Hey, friends! It’s me, the Captain of the Space-Ship Omega welcoming you to the beginning of the Holiday Gauntlet. No doubt, it can be a wonderful time of the year. Yet, it can also provide an impressive cavalcade of social obligations, forced-monetary expenditures, and rolling darkness. What to do, what to do? Well, for starters take a fucking breath. Then, pull up a chair around the cosmic-hearth here on the ship. You can take refuge here in the Weekend Open Bar! Herein you’ll find like-minded folk shooting the shit about their weekend.
Perhaps this weekend the conversation will center on how much money we spent on Black Friday deals. And the shotgun dropkicks we gave the elderly to procure said deals. Or, maybe we enumerate the various caloric depravities we’ve indulge in. Anything and everything goes, so long as the golden rule is not violated:
Thou shall be chill.
Hey all! Fucking late, I know. What can I say? It’s bit of a grind at the moment. The sun doesn’t exist! Oh, it doesn’t exist! But, ennui does! In my bones. But, snow does! In my backyard. I’m here now, though. So, I hope that counts for something. I’m a bit tardy, but I’m ripping open the door to the Weekend Open Bar! Come one, come all! Let’s chat this weekend around the dumpster-fires of the post-apocalypse slop-culture dystopia we live in.
What are you playing this weekend? Some Fallout 76? What are you watching this weekend? Widows? Fantastic Queefs? What are you eating? I want to know it all! I want to spend this darkened, frosty weekend with you folks, the citizens of the Space-Ship Omega!
Oh fuck! I’m a day late! But, is forgiveness offered because it’s a long weekend? Please, forgive me! Seriously though, I’m here! Here now. Here ready to party. Here ready to talk about whatever you wanna talk about. After all, that’s the point of Weekend Open Bar! To shoot the weekend shit with the other denizens of Space-Ship Omega! Let’s talk, fuckers!
Wanna talk prostate orgasms? I’m here.
Wanna talk Sam Esmail’s latest auteur masterpiece Homecoming? I’m here.
Wanna talk Red Dead Redemption 2? I’m here.
Anything and everything goes here within these madness-slickened walls.
Oh, it’s a wild one! With a good portion of the Space-Ship Omega crew checking in. What do we got going on in here? Playing The Messenger. Brainstorming a new creature for Ridley Scott’s Alien franchise. The butthugger. Which induces death by stimulating the prostate. Ian tells people who like Gladiator to grow up. Other trash. Join us!
Hey, fuckers! I’m here! I’m here. I promise, I’m here. Quickly penning a Monday Morning Commute before I have to lay down the facts in front of students in my 2pm class. These facts? That if they don’t pass in their papers, they’ll fail. Self-evident facts, but hey. The mind boggles at how many self-evident facts fail to resonate in the skull-pipes of the average folk.
Anyways, anyways. I’m a bit off topic. This here is Monday Morning Commute. The column that I post every week. Herein, you’ll find the various games, movies, sporting events, and other miscellany that I’m either enjoying or anticipating in order to get me through a given week. In particular, I’m about to list off all the things I’m enjoying, in an effort to forget that fucking fifty-percent of my students didn’t do their fourth paper.
Please join me in the comments section!
Let’s go, members of Space-Ship Omega! Join Bags and me as we play The Messenger. Talk trash. Reference childhood traumas, 1980s action movies, and other happy horseshit!
Hey! Jesus Fuck, did we make it? To the weekend? By god, we did! And, if you’re lucky enough to have it the weekend off like me, it’s time to fucking celebrate. Let’s celebrate together, right here! At the Weekend Open Bar! It’s the weekly way station here on the Space-Station Omega! Where we all gather, sharing what we’re up to on a given weekend!
Aw yeah, motherfuckers! This week we started The Messenger. And, it fucking rules! You know what else also rules? Ian talking about how he murmurs to his wife post-coitus, “Don’t Grow My Children.” And, you know what also-also rules? Bags confessing that he essentially hit puberty at the age of 4, during Wrestlemania or some shit. Good times. Horrifying times. For your consumption and enjoyment.