#Weekend Open Bar
Hello, comrades! How the fuck you doing? Hope you’re hanging in there. Cracking the malaise with whatever sort of healthy mallet you wield these days. Be it movies, or video games, or some glorious bouts of paper-based hallucinations (books). I’m up and down these days. The days themselves, they feel so fucking long. The weeks themselves, they feel so fucking short. I’m not certain this is a fair trade, or if it balances it.
But, last night there was a glorious dusk. And in that moment, due to my good fortune, privilege, and health, it was a Hell of a Day to Be Alive.
And, today begins the weekend! Which means it’s time for the Open Bar!
Every weekend, my friends. I’m living the motherfucking Diarrhea Death Race 2000! Nothing compliments five-straight days of clean eating like a 48-hour bender of insane caloric bombardment. And every weekend, there’s at least one point, where I have to sprint full-speed into the bathroom before my blow ass all over my boxer briefs. Doesn’t matter if I’m about to fuck, it doesn’t matter if I’m working out, and it doesn’t matter if I’m playing Final Fantasy VII. The moment grips me. The bowels quiver. And like that, I’m off to the races.
Great Delicious Fuck! It feels like I just completely shazam’d my ass through the work week! Somehow, I’ve come out the other side with stunning alacrity. And now it’s the freakin’ Weekend, baby! Feels good. Feels so damn good, if I’m being honest. Every week of the remaining semester is going to be a white-knuckle, gripping-the-edge-of-the-clip type ride right up until May 12. But, by god, I’m doing it. Step by step and all that happy horseshit.
Enough about me, though. How are you doing, fellow members of the Space-Ship Omega?
It’s the end of another work week for me, my friends. I’m privileged enough to be able to work from home, and I’m definitely not on the front lines of this pandemic. That said, holy fucking shit. I mean, I’m fucking exhausted. I thought I was going to dread the Spring semester ending. However, that fucking Nuclear Take has been revised. Not only is the Typical End of Semester Fatigue hitting, but it’s stacking with COVID-19 Anxiety and Figuring Out How To Teach From Home. This fucking trifecta?
It has me falling to my goddamn knees today and thanking my Lord and Savior JCVD for a temporary respite.
Buy a ticket, take the ride, motherfuckers! As HST says! Tune in, freak out, get beaten, motherfuckers! As HST says! Dust yourself off, stick your middle fingers to the limitless void, and stride forward defiantly, motherfuckers! As I say!
Additionally, let me note that it’s easier to stride forward as a rabid pack of monsters! And that’s what I’m looking forward to doing this weekend, with all you pricks! Sartre said hell is other people, but frankly, he also found deep, deep goodness in the guts of the human soul. So, if that dude can find such grace after surviving a concentration camp, surely I can find it among my genuine friends here on the Space-Ship Omega.
We’re all living within Dr. Fauci’s houseparty, baby! I got to say, fucking kudos to the absolute force of a man. Being able to persuade the Rotten Orange into issuing decrees (albiet tardily) that he clearly didn’t want to is impressive. Will he win the push for a federal lockdown? Who knows! But, dude has clearly persuaded most states into chilling at home. If I’m even half as cogent as dude is at the age of 79, I’ll consider if a flat-out, nipple-stiffening victory. As an aside, man, can you really contemplate what your nipples and genitals are going will like at that age? Fauci, though? I bet dude has huge balls, though. Cannonballs.
By god! It’s the Weekend! But, what the fuck is the weekend during The Plague? A valid question, honestly. Maybe a lazy question, too. ‘Cause despite working from home, I’ve been goddamn busy. So this weekend is going to be a nice respite from the hectic work schedule.
Get in a little gaming.
Smoke a little weed.
Hang with you fuckers on the stream.
We’re at Doom’s Gate, motherfuckers! But, we’re in it together. I know it seems like small potatoes, but this week has at least felt like a communal panic. It sounds absurd, but it’s nice to feel closer to the communities I’m belong to, and my friends. If we’re on the Titanic, at least we’re all waltzing together, no?
So, let’s waltz here! At the Weekend Open Bar! It’s usually the weekly siesta where we gather, and share what we’re up to during a specific Weekend. And, that’s still the point of this son of a bitch! But, let’s also just hang out, stare at the sky together, and metaphorically scream.
Let’s spend time, friends!
What’s up, travelers aboard the Space-Ship OMEGA? It’s finally, finally the Weekend Open Bar.
Boy. Weird week, no? COVID-19 has finally struck America’s consciousness, and such a strike has felled any sort of normalcy. Ain’t no sports! Ain’t no toilet paper! Movie premieres being delayed. Schools being closed. What the fuck! What the fuck does this all mean?
Honestly, I don’t know!
And a good goddamn Weekend to you all, you fuckers! How are you doing? Attempting to keep the Pushing Through A Malaise and Interacting With Others space-ship going! As well, it’s pretty easy keep reaching out and high-fiving motherfuckers when it’s the weekend. I mean, right?
Speaking of which, grab a chair! Pull up a bean bag! Sit down directly on your balls and scream mercilessly!
I don’t care what you do. So long as you hang out with me this weekend! After all, that’s the point of the motherfucking Open Bar!