With a fresh Pepsi in hand, Absalom took a deep breath and began his tale.

“We’d been tryin’ to get home for ages, and we were all in rough shape. Beat-up. Hungover. Outta gas. And hungry, to boot! There wasn’t no way we’d be able to travel through the night. So I had to call in a favor to woman I’d’ve rather not ever seen again.”

“Waitta second,” interjected the Pie-Eyed intern, sole audience member of this performance, “whereyou says you comed from? Why’s you away inna furs-place?”

“Ah, yes. It’s a long story. But in short, this guy I knew – friend-of-a-friend sort of thing – was all sorts of salty `bout his ex-girlfriend bein’ with another man. So, he assembled a crew to travel `cross a bunch of states and win her back. With nothin’ to do but sit around drinkin’ beers and readin’ science fiction, I volunteered for what I’d assumed would be a grand adventure.”

“Wuzzit?”

“You’re goddamned right it was! I don’t think I’ll ever see nothin’ more glorious than a midnight fist-fight in a donut shop – everything blurrin’ together in a wash of neon light and black coffee and red blood!”

Absalom seized a moment to swish cola across his gums and crack his knuckles, like hitting the reset button on a broken-bodied Storyteller Machine. He flagged down the bartender and re-upped Pie-Eyed’s drink.

“Phanks man, but I dunno if I needa ‘nother.”

“Kid, it ain’t `bout need! Hell, ain’t no needs bein’ met in this entire bar! This place is `bout the Tapioca Populace foolin’ themselves into believin’ that they can even conjure up the notion of danger or excitement or novelty! So drink your drink!”

Pie-Eyed obeyed and Absalom continued.

“So anyways, after spillin’ teeth in the donut shop we attracted some attention, so we had to scram. Hightailin’ it out, we got ourselves into all sorts of trouble. Drinkin’ and fornicatin’ and fightin’. Glorious!  But before y’knew it, a three-day drive had mutated into two weeks. Two goddamn weeks.”

“Thazz,” Pie-Eyed slurred and sipped and slurred, “thazz crazy. Whattya do?”

“Well, with the gas-gauge on E, the backseat-keg on its last pint, and the paper absent from our wallets, I decided to rely on the generosity of Susy.”

“Who’s Susy?”

“Susy,” Absalom paused to take a rip of Pepsi and stare into the middle distance, “Susy’s a goddamn witch.”

—-

Come one, come all! This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! What’s that, you ask? Well, once a week Spaceship OL has to touch down on a nearby moon or satellite-weigh station for refueling purposes. During this time, I share the upcoming itinerary with the crew, detailing the means by which I’ll be navigating our rusty pop-culture mind-vessel through the Omniverse. After sharing my plans, the floor is opened up and everyone is encouraged to share their prospective space-maps.

In other words, we nerd out about the various ways we’ll be entertaining ourselves.

Let’s do the damn thing!

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Today is January 2nd, the nightcap on what is typically thought of as the holiday season. The wrapping paper’s been discarded, the ornaments have been put back in the box, and Uncle Bosco’s been evicted from his spot on the couch. This our last chance to sample the holiday pastries before their thrown out, to empty the champagne bottles into our guts when no one’s looking, and to lounge around in sweatpants without worrying about judgment.

This is a glorious day.

I’m doing my best to revel in this final moment of jubilation, as I know that when tomorrow hits I’m going to be a miserable bastard. I don’t hate my job, but it’s incredibly time consuming and I often find myself dreaming of finding a job that’s less demanding, even if that’s synonymous with less lucrative. Which is kind of insane, because I don’t exactly make mad cheddy-donkies right now.

I know I’m not alone.

And thus, I present the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is OL’s weekly 9-5ers Anthem, the spot where we share our strategies for surviving the workweek. After you check out the various bits of entertainment I’ll be using to salvage my sanity, hit up the comments section and show off your wares.

Let’s do this.

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