Friends, we’re in the seasonal Gilded Age right now in the Northeast. The days are getting longer, the dusk is getting sexier, and the days are warm but not oppressive. It’s a wonderful development, given that really the outdoors are the only refuge from the pandemic. However, even if I could buy candles, shop for clothes, and load up on supplements, it would still be the outdoors I prefer. Especially given the weather these days.
Carpe the longer days and tank top weather, baby! But, that ain’t all I’m up to this week. And thus, therefore, verily, forsooth, something something, I’m going to share my happenings with you! Then, I hope you’ll join me in the comments section.
I’ve noticed as I get older, I’m more comfortable distilling my personal credos into easily digestible phrases. There’s a tendency to revere a certain opacity when it comes to philosophizing, but all of that balderdash can smeared across someone else’s shit sandwich. Instead, I prefer my touchstones to be accessible and to the point.
Be excellent to each other.
One must picture Sisyphus happy.
Existence precedes essence.
Goddamn it, you’ve got to be kind.
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.
Goddamn, if I don’t feel like MacReady these days. Like, my body may very well lay in bed for eight hours every night. Maybe more! But, fuck me sideways. Whatever I’m engaging in certainly isn’t restful sleep. Probably getting in some good core workouts though, whilst I slumber. Motherfucking tossing! Motherfucking turning! Just fucking tired, man. And while I can wear my faithful baseball cap to cover my bedhead, I can’t hide these bags under my eyes from coworkers and students.
Eh, fuck it! It’s a pandemic. If bags under my eyes are the greatest of my physical concerns, I’ll jot myself down as blessed.
Anyways, this is Monday Morning Commute! You know the motherfucking drill! I’ll share what I’m partaking in, to distract and titillate myself. Then, you’ll join me in the comments. Sharing your own distractions, distinctions, and diatribes.
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.
Hey, friends! Welcome to another edition of Monday Morning Commute, within the current pandemically painful climate! I must confess, these posts are a bit difficult to write as of late. Not that I don’t want to hang with you all — in fact, I think that may be the primary reason I churn them out at all. Rather, it’s just deeply, deeply difficult for me to concentrate on anything days. One minute I’ll be cruising along the highway of Vibe City, and the next I’m contemplating society, the health of my friends, and the health of my wife’s employment and my own. But, what the fuck can you do? Cave? No way! Instead, we must make like Rambo.
That’s right. Strip off our shirts, oil up our bodies, and launch explosive-tipped arrows at our malaise. Let our hair be as beautiful as him, and let our aim be as true.
I’ll go first! Join me in the comments.
DOOM Eternal is equal parts fun and frustrating for me. I think I may be too old for its twitchiness, but I think I’m just dealing with a steep fucking learning curve. That said, I’m glad that it had the best launch in franchise history. Such brutality and unapologetic heavy metal thunder needs to be rewarded.
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.
Great glorious fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be working. But, today I returned to teaching from Spring Break. And granted, I’m pretty fucking depressed that it’s virtual. At the same time, though, I feel as though I had purpose for the first time in weeks.
You know, like healthy purpose.
Not the sort of purpose that just has you existentially laying in the fetal position (last week). Or, eating two pints of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, because fuck it (last night).
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!