It’s the Weekend! It’s the Weekend Open Bar!

Spend time with me this weekend!

I’m hammering out this opening salvo quickly, because, I must confess, I gotta scrub my ass. Birthday dinner is waiting! Stuff guts with Mexican food! Then, tonight, Wrestle Kingdom with Bateman is waiting! Stuff guts with pizza, with sugar, with glory, and with glee. But, friends. Don’t think I’m neglecting you! This very hammering out, this very textual blitzkrieg is evidence I care about you!

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It’s the fucking Weekend, dude. It’s fucking Weekend, dude, and not a moment too soon.

This hermetic, extroverted-introvert has been stumbling through this week. Somewhat, nay, totally viewing Friday afternoon as a refuge seemingly never arriving. Last weekend’s Weddings Doubleheader just left me goddamn mentally depleted. Look at all the fucking italics! Look at all the emphasis! Delirious! Drunk off emotional expenditure!

It’s the fucking Weekend, dude. It’s fucking Weekend, dude, and not a moment too soon.

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