#Weekend Open Bar

Weekend Open Bar: Some of that old school buddy cop action, dude

weekend open bar buddy cop type action

What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m aiight, kicking it. I’m aiight, sluggishly tumbling headfirst into the final weekend of the semester. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Skull-meat’s synapses barely firing, as my thickened blood fails to pump all that well.

But, I’m blessed enough to have the weekend off.

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Weekend Open Bar: Live Fat! Die Full! It’s The Only Way!

weekend open bar live fat die full

Hello, friends! It’s Weekend Open Bar! Pull a chair up to the hearth. Summon your favorite chemicals from the servo-droid behind the counter. Pop off your pants, oh, I know, they’re a bit tight from this week’s corpulence. And relax! Just straight-up fucking relax with me. Your co-host, your champion, your spirit-guide. Let us move together through a miasma of revelry, consumption, contemplation, and companionship.

What are you up to this weekend, comrades? Shoving any old ladies out of the way for a discounted blender at TarMart? Catching up on any stories on the TeleVisor? Trying to rationalize the utter depravity that is your diet these past few days?

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Weekend Open Bar: I Eat Stickers All The Time, Dude!

weekend open bar i eat stickers all the time

Friends! Friends. I’m at a level of fatigue that I do not usually reach. Oh, the ethers from beyond beckon me towards slumber. Like not eternal slumber, don’t get me wrong. More like, oh, I don’t know. Eating six Pop Tarts, drowning my esophagus in ice cream, and drifting off. Drifting off where? Ideally to the Astral Plane for a good twelve or so hours. Just ripping ass, snoring, and healing my weakened mind-shafts.

The good news?

The good news is that I am of that privileged sort that has the weekends off.

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Weekend Open Bar: Now serving Cultural Rot-Gut, extra seasoning

weekend open bar now serving cultural rot-gut

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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Weekend Open Bar: And I Want My Scalps!

weekend open bar and i want my scalps

It’s the Weekend! It’s the Open Bar. Arriving not a moment too soon, too. For some reason, it’s been a long goddamn week. That ain’t a rhetorical opener, either. Don’t know why, but this week has run me ragged. The good news, oh the good news, is that I have two fucking weddings lined up to really put the nail through my emotional skull. But, I can’t complain too much. The weekend is stacked with merriment, outside of the culturally produced, economically encouraged social obligations.

I got scalps on my mind! Nazi-hunting on my mind. Got some (wait for) stranger things on my mind too, involving the 1980s and Lovecraftian monsters.

So, all in all, I suppose I ain’t too despondent about the weekend.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Horizon Smelled Like Pleasant Lies

weekend open bar the horizon smelled like pleasant lies

Man. If you only knew how much time I burned through looking for a header image for this post. If you only knew how much time I burned through trying to come up with a title for this post. But here I am, folks. Opening up the Weekend Open Bar for one and all.

Now. I’m covered in sweat, lowered in the couch, delayed in showering before this evening’s activities.

Later. I’ll be covering myself in crumbs, lowering myself in the couch, consuming media with Bateman.

You. What are you doing tonight? Saturday? This weekend? What are you playing? Eating? Watching? Reading? Contemplating?

Somehow. It’s time for yet another Weekend Open Bar.

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Weekend Open Bar: Informal Gluttony

weekend open bar informal gluttony

It’s the fucking weekend, baby!

Not a minute too soon, not a moment too early. Caught myself some Blade Runner 2049 last night (it’s fucking amazing), and it was worth it! But goddamn, did I ever mentally and physically pay the Iron Price for it. No sleep, very little sleep, what sleep was had was shoddily attained that.

But!

It’s the fucking weekend, baby!

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Weekend Open Bar: Lake of Fire

lake of fire

We are literally awash in Biblical Ass Shit these days, folks. Official term for the fires gnashing their away across Western portion of the Empire, and the Hurricanes engulfing the Eastern portion. The Earth’s melting, the boot of the Empire is stomping, and the Universe itself is dying. Thus, while there are bigger things to worry about than being late opening the Weekend Bar, I still feel bad. For if we can’t dance together as the Palaces burn, what can we do?

So, let’s hang out! Indulge in the chemicals and calories of your choice, pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me.

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Weekend Open Bar: Ba De Ya – Dancing In September

weekend open bar dancing in september

Oh, Oh, Oh! Dancing in September! Welcome to Weekend Open Bar! And it’s a uniquely special one, at least on the annual tip. It’s the first Weekend Open Bar of my favorite time of year. Mother. Fucking. Fall. Though not officially penetrating the calendar until later this month, this weekend begins a maelstrom of miscellany during the upcoming week which officially signals it for yours truly. So I’m lighting the autumn candles, slipping into a hoodie, and wanking it to rotting leaves, spectral forms populating our general psyche, gridiron collisions, and blockbuster games dropping.

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Weekend Open Bar: Here and There

weekend open bar here and there

It’s the Weekend! Open! Bar!

Still though!

I, I don’t got nothing to say. Been up since around 9 am, peak caffeine hit around six hours ago, and now I’m sort of downshifting my horrid, horrid, chemically-abysmal blood in preparation for a more relaxed evening. So, the invocations bring nothing to the finger tips. Especially since, if I’m being honest, I really want to be supine with a couple of funny books in my grubby paws.

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