…I’d rather die during sex.

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Woo! It’s motherfucking vacation for me, baby! Well, almost. My summer class has concluded, which means that all I got across the next six weeks is the occasional work at the Writing Center. Woo! Woo! Drink in the musk of my euphoria, which will slowly burn off by early evening. I mean, I had to get up at 6:30 this morning. But, fuck it! Woo! Woo! Woo! It’s all good in this realm, baby! And, I hope you motherfuckers are ready to hang out this weekend!

Let’s pop on our robes, pop off our pants, and get to it, fellas! Stylin’! Profilin’! What are you beautiful fucks up to this weekend? Playing anything dope? Reading anything worthwhile? BBQing? It’s the time of times during the week when we all hang.

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It’s nudie magazine day, friends! Okay, not really. But, the fucking infectious refrain from Billy Madison is what I swing as I’m coming down the stairs every Friday. It’s such a pure, tits-powered jingle that it’s stuck with me throughout the years. And, I can’t think of any better way to kick-off the weekend! Well, other than hanging with you motherfuckers! Ha! How is that for a goddamn segue? God-Tier. Really, just pure writing prowess. Okay, okay. I know I’m a prose-based slob, but let me have this shit!

Anyways, let’s spend some time together this weekend, good friends! Right here in the Open Bar. And I must remind ya’ll beautiful pricks, we ain’t streaming this Saturday. Just one Saturday! Just this Saturday. A little break from our streaming madness. So, that means this is the only venue for chatting with me about nipple hairs. Or whether or not Bags using the phrase “genitals’ like a sociopath is weird (it is). Neither of those topics interest you?

A) What the fuck.

B) No worries!

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Dead Cells, like life, comes at you insanely fucking fast. Especially when you’re bound by hubris and a desire to blast ass.

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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.

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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!

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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!

Shazam!

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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!

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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.

Please?

This is Monday Morning Commute.

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