Hello friends. Another harried edition of Monday Morning Commute for you right here. I’m in that liminal state between teaching and tutoring today (the two hat I don upon the campus), and I reckon this moment may be my only chance to vomit this up before the evening. So uh, rules of the game — we share what we are enjoying, looking forward to, and consuming with great relish on a given week.

Here is my collection of existence!

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“Oh snap! He just kicked off Grandpa’s fuckin’ head! Didja see that shit! Grandpa ain’t got no fuckin’ head anymore!”

Yeah, I guess you can say it was an eventful Fourth of July weekend at Casa de Los Brothers Omega.

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But today is Monday, and as such we must embark upon the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I show you all of the entertainment-junk I’ll crammin’ down my mind-mandible during the next few days. Then, you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what you’ll be feastin’ upon to get to the end of the workweek. Yes, it’s a bit like show-and-tell.

Except instead of kindy-gardners, the participants are the depraved Internet pirates clingin’ to the deck of Spaceship OL.

Okay, let’s do this!

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Hello friends and family aboard the Spaceship Omega. As we hail from the Empire Proper, the lot of us shall be celebrating the Fourth of July. You’re not from this Solar System? Confused as to how we rock our celebrations around these parts? It’s simple! All you have to do to join us is fill yourselves with chemical-soaked animal flesh. In-between teeth gnashing the bits, swallow healthy amounts of Amber Liquids. These suds shall assuage the indigestion. Not only that, but they shall elevate you to another plane. Careful, though. Should you consume too much Amber Liquid and Animal Flesh, you may theoretically pass out in the kiddie pool. With your pants down. Theoretically, you’ll wake up lobster pink. The children will notice your lack of pants, the parents will notice the vomit baked into your beard.

So even though it isn’t in league with the celebration, I also caution temperance.

Ohhh, it’s hotter than a mofuckah’ out there. (There being the Eastern Seaboard, Empire Proper.) How are you friends and foes of the site doing today? I hope you’re doing well. This is Monday Morning Commute. Ya’ll know how it goes down around these parts. Unless you’re an innocent passerby. In which case I say: RUN! But if you’re not going to run, I should probably explain it to you. Within these virtual walls, we explain what we’re up to this week. Share the arts, farts, and life activities carrying us through the next 24×7 hours or whatever.

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Hello, friends. This is Monday Morning Commute. Within these walls, we share the various functions and safety valves we’re utilizing to get us through the daily week. Not only that, it is a post used as a general “this is what’s up in my world” sort of bullshit community building exercise. I hope you’re all well.

Let’s party.

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Welcome to Monday Morning Commute. This is the column where we all slow down enough to talk about what we’re enjoying on a given week. Me? How am I doing? Why, how kind of you to ask! As you may or may not know, I work on a college campus. And this week I’m lucky enough to enjoy the week off between Spring and Summer semesters. I’m going to spend the next seven days trying to figure out what that fuck I’m going to be teaching in a month, watching The Most Ill of all Bro Movies, and throwing a party at my new apartment. It’ll be a good week.

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Welcome to Monday Morning Commute – the weekly tribal meeting where those upon the SpaceShip Omega share what they’re interested in during the next seven or so days. The exercise is designed to pollinate each other’s lives with both shared and new arts and farts, in an effort to mitigate the tediousness that Existence can become.

Time is short, let’s tug on one another.

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Rumble rumble rumble goes the engines of Spaceship-Omega. Here aboard, I’m straight chilling. It is Sunday whilst I type this, though for those without premonition and-or access to dimensions where it is not so, the column won’t be going up until Monday at 9 am. Hello! From the past! The aforementioned column is Monday Morning Commute. Within its walls we share the Enjoyable that we are partaking in during a given week. It’s a simple conceit, and through its execution we brighten our respective Existences. Communal exchange of arts. Maybe even fluids. If you do find a dance partner, please relegate your interfacing to the designated rooms upon the Spaceship.

Let’s do this.

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If there was one thing Durban hated, it was his bedside electronic crow.

Every morning, every goddamn morning, the metal-feathered automaton would leave its battery-perch, hover above the bed, and screech directly into Durban’s face. It didn’t matter to the faux-fowl whether Durban had a day off from the mineral farm or if he was dreaming of his ex-girlfriend from Jupiter or if he was in the midst of an ethanol-fueled fever dream. And this is why it was such an effective companion.

`Cause at 5:45 AM, the electronic crow was guaranteed to terror-scream Durban back into consciousness.

To be fair, Durban recognized the practical value of his name-brand, top-of-the line robot-rooster. After all, he wasn’t going to wake up and go to work completely of his own volition. And who could blame him? It takes a special sort of masochism to rise early enough to catch the first boneshaking Teleport-Shuttle of day to Rhea, the most bastardly of Saturn’s moons, only to spend the next eight hours scavenging for traces of Lupillian.

Goddamn.

But without the bird, Durban wouldn’t get to Rhea on time. And if Durban didn’t get to Rhea on time, there’s no chance an operator would save him an excavator. And if Durban didn’t excavate Lupillian, he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent. And on most days, the thought of not paying his rent on time positively horrified him.

But on one fantastic Monday morning, Durban decided that his hatred of the crow was more palpable than his fear of landlord-ire.

5:45 AM crept into existence, and the crow came to life. Shaking itself off of its docking station, the bird began to flutter upwards. But Durban had awoken nearly a half-hour before, plagued by a crotch-burn no doubt gifted to him by the discount Prosti-Clone he’d rented on Ganymede. So with one eye open and a fire plaguing his urethra, Durban waited for his every-morning adversary to strike first.

“CAW! CAW! THE CURRENT TIME IS FIVE-FORTY-FIVE ANTE-MERIDIEM! CAW! CA-“

Whoosh! The whiskey bottle spiraled through the air! Smash! The crow simply hadn’t been programmed to anticipate such an attack, and as such its beak was decimated by the hard glass corner of the bottle’s ass. The bird spent its last few seconds writhing in robo-agony, head caved in and vital sparks bleeding into the air.

“Well, I guess ya still woke me up, eh?” Durban was crouching down to assess the damage. Seeing that the target was destroyed, he took a self-satisfied swig from the whiskey bottle and walked over to his much-littered coffee table. From the table, Durban snatched a stack of comic books.

“Fuck work. And fuck birds. Today, I’m drinkin’ and readin’ comics.”

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! As OL’s weekly gathering for entertainment show-and-tell, the MMC is digital nerd-discussion at its finest. Here’s how it works: I’m going to showcase some of the fun-stuffs I’ll be munching on throughout the week. Then, you hit up the comments section and show off the enjoyment-snacks you’ll be stuff into your own mind-gullet. In the process, we geek out and debate and talk all sorts of nonsense.

It’s wonderful.

Let’s go for it!

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