#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: They Still Haven’t Killed Me

They Still Haven't Killed Me

They still haven’t killed me.

That’s not to say there haven’t been a few close calls. That time I pulled the job on the Federation Bank on Ganymede? Goddamn, that pig went belly-up the second I scratched the skin, but I walked out with an empty clip and sack full of cash. Needless to say, I won’t be going back to Jupiter anytime soon.

Or that time I stowed aboard the Belt Skipper in the hopes of finding my beau for a real lunar tryst of a weekend. Of course, I was discovered halfway through, and that fuck of a captain tried the `ole airlock gag on me. Thing is, that shit only works on the criminally unprepared, and I’m nothing if not one prepared criminal. Fucker punched the release and I flashed him the bird before wrapping myself in a solar sail and then leisurely drifting to a comrade’s outpost.

Oh, and then just yesterday I was having a drink at Old  McQuarrie’s — bourbon and white wine, if you care – and all of a sudden the place goes neon! Bullets and beams whizzing past my head, Old McQuarrie crying behind the bar and doing that thing he does where he says those prayers and grabs at the – whatcha call it – that’s right, the Rosary beads! They managed to kill an old pervert sitting next to me, which is a shame because even though he’d spent a half hour shamelessly trying to get into my pants, everyone in the community really loved him.

So anyways, I end up having to basically gut Old McQuarrie’s with the better part of my arsenal – and I don’t just mean bullets and blades, I’m talking about pulse charges and pheno-drones, too. But, when someone’s trying to take your life, you don’t think to yourself, “Maybe I should save something for next time,” `cause the truth is that there might not be a next time.

They still haven’t killed me.
And I’ve got the privilege of next time.
But next time? They might just kill me.

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, you salty dogs!

Y’either know the drill or y’don’t. If y’do, just keep movin’ along! If y’don’t, well here’s what’s what: first I warm you up with some half-baked bit of writing nonsense (see above). Then, I share what I’ll be thinking about or watching or listening to or doing over the next week. Finally, you hit up the comments section and share your own tentative plans?

Why do we do this here at OL? Well, because life can be brutal but solidarity can be liberating. We’re all just trying to make our days manageable — or enjoyable or maybe even, in rare instances, triumphant — and sometimes a good suggestion goes a long way.

Enough blathering, let’s freakin’ dance!

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Monday Morning Commute: It’s hell on Earth and the city’s on fire

monday morning commute its hell on earth

It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.

Yesterday was one of those days where the laptop didn’t leave the book bag upon my return to the Mother-Ship. But, I’m here now! Ready to give you the rundown of what I’m looking forward to this week! Ready to eagerly anticipate your own happenings in the comments section.

It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.

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Monday Morning Commute: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

clap your hands say yeah!

It’s been four weeks, but goddamn, I’m back. Computer, uh, healed. Its technological malfunctions sated by the astralGeniuses and of course the corporealCurrencies paid forth to said astralGeniuses. I, I can’t complain about the corporealCurrencies spent or the fact that the astralGeniuses really didn’t live up to their name. ‘Cause finally I have a fucking computer again. The Engines of Depravity that power the Space-Ship Omega and this Garbage Lord are whirring up to full strength, and we’re just going to fucking resume operations.

I’ve missed you fucks.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The weekly wank-off over the arts&farts that are serving to propel us through a given week. You know, the shit we’re looking forward to, enjoying, anticipating, worshipping, that serve as a balm on the existential burns of existence.

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Thursday Morning Whatever The Fuck: Who Gives A Shit

thursday morning whatever the fuck

Hello, salutations, and greetings, fellow Trash Lords. Scions of the Elder Garbage. It’s I, your fearless dumpster pile, Caffeine Powered. Coming to you from a shitty, broken down computer at the public university at which I theoretically work. I say theoretically since due to bureaucracy and the lack of an actual budget for the Fall Semester (seriously), I haven’t gotten paid since August. Eh, whatever, whatever.

I come to you here, because as I’ve commented upon in other posts, my goddamn personal computing machine is about to enter its own fourth week of in-action.

But, hey. I got time before class, so I figured I would throw some sort of line of communication into the EchoChamber.

For perhaps the first and only time, it’s Thursday Whatever The Fuck! My angered, frantic Thursday edition of Monday Morning Commute.

I miss ya’ll, I miss blogging for ya’ll (all three of you), so here’s what I’m up to this week. You know, when I’m not embracing a desiccated bank account and a general malaise.

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Monday Morning Commute: Pig Roast Don’t Cry

Pig Roast Don't Cry

“Y’gotta jam the apple in his mouth before y’roast him!”

“Stuff that!”

“Zackkly, y’gotta stuff it right in and then y’can roast the fucker on a spit real goo-”

“Nah, man, stuff that as in fuck that. We put an apple in that pig’s mouth and then tryta roast him on a spit, whattaya thinks gonna happen?”

“I don’t thinks nothing’s gonna happen, I knows what’s gonna happen! All that’s gonna happen is we’re gonna have us some good-goddamn-delicious barbecue, and its smoky-goodness is gonna have a hint of apple!”

“You fuckin’ moron! Lookit his fuckin’ mouth — it’s too fuckin’ small! Stick an apple in there and then spin him around and around? It’s gonna fuckin’ fall out! We kill this pig, we roast him up real good, and then we jam the apple in his mouth as a garnish!”

Clint, despite every instinct-bone in his body aching, had to admit that his brother had a point. Which really sucked, because Clint had been building up this moment in his mind for months, visualizing how it’d go down. And no matter what changed in his mind — the guilty parties present, the setting, the time of day — one thing always remained the same.

The Senator would be roasted on a spit, naked save for his tie and socks and the flag lapel stabbed into his tit, and he’d unable to scream because of the apple jammed into his mouth.

But if Clint’d learned anything since joining a gang of jenkem-huffing bipartisan cannibals, it was that sometimes you just had to temper your expectations.

“Awh, aight Brucie, you makes a good point! But I still thinks we should wait until the apple’s in his mouth before we post to Facebook!”

“Of course, Clint. Of course.”

—-

This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

I’ve just foisted some drivel-fiction nonsense upon you. Thanks for putting up with me. Oh, who am I? I’m Rendar Frankenstein — hack writer, amateur sociologist, and pop culture enthusiast.

So, here’s the deal: I’m going to show you some of the stuff I’ll be consuming in the hopes of staving off workweek-ennui. Then, you hit up the comments and show off what you’ll be consuming! And then we all share!

Really, it’s sort of like a pop culture/entertainment-suggestion potluck.

But totally, totally cooler!

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Monday Morning Commute: Moonrock and Roll

moonrock and roll

Y’can set out to crack the moonrocks a hundred times – hell, a hundred thousand times – and it’ll never stop bein’ awe-induncin’. Here I am, Earthborn Nobody, crackin’ rocks on the moon. The fuckin’ moon! And y’look down at that chubby blue dot and get weak in the knees when y’think of all the beauty goin’ on down there.

First kisses and guitar lessons and autumn breezes coolin’ the backs of necks that’ve been sweatin’ all damn summer.

And y’just get enough strength back in y’knees to keep standin’ – hell, I’ll be honest, in normal gravity I’d probably have to have me a good five minute sit-and-cry – and y’get back to work, aimin’ y’pneumatic pickaxe at big clumps of lunar basalt and turnin’ `em into small clumps of lunar basalt. And then Charlie or Connie or Debbie or Dan’ll come on by to gather up whatever it is y’managed to crack, and then they’ll go on and rover `em over to the sortin’ station.

And that’s when y’take another minute or ten to yourself, to catch y’breath and think `bout how y’ain’t winded `cause of the work but `cause of the sight of that blue wonder in front of you, and y’know that it’s real and honest down there. And hell, y’know that y’took this goddamn job `cause you’re jus’ tryin’ to get by and y’know y’probably goin’ to die just as broke and untethered – maybe even more broke and more untethered – than when y’started the gig, but goddamn it y’gettin’ to see somethin’ most never even think to imagine.

To see humanity itself from the outside, to bear witness, it’s a fuckin’ gift. To look down and see the whole thing unfoldin’ before y’eyes, it’s overwhelmin’. Beautifully overwhelmin’. Typhoons and military coups and hands takin’ food out of hungry mouths? Sure, y’can’t deny it. But there’s also love letters and reunions and movie theaters and acts of forgiveness and comfortin’ sunsets watched from hospice windows durin’ final moments.

And honestly? I got no clue how it’ll all shake out in the end for us, no goddamn clue if the ledger’ll be red or black.

So I jus’ crack as many moonrocks as I can, bask in the fact that I even get to take part in this thing, and do my good goddamn best to just roll with it.

—-

This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

What you just read was nonsense from my brain. In order to create that sort of nonsense, I need to make sure that my brain is filled with other nonsense. So! I’m going to describe some of the nonsense I’ll be checking out this week, and then you hit up the comments and share what nonsense you’ll be consuming.

Nonsense! Nonsense! Nonsense!

3! 2! 1! Let’s go!

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Monday Morning Commute: We Can Be Trash Together

we can be trash together

Come one, come all, to Monday Morning Commute. Yeah. Yeah! Fucking Yeah!, I’m late. Again. But, like, hey man. I don’t know, I got nothing. General tardiness. Spent yesterday trying to cobble together peer mentors for my Fall semester classes, while admittedly spending most of it playing Uncharted: The Lost Legacy, and watching Monday Night Raw. I’m Trash It’s okay. I’m Trash! It’s okay. I’m Trash!. It’s okay.

Come with me, friends. We can be Trash together.

Even though I’m tardy, even though I’m on vacation before the Fall Semester Gauntlet begins, I got a good amount of shit I’m up to this week. I got a good amount of shit I’m enjoying this week. I got a good amount of fucking shit I’m looking forward to this week.

I shall elaborate on all three of those categories after the beep, the robot vomits into the digi-textual microphone to check for efficacy, and the buzzer sounds.

Then I hope you shall elaborate on your own happenings in the comments section.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

*beep*

*bzzt, vomit, vomit, one-two-one-two, bzzt*

*buzzer sounds*

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Monday Morning Commute: If It Bleeds We Can Kill It

monday morning commute if it bleeds

Sometimes, man. Sometimes, I just straight-up spend too much time thinking of a post title for a Monday Morning Commute, and then I spend too much time hunting the perfect image. “Perfect”, I know. I’m trash. Anyways, how are you fucking folks doing? You stellar Garbage Lords.

Me?

This guy?

Well, I’m currently pinched for time. Tomorrow I leave for the Great White North, meeting the rest of the family up there for a final service for my Nana. She sloughed the mortal coil last year, I think maybe I discussed it?, and now it’s time.

To throw Nana into the marsh behind the family home. Where her shamanistic tendencies can be unloosed, sent to interact with her fellow Reality Melters in the Gilded Plains of the OMNIVERSE.

Me?

This guy?

Well, I’m currently wasting time!

So here, without further adieu, is what I’m currently enjoying, currently looking forward to, currently sweating. Let me know what you’re up to this week!

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Monday Morning Commute: One More Packet

One More Packet

I only needed one more packet.

My palm couldn’t stop my nosebleed any longer. The old lady behind the counter looked at the rivulets dripping into the crook of my elbow. She shook her head. I kept pleading.

“Please, lady, y’gotta help me out! I only need one more packet!”

“Sorry, Bucko, but the policy’s to stop servin’ after seven packets!”

“C’mon, you already gave me nine!”

“That’s right, I already broke policy for your ass!” She looked at the ceiling in that way mastered only by crusty diner waitresses with stories to tell. “Now, I’ll keep slingin’ coffees your way all night, and we won’t have to have any more frustrated words with — or cross looks at — one another.”

“But, but –”

“No butts, no asses, and the only titty will be a tough-titty for you!” She slid an entire carafe of coffee in front of me. “You wanna light your brain on fire? Try doin’ it with that! But I ain’t givin’ another goddamn packet of Nestle Cocaine.”

I only needed one more packet.

—-

This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

Posted above is some of my patented drivel fiction. I hope you enjoyed it, but don’t blame you if you didn’t. Posted below is a list of some of stuff I’ll be checking out this week. Y’know, things to [excite/expand/extinguish] my brain. After you check out my entertainment itinerary, hit up the comments section and share your own.

TALLY-HO!!!!

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Monday Morning Commute: A Trip Away From Oblivion

monday morning commute trip away oblivion

How are you folks, doing? Me? This human? This flesh-sack, organic-computer, consumption-bot? I’m doing fine.

It’s that weird period of the summer where I’m done teaching, but I still have to go into work.

Just enough of a busy schedule to spend an hour, hour-and-fifteen, or hour-and-a-half in my car, each way, for four days a week.

Just enough of a busy schedule to fight traffic to tutor a couple folks to sit idly waiting to see if anyone else is will need tutoring.

Invariably: they won’t.

Invariably: I’ll sit, eyes-crossed, soul-exhaling-a-continuous-malaise, browsing Tumblr, Facebook, whateverwhatever.

Invariably: then I leave, fighting traffic back to my domicile.

How are you folks, doing? Me? This human? This animated-rot, permanent-horndog, masturbation-factory? I’m doing fine.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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