It’s the motherfucking weekend, bay-bay! Not a moment too soon. Not a moment too late. Everything its place, as it should be. On a cosmic scale, at least And we’re being honest, as it only could be. For the Universe marches on, regardless of our consciousness and its impact upon it. That said, hey! Sort of fucking freeing, no?
Nothing matters, everything matters, and most importantly — shit’s just carrying on. So, let’s take care of one another, be it in this community, and all the other ones you belong to.
Hey friends! Happy fucking Fourth of July Weekend! I wanna open up the Bar, so we can spend some time together the next couple of days. But, I’m pressed as fuck for time! Which means I gotta do it quicker than a motherfucker. So, I’m going to ask you to come hang out! Tell me! What are you doing to celebrate, if anything? Let me know! Blowing up phalanges with fireworks? Eating seared animal flesh? Watching Jaws? I want to know!
Greetings and well-tidings, motherfucker! The All-Father himself has graced the post’s image this weekend! And that? It can only mean good things! How are you all, fellas? I apologize for going in absentia on Monday, but you know how it is! Oh, you don’t? Just busy, dudes. Teaching can be a real son of a bitch! Of course, we’re talking strictly time-wise. I love teaching, legit.
But, I’m here now! Fucking sweating! Fucking grooving! Ready to kickoff another weekend during this summer, during this pandemic, during this journey on Earth during the End of Days! I know, that got a bit morbid! However, all you motherfuckers can cheer me up!
How? By shooting the shit right here this weekend! At the Open Bar! It ain’t exactly the Gathering of the Juggalos (though ICP seems eerily progressive and pro-science these days), but we are definitely a collection of castaways, weirdos, and otherwise fantastical beasts. And I mean this in the best way possible!
So, let’s hang out this weekend! What are you playing? Some glorious misery porn in The Last of Us Part II? You watching anything? I just finished Mr. Robot, and I wholeheartedly recommend it! Or, perhaps you’re our own Eduardo Pluto! Quietly endeavoring to finish The Stand before me!
Whatever the case, let’s fucking party!
The Universe, as expressed through time, don’t give two tugs of Fate’s tits about us, my friend. And in some ways, that’s pretty fucking freeing. Lord knows, we’re fucking it up down here with an alacrity and casualness that would definitely piss off most religion’s Gods. But, they don’t exist and we’re alone, and the Universe is just humming along. Indifferent, but wonderful. Detached, but in a sort of measured, comforting manner.
Anyways, the whole reason I started babbling about existence, the Cosmos not even mustering a shrug at humanity, and all this happy horseshit is thus: I’m celebrating my five-year anniversary on Saturday. What the absolute fuck, how the absolute fuck have five years passed already?
In many ways, 2015 was a severe mid-series reboot of my existence. To the extent that, while I don’t regret any of the choices, I would never stack such changes on top of one another so quickly. In the span of three months I got married, bought a house, and got a dog.
There was a moment that autumn where I asked myself, “Who the fuck am I? And what the fuck am I doing?” in a sort of feverish worry.
But, now it’s difficult to picture myself not living with my wife, walking my dog, or fondly returning to my small house. Which is an overly opaque way of saying I enjoy my life, and I find myself smiling now at the chaos. Perhaps that’s the goal, to be able to come out the other side of the Tumult, and be able to smile at it.
Who knows. I’m bloviating, per usual.
Only tangentially related to that saccharine blast of textual diarrhea is this here column, Monday Morning Commute! Or, maybe I’m just being disingenuous. ‘Cause when I think of what I enjoy most in my life, spending time here and on Twitch with the rest of the OL community is high on the list.
So my dudes, let’s hang out. Shoot the shit about what we’re getting into this week.
I’ll go first!
Hey, friends! We’ve come out the other side of another week. And, it feels good! Lots of bullshit and miscellany peppering my tits this week! Planning for a summer class that has almost no form or guidance from above. The inexorable pain of not being able to take a crap, because I’m so fucking stressed. But, hey, whatever, the fucking week is over! I have my health, my job (for now), and Dulcolax!
Perhaps most importantly, I got this fucking community! And, I hope you’ll spend some time with me this weekend.
Let me know!
As the pandemic drones dully onward, what are you up to this weekend? To combat the ennui? To stave of the dreadful sense of perpetuity this whole ordeal is taking on? Are you going for a hike in the nice weather? Doing jackknifes into your pool? Lathering your nipples in sunscreen and sprinting through Target, screaming (while wearing a mask, obviously)?
It’s all fodder for fascinating conversation here at the Open Bar!
I’m on vacation, but fuck I’m awful at enjoying it. Nothing says “I’m fucking crushing this relaxing thing” like waking up at 9:30 this morning, veins white-hot with irrational anxiety. But! I’m happy to say I have rallied since then. Took a two-mile walk, exercised a bit. Sucked in the rays from the Central Engine, and felt my rectum loosen just a bit. Just–a-bit. However, that’s better than nothing, right? And folks, good news.
I’m asking you to help loosen my rectum even further. That’s right, that’s right! Pull up a chair, and shoot the shit with me. Tell me what you’re looking forward to this week, and watch in glee-and-horror as the ole o-ring relaxes to a healthy sort of dour droop. I don’t ask for much, but I’m asking for this. Let us imbibe in the sweetened, honeyed nectar of community, together. And share in the experience of watching as he gets me where I need to be.
This is Monday Morning Commute.
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.
You fuckin’ want one? Then meet me in the streets, brother! It’s pretty easy to find me. Follow the smell of sweaty gym balls (who fucking showers these days) until you see a goddamn calamity with a fierce mustache. Oh, you’re telling me you can’t go out into the streets? Because of a responsible respect for the quarantines across the globe? Well, count yourself lucky! ‘Cause I respect that. Instead, how about you hang the fuck out with me here at Monday Morning Commute.
In lieu of a fucking tilly, we can shoot the shit. Share what we’re delving into this week, in order to stave off boredom. Discuss what we’re smashing open across our synapses, in order to prevent the ever present sense of doom from fully consuming us.
I’ll go first, cause I started this dance. But, after you’re done checking out what I’m up to, I demand that you swing back.
It’s only fair!
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?