Guilty of nostalgia, motherfuckers! Of the honeying of childhood, the discarding of its various horrors, and the embracing of its warm glow. Listen, if you watch the stream you know that my childhood was wonderfully replete with woes. At the same time, it was also a time of magic. Nothing quite rocks one’s ass like a childhood discovery. Be it a horror film that sculpted your brain, a video game that changed your life, or a metal album that had you throwing up the metal horns. Fucking A, bro! Sure, you grow, and continue to find things you love. Hopefully! Hopefully.

I suppose I should acknowledge that many people find themselves despondent in their aging corpus, and retreat into the bosom of nostalgia. They suckle upon the curdling milk of Mother Wayback’s teats. That ain’t healthy, and I do pride myself on continuing to find joy and wonder in new experiences, even as I approach Middle Age. That said, there’s a joy to rekindling old memories with friends, such as you fucks, here at the Weekend Open Bar and on the streams.

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Holy cannoli, motherfuckers! I am back! Not only am I back, but I’m back with a little secret. I actually started this MMC last week, and then just sort of petered out. Yup, both the title and the image were forced in the stupidity of 7-days prior! But we all know the fucking truth, right? My stupidity is both eternal, and timeless. Seven days ain’t going to change that, nor really changed what I’m up to these days. Actually, that’s sort of a lie. Last week, Sam and I were in the continued thralls of Mother-in-Law mania, but it’s definitely cooled down since then. The general VIBE in the HOUSE OMEGA is far more relaxed now. Which is obviously a good thing, ’cause, you know, I feel mentally capable of writing something in this here WordProcessingUnit.

Anyways, enough of this fucking prologue, no? Let’s jump down into the happenings (the haps!) for the week! Then in the comments section you slugs better share what you’re up to in this week! It’s the pact we have made, we have sealed in blood and discussion of boobs and butts over the past 10+ years.

This is Monday Morning Commute, you motherfuckers!

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It’s true, dudes. Everyone in Greek mythology is absolutely gorgeous and definitely fucks. Just, you know how it goes when you’re immortal and hot as shit. No holes barred. Pun intended, motherfucker! But, enough of my puerile pourings. Right? I mean, that ain’t the objective of this column. Is it? Maybe, maybe it actually happens to be. You know, just a place to blather on and on with all you good folks, across a given weekend. After all, this shit is the Weekend Open Bar.

Your one-stop shop for reading my ruminations on Greek Gods fucking, conversing with other members of the Space-Ship Omega about what they’re up to this weekend, and other happy horseshit!

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By god, we fucking made it! 2021, motherfuckers! The new year has arrived not a moment too soon, and I’m glad to karate chop the neck of the previous 365 days. I know there’s the fair critique that time is arbitrary, a new calendar don’t mean shit, and nothing magically changes. That said, it still counts for something. Our little human meat-computers process reality through the experiencing of touchstone moments. Holidays, birthdays, and word, the new year. Don’t blame me, I’m just the messenger. Science shows that shit.

Which means while the calendar flipping may not change anything, the start of the new year is a solid-as-fuck totem we can cling onto as we eye happier days in the upcoming months. So, fuck yeah, arbitrary or not, I’m stoked to finally be rid of the previous shit-ass year.

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Jesus fucking Christ, we made it to the end of this year. Congratulations if you’re reading this. The thresher may have ripped and torn at your nipples. Grinded and pulverized your soul. But you fucking made it, my dude! There’s a goddamn victory in that, even if your psyche is in tatters. May the next year give way to actual social events (albeit still mutated, sure), and a warm balm that may not heal the scar tissue, but soothe the soul.

We made it! Oh fucking thank the disaffected Eldritch Ones, we made it. So let’s celebrate that shit with one last Monday Morning Commute in this accursed year, no?

Tell me, what are you up to this holiday week! Are you cracking open a new video game? A new IPA? A new batch of wet wipes and grinding out one last batch of proto-children? Let’s celebrate the arts & farts one last time together, then help launch the engine that’ll shoot this year into the fucking sun.

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Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals!

To each and every one of you motherfuckers. Man, what a fucking year it’s been. I mean, unconventional to say the least. No? Unconventional! To say the fucking least. In a year of unconventional existence, why would the holidays be any different? They wouldn’t! Which is why this Christmas Eve has been a quiet, muted affair for me. Christmas will follow too in a similar manner, obviously.

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Whelp, the end of the semester has arrived. Just in time to compliment last week’s news that my wife doesn’t have cancer! A really lovely double axe handle to 2020’s absolutely brutal ennui. For the first time in a while I’m sleeping again, smiling again, enjoying the general day-to-day existence. Of course, I’m still concerned that dickheads out there are partying as the Pandemic reaches its peak! Of course, I’m still concerned that a significant strand of the Republican Party has turned into a reality-denying sledgehammer that is attempting to split the head of democracy fully open.

But, but, hey. We aren’t going to be able to turn the entire ship around. Not this quickly, perhaps not at all. However, the changes in my personal life are enough to gloss the synapses a bit, and allow me to enjoy my time with my wife! With you fucks! And make the best out of a mutilated holiday season, sans physical contact with friends and family.

Thus my friends, let’s dance the dance of digital reverie! Hark! What are you up to this week? Hark! What are you enjoying this week? This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Oh holy fucking moly, it’s the end of a deeply exhausting week! Glad that Sam’s surgery is behind us, compelled to pray that her results back clean, and refreshed from my first decent night’s sleep last night. So man, I’m fucking stoked. To being able to relax for the next couple of days, prior to tackling the last week of the semester.

But, enough about my stinking, rotting ass!

How the fuck are you all dong, my friends? This is Weekend Open Bar, and I implore you to hang out with me! Keep me company during this first weekend of December, an odd December no doubt.

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Hey! You fucks! How are you all doing? During this week of Giving Thanks, amid the most rotten-ass year in memory? How are you all doing? During this week of a Blackest Friday, amid the most rotten-ass year of Fridays in memory? This guy? Truthfully, I’m fucking zonked, dude. My core feels hallowed out, and spread across the astral plane. I exist as a collection of core functions, shambling through the next couple of days. If I can make it to Thursday, I’m golden!

Then? On Thursday? I’m popping on a pair of joggers, pulling up a chair, and just fucking getting gluttonous. Consuming some Thanksgiving feast. Consuming some shitty movies with Bateman. Consuming some Spider-Man: Miles Morales.

I’m really just leaning into the concept of elastic waistbands and corpulence this week.

Tell me, what are your plans this week? Crushing some mashed potatoes? Crushing some Shadowlands? Crushing a backlog of comic books with your free time?

I want to know!

This is Monday Morning Commute, Thanksgiving Week Edition!

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You know, it’s been a goddamn crazy week! To the point where I actually started a MMC with the same headline, and, whelp. That shit was flushed down the existentially quickness when the week hit warp speed. That said, I’m here now! How the fuck is everyone doing? Before we get going, a reminder. Check your pants for your genitals, check your wallet for a lucky dollar bill, and check your psyche for the few firing neurons left.

You back? You good? Your biological pump-and-chasm working? Lucky dollar in place? Brain tethered together with Insistence and Folly? Fucking good. Good! So, let’s hang the fuck out now! Given that we’re all in one place, secured, and seizing.

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