#August2020
Weekend Open Bar: Re-Animating The Relaxation
I have just enough to do during this summer quasi-break to be stoked for the weekends. Ya know? Just enough stress to compel me to look forward to Friday evening. Plus, you know. It’s an opportunity to hang with my wife, and my husband, and eat a truckload of preposterously unhealthy food. As well, I get to spend some time with you motherfuckers. Here, at the Weekend Open Bar! The one-stop shop for buffoonery and camaraderie every weekend.
It’s shaping up to be a good weekend for me. Weather setting the tone. The heat wave’s finally breaking here, and good god, I can open my windows. Get some of that late-summer air wafting in. Reminding me that the descent into Autumn has thankfully begun, while being warm enough to not nip out. I must confess, it’s one of my favorite times of the year. I hope you’re appreciating it as much as me! If not, well, I hope you’re at least tolerating it.
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Weekend Open Bar: We’re Birds of War
Hey! Jesus Fuck, did we make it? To the weekend? By god, we did! And, if you’re lucky enough to have it the weekend off like me, it’s time to fucking celebrate. Let’s celebrate together, right here! At the Weekend Open Bar! It’s the weekly way station here on the Space-Station Omega! Where we all gather, sharing what we’re up to on a given weekend!
Weekend Open Bar: I Eat Stickers All The Time, Dude!
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.
Weekend Open Bar: The Horizon Smelled Like Pleasant Lies
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.
Weekend Open Bar: Live From The Post-Apocalyparadise!
I initially had a really dour headline and gif to kick off this weekend’s Open Bar. The title was “It’s Better If You Don’t”, which really was a phrase which didn’t mean anything to me. The gif was of an insomnia-riddled Jack from Fight Club blinking at the endless stuffing of the info-tube into his mind-gullet.
My wife’s been away for like fifteen days. My job is stressful and tenuous. The skies are gray and bleeding moisture. Just not feeling It today, you know?
But, hey, man. What the fuck, right? Why wallow?
Weekend Open Bar: To The Left of Reality
My wife is really good at throwing wood into the wood stove that heats our sunroom during the Winter. Someday I’m going to be typing this from a shelter, or a shack, or my backyard. You see, she’s really good at throwing it. Ashes are really good at flying into the air. Burning embers are really good at hitting the tile, and not the rug.
But woah boy!
Someday them embers are going to hit the rug. I’ve seen it.
But woah boy!
Someday them embers are going to ignite the rug, maybe the dog, definitely the house. I’ve seen it!
In fact, somewhere across the OMNIVERSE, in an incredible amount of Universes, this is happening now.
Somewhere: my pubic hair, which dangles to the ground, is igniting from those embers.
In fact, somewhere across the OMNIVERSE, in an incredible amount of Universes, this is happening now.
Somewhere: my dog, which is also a dinosaur, which is also Jesus Christ, is turning nipple milk into water, drowning those burning embers.
I’ve seen it!
Anyways — until she burns down the house here, until the embers take down this dry ass house in this dry ass state on this perpetually dry ass Planet — until then — I will be celebrating Weekend Open Bar from my couch.
Right here!
Weekend Open Bar! Come come, folks. Celebrate the weekend with me. Come come, folks. Tell me what you’re up to this weekend!
Weekend Open Bar: The New Scum’s Old Haunts
The Weekend Open Bar. The old haunt of the Omegaverse’s New Scum. Where every weekend we can pry off our masks, slip off our gloves, and commune for a couple of days. We gather, away from the back-breaking SpiceMines, the porcelain shit thrones that must be shined, from the glue factory and the Dagobah Diners. We gather here.
Weekend Open Bar: The Demoncratic Oath!
This is Weekend Open Bar, and I have a confession to make: I am Brett Favre. Last week I firmly, firmly thought to myself, “I’m fucking done with Omega-Level.” Was seriously bumming. My brother doesn’t write any more, my favorite commenters don’t comment any more. Fuck you, Omega-Level. Fuck you. Any of the three people who come across the site may have thought the same thing. There were no new postings. Since I had, in fact, quit. But just like Brett Favre retiring/unretiring/retiring/unretiring, here I am. I just can’t quit.
