Weekend Open Bar: Retro [ROUGH]
I’m up in Vermont for a wedding. My wife is one of two Matrons of Honor (a cowardly option for getting out of determining, in front of friends and family, your “favorite” person), so she’s off doing things. Like what? Oh, I don’t know. Helping the bride ascribe significance to a litany of generic prefabricated rituals that belong to one of the most industrialized and fabricated social customs in our culture.
But hey, that leaves me alone in our overly expensive, gaudy ass, nightmare hotel room at the inn.
To sit, crush Pepsi Max, diarrhea, get some work done. The diarrhea reminds me to drink Pepsi Max, the Pepsi Max reminds my bowels to diarrhea. Speaking of perfect unions, I think I’ve found one. An ouroboros of caffeineated-turd glory.
To refresh the typical blogs, jerk it once-twice-who-is-knocking-go-away-room-service-three times.
And! More importantly! Welcome you to Weekend Open Bar!
Come hang out with me this Weekend! Join me, tonight! As I get stoned and try my hardest not to dance at the reception. Join me, Saturday! As I drive home in the morning, and then watch Lucha Underground that evening with Bateman! Join me, Sunday! As I…I don’t know. As I celebrate waking up in my own bed!
What are you up to this weekend, comrades? What are you eating? Playing? Drinking? Mashing your blood-flushed pink nubs to? Watching? Contemplating?
Let’s hang out!