Monday Morning Commute, on a fucking Monday? Up is down! Left is right! The Earth is saved, humanity operates on a higher than base, cruel level, and the Eagles are winning the Super Bowl!

Nothing makes sense, friends! Nothing! But, here we are anyways.

Nothing makes sense, friends! Nothing! But, when has it ever, anyways?

I hope you’re doing fantastic. May your sexual glands be drained, your cups full of your beverage of choice, and your stomach stocked with your preferred form of caloric corpulence.

This right here is the aforementioned Monday. Morning. Commute! The weekly wank-off session where I tell you all the things helping me get through this particular work week. Then! Oh, then! Just as importantly, I hope you’ll share what you’re up to in the comments.

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Reentry into reality sucks, today. My bowels are still building seriously slippery turds. My sleep schedule is fucked. My brain is staggering around, attempting to figure out how to imbue in students a sense of urgency and discipline that I myself don’t have. But, what can I do? Knuckle up, hunker down, and bang out the rest of the semester.

What can, oh whatever can get me through this week? The rest of the semester? Why, a multitude of things! Why, a multitude of things, condensed into two.

First, the various distractions, distinctions, and arts and farts I’m about to list below!

After all, that’s the whole point of Monday Morning Commute. To share you’re looking forward to this week.

Second, your happenings this week, in the comments section!

After all, that’s the whole point of Monday Morning Commute. To share you’re looking forward to this week.

Without further ado, adieu, to the preamble.

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Hello, friends! It’s Weekend Open Bar! Pull a chair up to the hearth. Summon your favorite chemicals from the servo-droid behind the counter. Pop off your pants, oh, I know, they’re a bit tight from this week’s corpulence. And relax! Just straight-up fucking relax with me. Your co-host, your champion, your spirit-guide. Let us move together through a miasma of revelry, consumption, contemplation, and companionship.

What are you up to this weekend, comrades? Shoving any old ladies out of the way for a discounted blender at TarMart? Catching up on any stories on the TeleVisor? Trying to rationalize the utter depravity that is your diet these past few days?

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Friends! Friends. I’m at a level of fatigue that I do not usually reach. Oh, the ethers from beyond beckon me towards slumber. Like not eternal slumber, don’t get me wrong. More like, oh, I don’t know. Eating six Pop Tarts, drowning my esophagus in ice cream, and drifting off. Drifting off where? Ideally to the Astral Plane for a good twelve or so hours. Just ripping ass, snoring, and healing my weakened mind-shafts.

The good news?

The good news is that I am of that privileged sort that has the weekends off.

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It seems that Monday Morning Commute dropping on Tuesdays is going to be status quo for this semester’s installments. For that, I apologize. For that, I fall upon a rusty sword forged from old Diet Dew cans and crunchy socks filled with old spillings of my proto-children.  If you’re wondering how that’s any different than when I fall upon my futon to do some nightly reading, I can only say this. Touché.

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Man. If you only knew how much time I burned through looking for a header image for this post. If you only knew how much time I burned through trying to come up with a title for this post. But here I am, folks. Opening up the Weekend Open Bar for one and all.

Now. I’m covered in sweat, lowered in the couch, delayed in showering before this evening’s activities.

Later. I’ll be covering myself in crumbs, lowering myself in the couch, consuming media with Bateman.

You. What are you doing tonight? Saturday? This weekend? What are you playing? Eating? Watching? Reading? Contemplating?

Somehow. It’s time for yet another Weekend Open Bar.

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Here’s another beautifully shot, incredibly vague trailer for the third season of Mr. Robot, where, go figure. Elliot can’t remember shit, again. Man, I really hope I enjoy the show’s next season. Like, I really hope. ‘Cause, while I hated the second season, I loved the first so much.

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Lotta, lotta fucking information to drink in, in that nightmare headline above. First: Julia Roberts is going to be starring in an Amazon series. Second: it’s being helmed by Sam Esmail, creator of Mr. Robot. Third: the show will be based off of Homecoming, a fictional podcast.

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Sam Esmail is bringing Metropolis to the TV screen in the form of a miniseries. I sort of hated the second season of Mr. Robot with all my heart. But I also sort of loved the first season with all my heart. So I’m hopeful, but anxious.

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…and, we, are, fucking back! Let’s get it out of the way: Riff completely fucked up the audio, recognizing after we recorded that he recorded it through his laptop microphone. So, yeah. It’s Garbage Audio from the Garbage Lords! That said, we hit on a variety of topics, and we sport a new contributor: our own Eduardo Pluto.

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