#Monday Morning Commute

Monday Morning Commute: I love the kind of woman that can kick my ass!

monday morning commute - i love the kind of woman

What the fuck is up, members of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m currently typing this bitch while actual rays of sun blast through my window. And while they aren’t supercharging my glands, my glutes, and my muscles ala Superman, these rays do feel good. So I’m hitting this son of a bitch with a bit more ebullience than I would have, had I actually written this yesterday.

Which I intended to, honest! But then the day got in the way, and blah, blah. None the less, let’s embrace the Here and the Now together.

What are you radical fucking pseudo-primates up to this week? What are you enjoying? Sweating the next WandaVision? Gleefully watching the snow melt? I don’t know, enjoying baseball’s Spring Training or some other odd shit?

I want to know! I want to show! I’ll go! First!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Monday Morning Commute: Father Forgive Me

Father forgive me, because I do know what I do! Mainly, I fling profanities and fluids with a carelessness that must be condemned and appreciated. You know? Oh, you fucking know! Seriously though, I had to riff one last time on 30 Coins before its season finale this week. Mamma mia, what a really, really, really fun fucking show. Sad to see it go, glad to have experienced it, quietly wondering if we are going to get a second season.

But that wild, wonderful show about secret sects, spider babies, forbidden gospels, and hot, hot people ain’t the only thing I’m enjoying this week. In fact, I got a whole fucking list of shit I’m digging this week! Double in fact, I’m about to reveal that list to you! Open your eyes! Open your mind! Open your ass! Bask in the infinity of my hobbies and interests! Scream, as said list shears mind from common sense. Scream, as said list condemns you to an oblivion only previously thought theoretical.

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Monday Morning Commute: Lord Knows I’m Tired

monday morning commute - lord knows i'm tired

As our own Neo said to me today, lately my ass definitely sounds “kinda burned for this early in the semester” and he ain’t wrong. I don’t know, man! Fucking snow! Fucking gray skies! Fucking remote teaching! It’s all just a lot, and every day survived feels like a small victory. There’s sludge in the brain! Mud in the blood! My synaptic cycling is definitely more slowed than preferred.

Eh! Fuck it, right? I mean, I don’t know what to do.

Keep moving! Keep going! Push forward.

I’m just grousing, but I’m here! Which has to count for something, right? Please tell me yes. Just lie, if need be. I need it.

Meanwhile, despite my gloom, I’m enjoying my fair share of commodities and consumerist models. So I’m gonna share these oddities, commodities, and various arts & farts with ya’ll. Then, I hope you’ll decide to join me in the comments section.

Let’s fucking go!

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Monday Morning Commute: my skeleton is my oldest house

monday morning commute my skeleton is my oldest house

It’s true! My skeleton is my oldest house. Within its walls, do I ever haunt. The burbling, bubbling of a mad brain. The frenzied, arrhythmic horrors of an over-caffeinated heart.  The creaky, laborious groans of a skeleton subjected to gravity, entropy, and exertion. Oh, does my soul walk these halls. Oh, do I ever haunt. This house, the oldest house, it treats me well.

The oldest house keeps my meat-processor protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

The oldest house keeps my circuitry protected from the elements, until it doesn’t.

I don’t fault the oldest house for its failing, for when it fails to protect me. Or, when the piping gets clogged. Or, when the meat-processor over-heats, or short-circuits. After all, what house is infallible? Show me the lark selling that shanty, and I’ll show you a liar.

My house, the oldest house, isn’t perfect.

But it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

I take reasonable care of it, and it takes reasonable care of me.

On certain days, we’d probably ask more out of one another, but for the most part we’re pretty happy. Which is good.

‘Cause it’s the house I’ve got, and it’s the house I’ll have, until I have no house no more.

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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Monday Morning Commute: Them Hard Earned (30) Coins, Baby

monday morning commute hard 30 earned coins, baby

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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Monday Morning Commute: Goodbye and Goodnight to 2020!

monday morning commute goodbye and goodnight to 2020

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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Monday Morning Commute: Maybe It Just Needs A Little Love

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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Monday Morning Commute: It’s Sweatpants Season, Baby!

monday morning commute it's sweatpants season

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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Monday Morning Commute: A Cascade of Comfort

Seven years ago today, I wrote a Monday Morning Commute where I was getting excited for the PlayStation 4. It was titled “A Cascade of Nonsense” and captured how stoked I was! Now, I’m writing an MMC getting excited for the PlayStation 5. Mamma mia, right? This place has been around for a long, long time. And I’m glad it is, to serve as a community and a chronicling of my adventures and excitements.

Small comforts in big times, my friend. They’re the only way I’m navigating this minefield of civic unrest, worldwide sickness, and Zoom classrooms. For if we can’t find them, then what? Doom! Gloom! Madness!

So, I’m about to tell you what I’m excited for this week. Then, I hope you’ll hop into the comments section and give me your own run down.

This is Monday Morning Commute. On a Wednesday. Live from the Space-Ship Omega.

Let’s do this.

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Monday Morning Commute: Pleasant to Death

monday morning commute pleasant to death

Welcome to Monday Morning Commute on Election Tuesday! I’ll tell you something, my friends. I had begun writing this column yesterday, and it was full of piss, vinegar, and a real fucking white-knuckled fist at the world. And, you know what? It was just exhausting, my dudes. I petered out after the first paragraph and called it quits. I just don’t have it in me to rage, rage, against the Dying Democracy. Instead, fuck it. I offer you this boon, this refuge from the insanity of the Outside Digiverse.

Now listen, I’m not saying to not care. Now listen, I’m not saying to not vote like your future queer daughter’s life depends on it. However, lost in 2020 is the need for self-care. For sure, i’s a privileged practiced. Everyone needs it, not everyone can attain it, and I care and have empathy for those less fortunate.

But, if you can spare a few minutes, hang out here at MMC with me. I can’t promise you anything other than my kindness, but I’m genuinely curious what you’re looking forward to in this Hellscape of a week. Okay, fuck, that was dark. Listen, I’m trying, but reality does penetrate me straight through the ass every once in a while.

I got my own collections of diversion, distractions, and diluting potions I’m imbibing this week. In fact, I’ll fucking tell you! Then follow-up in the comments with your own laundry list of pleasantries.

I love you all, this is Monday Morning Commute!

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