#May2018
Weekend Open Bar: If This Isn’t Nice, What Is?
Hello, friends! It’s The Weekend Open Bar! Come hang out!
I’m feeling good over here. The weather has finally turned here on the Eastern seaboard of the Empire. My semester has finally ended. And, I’ve gotten consecutive nights of good sleep. All of this is to say is that I’m actually sticking my head out of the Depressive Cocoon I build around myself ever so often, and smiling!
By god, smiling.
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Weekend Open Bar: Go Ahead and Smile
It’s the weekend, friends. The fucking weekend, friends! Man, I don’t know how a shortened week felt so fucking long, but here I am. Basking in the freedom of two days of adolescent debauchery with a grown-up bank account. And if you’re reading this, you’re here too! By chance or by intention, you’re fucking here too! At the Weekend Open Bar! So now that I got you, so now that you’re here, let’s hang out!
Weekend Open Bar: Long Live The King
Welcome to the Open Bar, you fucks. The wank-off where we, the gilded turds of the Space-Ship Omega, share what we’re up to during the weekend. I must level with you, seeing Black Panther is at the core of my entire existence the next couple of days. Seeing it tonight, Friday, with comrades. Seeing it Sunday night with my male progenitor. And in the middle? I imagine gushing and flushing all my savory glands discussing it. Here, on OL. Saturday night, on Twitch.
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.
Monday Morning Commute: a canopy of lights and leeches
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.
Weekend Open Bar: Informal Gluttony
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
Not a minute too soon, not a moment too early. Caught myself some Blade Runner 2049 last night (it’s fucking amazing), and it was worth it! But goddamn, did I ever mentally and physically pay the Iron Price for it. No sleep, very little sleep, what sleep was had was shoddily attained that.
But!
It’s the fucking weekend, baby!
Weekend Open Bar: Electric Paradise
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, rhythmically at first! Ignore, ignore your eyes rolling into the back of your head!
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, now with a bit of horror, a pinch of fear! Ignore, ignore your mind being severed from your body!
For! My friends! To the Omniverse!
Weekend Open Bar: Future Club
Man, it’s been a hot minute since I opened up the Bar, huh? Whelp, ain’t got no excuse outside of the usual ones. Lethargy, malaise, a preference for staring at butts and memes over creating. You know, the usual shit. But! Fuck! I’m here. But! Fuck! I’m excited to spend the Weekend (Open Bar) with you folks.
Weekend Open Bar: The Jingoism Jingle Jangle!
I’m a sucker for the Fourth of July. Or at the very least, the notion of it. As someone who is both a recluse *and* has to fucking work on the 3rd and the 5th, I imagine I won’t be doing much literal celebrating. But, the holiday gets to me.
Maybe it’s the programming from growing up a KidBot during the end of the Cold War and into the Myth of a New Golden age, but I have to admit — there’s a twinge of excitement at the idea of Seared Flesh and American Flags.
It’s the sort of deep-seated, inextricable programming that pops up from time to time, attempt to defy it as I may. The same programming that has me unconsciously doing the Sign of the Cross during a Catholic wedding or some shit. Which, has happened, and as it happened I looked appalled at my own gestures like I had a fucking Ghost Hand.
So here I sit, melancholic for the old days when I Believe In Things, and Celebrated Stuff. So here I sit, melancholic for the days when folks used to come around these parts, and spend the Weekend Open Bar with me.
Weekend Open Bar: Passionfruit
Oh, fuck! It’s the Weekend. Oh, fuck! It’s the Weekend Open Bar! Oh, fuck! My wife told me I only have ten minutes to Open the Bar. And, and, and, you know. Between fiddling with the volume control on my speakers, messaging a couple of friends, and, you know. Do you know? ‘Cause I don’t. Where the fuck is the time going? Oh, fuck! Time, it bleeds, life it bleeds, the universe it slowly, slowly bleeds out. Us, it, none of us truly conscious of it! Stay focused though, man! There ain’t time for your usual existential blatherings.
This is Weekend Open Bar!
The cure-all, catch-all weekly column at the end of the work week! Where I, your Captain and Local Garbage Lord, implore you to come and hang out! Share what you’re eating, watching, watching while eating, playing, et cetera. So on. So forth.
Get high, get drunk, get hard, get soft, whatever, whatever, whatever! It’s all good here. So long as you don your most welcoming and affable of affectations and share what you’re up to this weekend. Shoot the shit, if you will.
This is Weekend Open Bar!
