Twitch got you down? Looking to explore a bit with another partner? Then how about some YouTube Gaming in your diet? Does this new platform appeal to any of you who do some streaming? Why or why not?

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I am no great leader of men. I am not good at planning, or issuing commands. For many that may be difficult to admit, but I find leaning into your strengths and acknowledging your weaknesses is the best route. I am no great leader of men, but I’m certainly quite adept at being their right hand man. I think this is one of the reasons I get along with my wife, Sam. She is an Alpha-Human, designed to implement designs. Bend reality to her will. And I’m there to. You know. Make her laugh at the end of a long day of being professional and powerful and whatever. I can’t budget, I can’t conceive of running conferences like her. But when she’s hungry I can get her a bagel. Listen, it’s not the most glamorous life. But when you’ve caught the tail of a brilliant, gorgeous comet, you play to your strengths.

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To perceive oblivion is to invite your own doom. Ignore Yog-Soggoth’s dark, piercing clarion call. Turn your eyes away from his enticements. Do the same for the other Elder Ones. They whisper promises that shall only fill their bellies with your psychic-vomit, as your ears bleed and your ocular holes find themselves filled to the brim with gelatinous, former-eyes. Yeah, I know. It’s a letdown. The limitations of our meat-sacks. But hey! Until the great Transhumanism Movement of 20XX, we can spend our time bound in these rot-vessels together! Hanging out at the Weekend Open Bar.

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I bag on Rendar and Eddie on the regular for being wanky transcendentalists. But the truth of the whole fiasco is that the only reason I became friends with Pluto in the first place is because we were both fans of Walden (okay, and a litany of other nerdier things) in a college class. And so while I think it’s a privileged idea — let’s go and hang out in the woods – Thoreau’s denunciation of the pursuit of materiality is something that’s stuck with me.

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It’s the Weekend, folks. Let’s enjoy it together. Let’s enjoy it for Stan. The (maybe)-character from True Detective‘s second season turned punchline for half of the internet. Stan‘s no longer with us, but I have it on good authority that he would have insisted that we enjoy the Weekend together. I also have it on good authority that he was a fan of the site, and particularly of this weekly column. Stan liked nothing more than lurking in Weekend Open Bar.

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It’s fucking July 24th! That can only mean one thing! My summer class is done! It’s fucking Friday! That can only mean one thing! I’m done with work for the week! It’s fucking Weekend Open Bar! That can only mean one thing! It’s time to gather in this column with fellow denizens of the Space-Ship OMEGA. Share what you’re doing this weekend!

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It’s the Weekend, man. Which means the Bar is Open! I’m feeling particularly relaxed this weekend. Most of this relaxation is due in part to the momentary lull in the Maelstrom that is Home Ownership. Purchase and Sale: signed. House appraisal by the bank: done. Now it’s merely a thousand or so documents to be faxed by us to the Corporate Overlords, and awaiting the official closing. Additionally, my summer class is winding down. Just one more week, and ain’t no teaching taking place during it (not my choice, but I will not complain about not having to lesson plan until September). So life is good. Relaxed, I dare say. So yeah, weekend is lining up to be a enjoyable: some Lucha Underground, some DVR purging, some time with Bae. Pizza, obviously.

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The Purchase & Sale is signed, folks. SAM-OMEGA and I are getting really, really close to thirty years of DEBT SLAVERY. And I’ll level with you: I could not be more excited. The idea of my own study, replete with fluid-splashed surroundings and toy shelves makes me excited. A giant ass backyard for a mutt-ass dog makes me excited. No longer living under Rock-Eating Typical Bostonians who scream wildly at the Prole-O-Vision while I’m trying to lesson plan for the next days’s class makes me excited. Now all that is left (and granted, this is a big “all that is left”) is the appraisal and the bank concretely agreeing to lend us, you know. Hundreds of thousands (*vomitvomitvomit*) of dollars. So come. Celebrate with me, here at Weekend Open Bar.

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We’re celebrating Fourth of July weekend here in the Empire. That means the usual things, which have been enumerated some six or seven times here aboard the Space-Ship. Hormone-soaked beef. Testosterone-fueled chants of questionable supremacy. And other cynical shit. But it also means a great reason to gather ’round with your loved ones, throw back a few Adult Sodas, smoke some Shire Green, and have a good time. Not just your tangi-friends, either! But us, too. You know! Your favorite Monsters at the End of the Internet. So join us! At the Weekend Open Bar.

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Oh fuck! It’s been a hell of a day, and that’s why I’m late opening the bar. (Why was it late, Ian?) I’m glad you asked! I’ll tell you! SAM-OMEGA and myself went to see a house today, as we are (were?) hunting for a new abode. And what began as a viewing snowballed into a four-hour extravaganza that ended in us having an offer accepted! So fuck! I’m on my way to thirty years of Debt Slave toiling. And I’m excited about it! But even if the grind gets too much (SEGUE!!!) from Monday through Friday, I’ll always have the Weekend Open Bar.

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