Man, it’s been a weird summer so far. Today marked the sixth, and final week of the summer class that I teach for incoming freshmen students. There’s just been something off since the get-go, and as its conclusion nears, a sense of confusion that it’s really ending, and a sense of relief that it’s really ending are both making themselves known. But it’s the end, the conclusion, the finale this week.

And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to wear dress pants three more times until September.

And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to work four days a week until September.

So here we are. Frazzled, and fried, but fairly grateful, all things considered.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The wank-off section, where we wank, and oh do we stroke, and rub, and perhaps even lick ourselves to the arts&farts we’re looking forward to on a given week. I’ll go first.

Then you go. Get excited. Don’t worry. Wet naps and warm towels will be dispensed per your request.

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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.

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It’s the Weekend Open Bar, man. Come, come join me. But for Space’s Sake, slam that hatch closed tight. It’s cold out there, in Cosmoblivion. Yes, yes indeed. Cold out there, but warm in here. At the Open Bar. Familiar fellows who frequent these grounds know the drill. They’re already perched atop their favorite stool, ready to rock.

For those not familiar, for those just embarking on the Space-Ship Omega, I’ll help you out. Throw you a Martian Ale, or prep-up the mind-gun with the finest of Jovian dust. Introduce you to the rest of the gang. Introduce you to what this here Open Bar is all about.

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Another dosage of the Monday Blues antidote for you, fellow OL garbage folk! Right here! Right now!

The wind whispers of blood and ill intent! Monsters on podiums, clowns in streets!!! Tedium, tedium, tedium surrounds us! Our distractions betray us, but they’re all we have. Our politicians betray us, but they’re all we have! Our bodies betray us, but they’re all we have!

Feeling down? No worries!

Another dosage of the Monday Blues antidote for you, fellow OL garbage folk! Right here! Right now!

This is M-O-N-D-A-Y M-O-R-N-I-N-G C-O-M-M-U-T-E! And so long, so long as I continue to pump blood (HOT BLOOD) and suck wind (DRY WIND), I’ll be here. Commuting physically to the indoctrination clinic that I try and subvert. Commuting electronically to the space-oasis aboard Space-Ship OMEGA via the shuddering pipes of the I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T. Bringing you my own personal panoply, baked, shredded, and snorted, that gets me through a particular week. My distractions! My anticipations! Hark, we must stare at the Tube, the Screen, the Page. Lest we stare at the corners, at the shadows, at their encroachment.

Oh, Plato! I’ll take the fucking cave. Thanks for the fire. The sky outside is a dank pall, and the folks that gaze up at it find only horror. Yes, yes, I’ll take the fucking cave.

You know how this goes, oh, you know how this goes. Follow up my own weekly wanderings with your own assortment of distractions and existential deflections in the comments section.

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This is my third week of marriage. It feels very much the similar to the life I was living  prior to marriage – namely a maelstrom of responsibilities and too few nights spent actually enjoying the company of my Wife. We spent the weekend house shopping, and now she’s away on business. When…when does life calm down? And in the midst of all that bullshit — we are submitting an offer sheet on a house tomorrow. So there’s that. Either we get a house tomorrow, or we have to hit the house hunting grind again this weekend. Which, admittedly, is a privilege. I get that. But it’s stressful as fuck, and at a certain point having more space for shit you probably doesn’t need must feel irrelevant in the Frowning Face of Not Enjoying Time with a loved one. Right?

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Hello, True Believers! Degenerates! Booger Eaters! Slobs! Slovens! Functioning Human Beings! Individuals Excelling At Their Vocations! If you’re down with the Space-Ship, if you’re here by mistake, if you’re on the Fence and considering writing my Mother a strongly worded email. I want all of you! All of you to share what you’re up to this week. What’s getting you through the doldrums? This is Monday Morning Commute. And that’s the point of this column.

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Your Flesh Sac will whisper wearingly to you, if you let it. Letting you know that your knees are giving, your rib cage is creaking, and your heart is just sort of fucking tired. Your Flesh Sac will point out the fleeting Liminal Burp that is all your life. Do not listen. Do not believe its lies. It is the only way to sally forth into the resplendent Gloom of Oblivion that awaits us all with your head held high.

(Unless someone decapitates you and raids the Gates of Eternity with your Head on a Pike. There is also that way.)

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Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE – OL’s weekly show-and-tell session. I’m going to give you a peek at some of the bits of entertainment that’ll keep me from swearing off our oppressive society, giving away all my worldly possessions, and then fleeing to the wilderness so I can die in a van.

After reading about the destinations of my entertainment-excursions, you’re encouraged to hit up the comments section so you can show off your own itinerary.

Let’s rock.

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