#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: I don’t know how to think anymore.

I don't know how to think anymore.

I don’t know how to think anymore.

I tried to write an earnest reflection about how I’m currently feeling about life. But, lo and behold, it turned out to be an overwrought thinkpiece of half-nonsense and half-pretense, and ultimately a whole lot of nothing. I’m thirty-one, which is five years too old to wax philosophic and call it honor.

So I killed that darling.

Then I tried to write one of my standard pieces of drivel-fiction. Y’know, the ones where I use robots and space as stand-ins for people and circumstances. The one I tried to hack away at this week was about an android named Dorothy who couldn’t bring herself to kill a dog, despite being able to predict that the dog was going to maim a little boy. Engrossing, I know, but it just felt too paint-by-numbers for me.

So that darling got killed, too.

Where does that leave us? Where does that leave me? Well, I guess all I can say is that I don’t know what – or maybe even how – to think anymore. But I have to believe that some of you are still thinkin’!

So let’s do this, MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to tell you what I’ve got lined up for this week. Then you swoop in to comment on my plans and share your own.

Let’s rock!

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Monday Morning Commute: It Never Answers Back

monday morning commute it never answers back

How are you folks doing? I know it’s been quiet around here. Sure, there’s the occasional pop-culture kernel that I’m interested in enough to share. As well, there’s the Facebook page, which seems to have struck ground as an enjoyable repository for said kernels and infinite memes. And finally, yeah, we do stream every weekend on Twitch. But around here, man. The hub. It’s been quiet. At first, I wasn’t sure why it was so hard to maintain the grease on the perpetual-engine at the center of the Space-Ship Omega, but then I remembered.

We’re all just sort of busy.

Rendar’s got two jobs. Bateman’s got, I’m not really sure how many jobs. I oscillate between teaching four classes and one class depending on the semester, and I’m always tutoring 30+ students a week. Compliment that with a commute which is generally one-and-a-half-hours each way every day, and well. I’m fucking tired, man.

All of this is a meandering preamble to serve as both an acknowledgement that it’s quiet around here, an apology for said quiet, a paean for the older days, a notice that I miss you folks, and a reasoning for why things can get so quiet.

I hope you’re well. I hope you’re still here, even if you’re lurking. And if you’re not, eh, I can’t blame you. Entropy claims everything.

But, I’m here now, dudes! I’m here now, with yet another tardy Monday Morning Commute. It’s the gabfest where I share what I’m looking forward to in a given week! So, without further ado, here’s what I’m sweating!

I hope you’ll join me in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: Presidents’ Day

Presidents' Day

Don’t try tell me about patriotism, hombre.

Y’think you’re a patriot? Y’think you love America? Y’think you’ve bled red, white, and blue for the nation?

Well, who am I t’say y’haven’t?  Nobody. So I won’t.

But let me just give you a hypothetical. What if there was a guy who somehow figured out how to travel to different realities? Y’know, like, different dimensions. And what if every time he went to a different reality, it wreaked havoc on his body? And what if we ain’t talkin’ `bout no minor headache – we’re talkin’ about bleedin’ from the eyes and bones feelin’ like they’re breakin’ and lungs wheezin’ out but not fillin’ up and vomitin’ out the ass and a really bad genital rash?

Y’know, like how it is after takin’ some really quality club drugs.

Anyways, back to my point. So, what if – just what if – despite all of negative repercussions, this guy keeps on travelin’ to different realities? And what if this transdimensional sojournin’ wasn’t for recreational purposes, but for patriotic ones?  Y’know, like, a fact-findin’ mission. Go on enough to find out how different scenarios play out, and y’might be able to help your nation steer away from the Sirens and towards Valhalla.

“If this went that way and that went this way, well, then we’d be better off! What if `ole Jelly Bean Reagan didn’t run for a second term? What if Baby Hitler choked on a chicken bone? What if? What if?!”

So, despite killin’ himself slowly – and surely – this guy keeps hoppin’ into different realities, all for the sake of givin’ Uncle Sam the fullest report possible. Would y’call this guy a patriot?

Y’goddamn right.

Apologies if I come across as rambunctious, I just always get whupped up on Presidents’ Day.

But, as President RFK once said, “Get me a coffee, a copy of the Times, and an answer as to why the hell we don’t have a moonbase yet!”



Now that you’ve survived some drivel-fiction, it’s time to share what we’ll all be doing this week. Y’know, to survive the grind of the day-to-day.

What albums, books, movies, video games, beers, roller coasters, pharmaceuticals, aerobics classes, or foodstuffs will you be using as protective padding these next few days?

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Monday Morning Commute: Face-Smashed Freedom

Face-Smashed Freedom

Smash your face through the glass.

Don’t resist. Why resist? Because you think there’s another way out? Because you think that someone will come to save you? Because you think the robot sent to murder you would rather have a smoke break instead?

There isn’t. They won’t. It wouldn’t.

So with your arms tied behind your back and that glass window the only means of egress at your disposal, you’ve only got one viable option. You’ve got to smash your face through that fucking glass, projectile yourself through the jagged shards, and pray to Baal that you don’t fatal-nick any of your precious heart-tubes.

But if you pull it off, you’ll be staved. Not saved — `cause no who’s been targeted by one of those clunky metal fucks gets away forever – but staved. And don’t give me any shit about the “you” not being the direct object or that it’s “the inevitable” or “your demise” that’s been “staved off,” because I know what the fuck I’m going for here.

Anyways, I hear the gears and whirrings of a Kill-Bot coming. So, what’re you going to do? Accept your doom or fight for a few more minutes of possibility? What do I suggest?

Smash your face through the glass.



Now that you’ve survived a worrisome bit of drivel-fiction, it’s time to share the fun stuff we’ll be doin’ this week! What’re you puttin’ into your brain so that it lights up? What’s the rock that you’ll be rollin’ to get through the workin’ days?

Let’s go!

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Monday Morning Commute: claw. tooth. & nail.

claw. tooth. & nail.


What’s this weekly feature, you ask? Well, first I’m going to batter your brain with some drivel-fiction sci-fi nonsense. After that, I’m going to share some of the entertainment foodstuffs I’ll be devourin’ over the course of the week. Y’know, as a means of sustaining joy during the spirit-threatin’ workdays.

But wait! The best part is when everyone who isn’t me jumps into the comments section to share what they’ll be doing this week! So enough with the prelude, let’s go for it!

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Monday Morning Commute: The Long Winter

monday morning commute the long winter

Man, fuck the winter. I have always romanticized, and quite frankly enjoyed, the winter. But not this year, friends. Not this year at all. I can’t handle the barren HellScape this year. Whereas in past I rejoiced in scaling it with snowbeast in tow, this year it’s just a reminder of the fact that it isn’t May. But it’s not the physical hardships that have me ground down. I can do the cold and the snow.

It’s the emotional. More than usual, my brain-veins are struggling to pump. I can reason with the weather, but I can’t reason with the malaiseyonnaise struggling to course through the meat-electricity of my flesh-bag. So, I must confess I just haven’t been able the mental wherewithal to write this son of a bitch.

But, I’m here now! So, while whatever chemicals are sloshing around relatively favorably in my body, I shall let you know what I’m looking forward to this week. Or rather since it’s Wednesday, what I’m looking forward to, and what I’ve been enjoying.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

By way of Wednesday afternoon.

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Monday Morning Commute: Rainmaker, The One Who Makes It Rain

the one who makes it rain

Back to life, friends. Back to reality. At least, for people like me who are fortunate enough to have spent the last week wallowing in excess and friendship. So I have returned to reality, and I’m currently sitting in a very quiet Writing Center, writing very quietly.

None the less.

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Monday Morning Commute: Third Time’s a Charm

Third Time's a Charm

Three more times.

I’ll go in on Monday and they’ll give me a shot in the neck. It’s to thin the blood or unclog an artery or loosen the lung-junk or some shit. Truthfully, I wasn’t really listenin’ too carefully when Doctor Familiabeutt was explainin’ everything. Fuck, why would I? When someone’s explainin’ complicated plans that they’re goin’ to stick to and you’re just showin’ up for, it’s no good to ask questions and it’s just as bad to listen carefully. Just get the broad strokes, nod your head, offer a smile – or, in this case, a half-smile, and move along.

Two more times.

On Wednesday they’re goin’ to clip my toes. Not my toenails, my goddamn toes. Again, I wasn’t hearin’ his words too closely, but Doc said somethin’ or other about toes shootin’ clean off during the final step of the procedure. And, given the task at hand, it wouldn’t really matter for me, but apparently it often left the office a bloody mess. So, in the middle of the week I’d say goodbye to my ten little piggies.

One more time.

On Friday I’ll take my final trip to the Medical Offices of Temporary Corporeal Vessels. After checking in, Doctor Familiabeutt will hook up my gonads and forearms to the fleshlectrodes. After being given the opportunity to say a final word or two and sip upon a beverage of my choice – I’m choosing Dr. Pepper – the switch’ll be flipped.

I hate goin’ to the doctor’s office, but at least this week I know that third time’ll be a charm.



I’m going to give you a heads-up about some of the ways I’ll be surviving the workweek. Then, you hit up the comments sections and tell us about what you’ll be doing to survive. It’s entertainment show-and-tell at its best, worst, and kookiest.

Let’s rock!

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Monday Morning Commute: Bro, that is bad ass

monday morning commute bro that is bad ass

Monday Morning Commuteon a fucking Monday? Up is down! Left is right! The Earth is saved, humanity operates on a higher than base, cruel level, and the Eagles are winning the Super Bowl!

Nothing makes sense, friends! Nothing! But, here we are anyways.

Nothing makes sense, friends! Nothing! But, when has it ever, anyways?

I hope you’re doing fantastic. May your sexual glands be drained, your cups full of your beverage of choice, and your stomach stocked with your preferred form of caloric corpulence.

This right here is the aforementioned Monday. Morning. Commute! The weekly wank-off session where I tell you all the things helping me get through this particular work week. Then! Oh, then! Just as importantly, I hope you’ll share what you’re up to in the comments.

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Monday Morning Commute: It’s Just A Fountain Soda, Who Cares?

monday morning commute you saw nothing

Reentry into reality sucks, today. My bowels are still building seriously slippery turds. My sleep schedule is fucked. My brain is staggering around, attempting to figure out how to imbue in students a sense of urgency and discipline that I myself don’t have. But, what can I do? Knuckle up, hunker down, and bang out the rest of the semester.

What can, oh whatever can get me through this week? The rest of the semester? Why, a multitude of things! Why, a multitude of things, condensed into two.

First, the various distractions, distinctions, and arts and farts I’m about to list below!

After all, that’s the whole point of Monday Morning Commute. To share you’re looking forward to this week.

Second, your happenings this week, in the comments section!

After all, that’s the whole point of Monday Morning Commute. To share you’re looking forward to this week.

Without further ado, adieu, to the preamble.

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