#Weekend Open Bar

Weekend Open Bar: The Super Covid Serum!

wb the super covid serum

It’s official, comrades. Members of the Space-Ship Omega. The COVID-19 vaccine is currently coursing through my veins. Building antibodies. Shuffling me towards a day when I may return to the movies, watch sports with friends, and attend concerts. Build, antibodies! Build! Swell up, teach my body how to karate-chop this fucking virus. Missile dropkick the son of a bitch! Get big, get strong, get ready for me. ‘Cause Imma put your serum-ass to the test in three weeks or so.

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Weekend Open Bar: The G(l)ory of the Slumber Party!

Lordy, lordy! Look what motherfucking time it is, my friend! ‘Tis nothing less than the most glorious time of the fucking week. Namely, the fucking weekend! I just got done grading eighteen essays, which means I can shut my brain the fuck down until Sunday! It’s been an absolute nut-crusher of a week, and I cannot wait to vaporize my brain, engorge my stomach, and titillate my ocular-globes.

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Weekend Open Bar: Gods of the Omega Arena

Enter the Omega Arena, Fellow Gods of Slime and Disaster! It’s the Weekend! It’s the Open Bar! Which means it’s time to drink deep the Draughts of the Gods! Which means its time to smoke the Bone-Vapors of the Fallen Eldritch ones! Most importantly, which means it’s time to hang out for a couple of days together!

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Weekend Open Bar: Are You Ready?

wob - are you ready

Are you ready? Whole squad’s ready! Forgive me from quoting the tune from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier’s Super Bowl trailer! I’m just so fucking pumped for this shit! As I’ve probably puked-up many times around these parts, Bucky is my favorite motherfucker in the MCU! Just an absolute unit of brooding, healthy male bonding, and gorgeous hair. How can you not love this motherfucker! It’s impossible, and now this son of a bitch is getting a co-starring role in the latest dollop of dashing MCU madness.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Pants-Off Dance Off

wob - the pants off dance off

Man, I can absolutely relate to Murray from The Goldbergs. Motherfucking Spring Break is here, which means it’s time to pop off them jeans! Slip into something more comfortable, and fucking flat-out vibe. It’s goddamn glorious out today on the Eastern seaboard of the Empire. I got myself a warm-ass breeze wafting into my study, I got a warm-ass can of Diet Dew flying down my gullet, and I got a warm-ass glow in my heart.

Between the weather, the longer days, and the imminent approach of our vaccinations, I’m feeling hope. Really, I’m feeling hopeful for the first time since maybe the Fall. The Winter cracked open my psyche and blasted my mind-ass. Somehow while missing my prostate, because let’s be honest: an ass-blasting focusing on the prostate is a glorious, near-heavenly experience.

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Weekend Open Bar: One-Year Strong!

wob - one year strong!

March 5. It’s officially been one year. One year since I went to my last movie, one year since I went to a fitness class, more than one year since I’ve seen a cadre of my friends. I’m trying not to hyper-fixate on all I’ve lost in these Fallen Times, especially since I’ve gotten off relatively light. You know? Like, on one hand, it’s only a year of my life. But on the other hand, it’s an entire year of parties, trips to the movies, and watching sports with friends. Considering that nothing’s promised in life, particularly your persistent existence, it’s a bit of a heavy bummer.

Blessedly, the vaccine gets closer and closer to my arm, even as my anxiety has me spiraling further and further from a comfortable existence. The dichotomy between the intellectual realization that the End of coming, and really the fractures in my battered psyche deepening is really a case study waiting to happen. S

That said, what can you do, you know? Just persist. Find joy in the small things. Eat pizza, watch horror movies, look forward to the seemingly-receding but literally-approaching day when I’ll be vaccinated and sitting in a restaurant with sSam. Or in Rendar’s backyard for a BBQ with shared comrades. It’s the only choice, and when you evaluate it, it seems a solid one.

Anyways, so that’s where I’m at emotionally. Why not keep your maudlin Captain company this weekend? Here, at the Open Bar! Physically distant, but emotionally resonant hanging!

What are you up to this weekend, friends? Let’s spend some ttime.

Weekend Open Bar: Cynthia Rothrock and Roll

weekend open bar - cynthia rothrock and roll

Motherfuckers it’s the weekend, and that can only mean one thing. Fucking time to pop off our pants, turn off our motherfucking Ring Lights (if you’re a remote teacher like me), and get high as hell! You know, relax! Put on a good horror flick, stretch your gullet beyond reasonable measurement, and fucking gorge!

Pizza! Martial arts flicks! Dead Cells! Diarrhea!

Seriously though, you sublime bitches. Let’s gather! It’s time, my fellow Degenerates of the Round Table! The Bar is Open, my mood is good thanks to sunshine and a 48-siesta, and my heart throbs for you! Yes, for you!

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Weekend Open Bar: Breathe In & Breathe Out

weekend open bar - breathe in

Oh lord, friends! It is the mother-fuck-ing weekend, and not a moment too soon! A stressful week has given way to a temporary haven. Some 48-hours or so where I can shut down my brain, open up my gullet, and eat junk food and watch slop. How the hell are you folks doing? It’s a goddamn mess across the map, with most of the Empire getting ass-blasted by cold weather and snow.

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Weekend Open Bar: Wandering Visions of Spring

Is it Spring yet? ‘Cause I have visions of it, my dudes. My mind wanders as I drive down the roads, the frozen-ass tundra greeting me. Is this truly the same planet that I mountain biked on, like four months ago? It is, but my does it boggle my rotted-ass synapses. What an odd world, what an odd life, what an odd time. Yet, with each passing day, those motherfucking trails get closer. Day by day, minute by minute, the glorious summer dusk bike rides are closer to their return.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Saints Can’t Save You

weekend open bar the saints can't save you

The Saints can’t save you, motherfuckers! Nor can the Trees, or the Ones Who Walk Behind The Shadows. However, you can absolutely save your fucking self. It’s within you, it’s within your guts, it’s within your marrow. Is it easy? Nah! Is it guaranteed? Nah! But, it’s a promise at the end of a dank tunnel. What does salvation look like, for me? Acknowledging that I have control over my circumstances. Self-care. And! Hanging out with you fuckers! Hey, look at that. A poorly-stuck segue into this here fucking column! However, I ain’t completely full of shit.

Salvation comes in the form of community, the creation of bonds, the spending of our entropic-distillation together. Shiny baubles and distractions are fantastic, but just fucking broing out with you legion of degenerates is more enjoyable than anything else.

So come hither, you fellow slime. Let’s spend the weekend together at the Open Bar!

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