It’s true! My skeleton is my oldest house. Within its walls, do I ever haunt. The burbling, bubbling of a mad brain. The frenzied, arrhythmic horrors of an over-caffeinated heart.  The creaky, laborious groans of a skeleton subjected to gravity, entropy, and exertion. Oh, does my soul walk these halls. Oh, do I ever haunt. This house, the oldest house, it treats me well.

The oldest house keeps my meat-processor protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

The oldest house keeps my circuitry protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

I don’t fault the oldest house for its failing, for when it fails to protect me. Or, when the piping gets clogged. Or, when the meat-processor over-heats, or short-circuits. After all, what house is infallible? Show me the lark selling that shanty, and I’ll show you a liar.

My house, the oldest house, isn’t perfect.

But it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

I take reasonable care of it, and it takes reasonable care of me.

On certain days, we’d probably ask more out of one another, but for the most part we’re pretty happy. Which is good.

‘Cause it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Holy cannoli, motherfuckers! I am back! Not only am I back, but I’m back with a little secret. I actually started this MMC last week, and then just sort of petered out. Yup, both the title and the image were forced in the stupidity of 7-days prior! But we all know the fucking truth, right? My stupidity is both eternal, and timeless. Seven days ain’t going to change that, nor really changed what I’m up to these days. Actually, that’s sort of a lie. Last week, Sam and I were in the continued thralls of Mother-in-Law mania, but it’s definitely cooled down since then. The general VIBE in the HOUSE OMEGA is far more relaxed now. Which is obviously a good thing, ’cause, you know, I feel mentally capable of writing something in this here WordProcessingUnit.

Anyways, enough of this fucking prologue, no? Let’s jump down into the happenings (the haps!) for the week! Then in the comments section you slugs better share what you’re up to in this week! It’s the pact we have made, we have sealed in blood and discussion of boobs and butts over the past 10+ years.

This is Monday Morning Commute, you motherfuckers!

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Oh shit! I totally forgot that there’s a new Die Hard in the works. Well, there is, and John McClane’s son has finally been cast. It isn’t Aaron Paul. Bummer time.

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