#Weekend Open Bar
It’s the weekend, friends. The fucking weekend, friends! Man, I don’t know how a shortened week felt so fucking long, but here I am. Basking in the freedom of two days of adolescent debauchery with a grown-up bank account. And if you’re reading this, you’re here too! By chance or by intention, you’re fucking here too! At the Weekend Open Bar! So now that I got you, so now that you’re here, let’s hang out!
Welcome to the Open Bar, you fucks. The wank-off where we, the gilded turds of the Space-Ship Omega, share what we’re up to during the weekend. I must level with you, seeing Black Panther is at the core of my entire existence the next couple of days. Seeing it tonight, Friday, with comrades. Seeing it Sunday night with my male progenitor. And in the middle? I imagine gushing and flushing all my savory glands discussing it. Here, on OL. Saturday night, on Twitch.
It’s been a moment since I crept out from under the shadows and issued forth a Weekend Open Bar, huh? For that, I apologize. How the fuck are you doing, friends? Apologies for the tardiness, and all that happy horse shit. You know how it goes, or maybe you don’t know how it goes.
But, when the MalaiseVapors got your synapses in their claws, it’s hard to fight back.
But, I’m here now. The MalaiseVapors beat back, another row in the books. They’re gone, but not forgotten. They’re gone, but they’ll return. They always return, to dance the Dance Macabre.
Spend time with me this weekend!
I’m hammering out this opening salvo quickly, because, I must confess, I gotta scrub my ass. Birthday dinner is waiting! Stuff guts with Mexican food! Then, tonight, Wrestle Kingdom with Bateman is waiting! Stuff guts with pizza, with sugar, with glory, and with glee. But, friends. Don’t think I’m neglecting you! This very hammering out, this very textual blitzkrieg is evidence I care about you!
I’ve been suffering, indulging, and enjoying this past week. I’ve had it off from work, the first legitimate vacation from work since, well, I don’t know. Logically, I shouldn’t lament this fact. For, I know motherfuckers in this empathy-barren world work way more than me, and get no breaks. Emotionally, I’m so fucking stoked. However, I’m facing the typical fork in the road as vacation winds down. Do I just embrace the indulgence, the corpulence, the chemical-insanity for a few more days (I will). Or, do I begin to wind down the Caligulian existence, and prepare for reentry on Tuesday (I won’t)?
Whatever the case, let’s spend the waning days of DisasterYear2017 together, friends! Here in the Weekend Open Bar!
What’s up, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m aiight, kicking it. I’m aiight, sluggishly tumbling headfirst into the final weekend of the semester. Tumbling, tumbling, tumbling. Skull-meat’s synapses barely firing, as my thickened blood fails to pump all that well.
But, I’m blessed enough to have the weekend off.
Hello, friends! It’s Weekend Open Bar! Pull a chair up to the hearth. Summon your favorite chemicals from the servo-droid behind the counter. Pop off your pants, oh, I know, they’re a bit tight from this week’s corpulence. And relax! Just straight-up fucking relax with me. Your co-host, your champion, your spirit-guide. Let us move together through a miasma of revelry, consumption, contemplation, and companionship.
What are you up to this weekend, comrades? Shoving any old ladies out of the way for a discounted blender at TarMart? Catching up on any stories on the TeleVisor? Trying to rationalize the utter depravity that is your diet these past few days?
Friends! Friends. I’m at a level of fatigue that I do not usually reach. Oh, the ethers from beyond beckon me towards slumber. Like not eternal slumber, don’t get me wrong. More like, oh, I don’t know. Eating six Pop Tarts, drowning my esophagus in ice cream, and drifting off. Drifting off where? Ideally to the Astral Plane for a good twelve or so hours. Just ripping ass, snoring, and healing my weakened mind-shafts.
The good news?
The good news is that I am of that privileged sort that has the weekends off.
This hermetic, extroverted-introvert has been stumbling through this week. Somewhat, nay, totally viewing Friday afternoon as a refuge seemingly never arriving. Last weekend’s Weddings Doubleheader just left me goddamn mentally depleted. Look at all the fucking italics! Look at all the emphasis! Delirious! Drunk off emotional expenditure!
It’s the Weekend! It’s the Open Bar. Arriving not a moment too soon, too. For some reason, it’s been a long goddamn week. That ain’t a rhetorical opener, either. Don’t know why, but this week has run me ragged. The good news, oh the good news, is that I have two fucking weddings lined up to really put the nail through my emotional skull. But, I can’t complain too much. The weekend is stacked with merriment, outside of the culturally produced, economically encouraged social obligations.
I got scalps on my mind! Nazi-hunting on my mind. Got some (wait for) stranger things on my mind too, involving the 1980s and Lovecraftian monsters.
So, all in all, I suppose I ain’t too despondent about the weekend.