Monday Morning Commute: BROCK AT THE MOON.

What’s up, friends. It is Powered by Caffeine here. Rendar can’t come tonight. He’s in the woods with a couple of other friends, howling six-word odes dedicated to Hemingway. Prior to uttering these supplications to Lieutenant Shotgun Suicide, they strip down to their underwear and chest-chop each other while telling one another how fucking masculine it is to take five fingers off the sternum. It is not until their pectoral muscles are bright red and they’re wheezing that they bark at the moon. It is an annual late summer festival, and I dare not come between him and such a spectacle. So here I sit, grinding away on the Mothership per usual. This here is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we give the rundown on the various arts and crafts we’re enjoying on a given week.

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An American in Canada: Canadian Caffeination

[In an attempt to expand his insular perspective, Rendar Frankenstein became An American in Canada! Join Rendar as he tells of the wonders encountered while traveling through North America’s most jovial nation. It’s one-third travel guide and three-fourths misguided interpretation!]

The greatest attribute of any chemical dependency is its steadfast resolve. Olympic athletes may have an incredible level of focus, but even their efforts are diminutive when saddled next to those of an honest addiction. There are no external forces that’ll curb the insatiable appetite of a chemically-inspired jonesin’.

So even though I’d crossed borders and time zones, I still had that damn monkey on my back.

However, if you’re anticipating sordid tales about my forfeiture of oral dignity in exchange for heroin, you’re likely to be disappointed. I know, I know, I’d be much more artistically inclined if I used the drug preferred by the great songwriters of my generation and my parents’. Moreover, if I was going to break drug laws in another country, I might as well jump to the zombie-conclusion and rock some bath salts.

But alas, I’m a simple man and my substance of choice is good `ole fashioned caffeine.

As such, I had no doubt that I’d be able to cop a fix in Canada. After all, my two favorite types of caffeinated beverage – coffee and soda pop – are celebrated in every corner of Spaceship Earth. Nevertheless, there were some interesting differences in the modes of caffeine-delivery available to me during my Canadian adventure.

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Views From The Space-Ship: It’s Not A Binge, It’s A God Damn Addiction!

Views From The Space-Ship, aka Desktop Tuesdays, aka Desktop Thursdays is a (theoretically) weekly column where I show you my worlds. Share your own in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: Then Our Sweatpants Boners Swung.

Monday evening in the Northeast section of the American Empire proper. Cold winds, comfortable clothes. Shut windows and caffeine in the veins. I’m relaxing. I’m also Caffeine Powered, my (literal) brother Rendar Frankenstein tagging me in for this iteration. I’m swinging over the top fucking rope, ready to drop sweet chin music upon all your unsuspecting asses. Gape for me baby, and allow my Love Heel to caress your Soul-Clit.

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Monday Morning Commute: The Smell of Summer

[toby cypress]

When I opened the door this morning, it hit me. Hard. Fuck the scientific calculations, I know damn well when change is afoot. And you can, too. Tomorrow, when you leave for work or play or prison, tilt your head back and suck in deep. It’s bound to tickle your nose.

The smell of summer.

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