Hello friends! Bad news. I lied, last week. I lied to your face, while sipping Diet Dew through a Twizzler. That’s how much I didn’t respect you. I said that Rendar would be back today, to guide us through Monday Morning Commute. The column where we share the savory and scintillating things that are helping us get through the work week. Arts, farts, foods, and fascinations. But Rendar ain’t  back. Not yet. You’re stuck with me, Caff-Pow. Not even a healthy one, neither. I got phlegm-lungs like you wouldn’t believe. Whatever! We’re all just going to have to make due!

This is what’s on my mind this week.

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Servin’ a life-sentence on Spaceship Earth is a tedious, painful, agonizing wonder.

Why’s that? For one thing, there’s the fact that everyone you love will die. Your best friend. Your kid sister. Your longtime mistress. Your high school math teacher.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Along the way you’re guaranteed to deal with inevitable body-breakdown. Maybe you’ll abuse your body. Maybe somebody else will fuck it up. Even if you think you’re unscathed, the sands of time are wearing away at your flesh-vehicle’s gears. Every single day. Every single moment. Until when, you ask?

Until they’re so smooth that they don’t move shit.

But alas! There’s hope! Even those of us who’re agin’ more like vinegar than wine have a fightin’ chance at experiencin’ glory! Not only are we fortunate enough to have been imbued with consciousnesses, but we get to live in a hyperreal future! Are things royally fucked up? Sure! But we live in times in which anything is possible!

So if you start to feel a chill as an existential shadow lurks over your shoulder, spin around and blast that motherfucker with a science fiction repulsor ray!

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Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m goin’ to show off this week’s strategies for keeping me pleased with existence. I suggest you liven up the party by entering the dance circle that is the comments section.

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