty tomes from days of yore and their dick sizes. Man, they’re doing that while we got the entire universe to explore. Man, we got people vigorously arguing over the quality of men in tights and their moving picture shows. Man, they’re doing that while the Cosmos offers us escape. While the Cosmos offers us resources. While the Cosmos offers us Hope.

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Welcome to Monday Morning Commute! On time, half-assed, and here for your whole-hearted dismissal. I am currently supine. Clad in sweatpants and malaise. Trying to see Monday Night RAW over my laptop. This is my worldview. This is my worldview: we live short lives in absurd conditions, and goddamn if I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Welcome to Monday Morning Commute! The column where I share the various things I’m looking forward to during a given week. This is a neat little week, filled with a substantial amount of anticipated-things and enjoyed-objects. I hope you’ll share your own MindMusings after reading through my little lame assed list.

Let’s do this!

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