#November2016
Weekend Open Bar: It Was An Illusion. Even A Pleasant One For Some
The bar is open early, friends. It’s Thanksgiving Eve here on the eastern arm of the Empire. I’m blessed enough to have the rest of the week off. So why not let the Asgardian ale flow already? So why not let the Martian space spice be smoked already? I have no good reasons for why not to, I have no good explanations. All I know is that life is too short, too vicious for even the most blessed, to not seize upon moments of revelry with you and yours.
Weekend Open Bar on a Wednesday evening.
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Weekend Open Bar: You Are Ready For Upload
Stand by, your consciousness is ready for upload. Say goodbye to the rot-filth of tangibility, and embrace the ephemeral. You cannot escape Entropy, cause brother the Universe is still dying on you. But hey, no more meat-case. You cannot escape Entropy, cause brother every time we re-upload you to split processing load, you lose a few bits and bytes of yourself. But hey, no more meat-case. So what to do, what to do in the Digital-Oblivion? Why, why not hang out at Weekend Open Bar? The weekly wank-off session at the Space-Ship OMEGA. Tunnel in to one of our android-bodies. Submit your credit codes, cause capitalism don’t need physical space. Drive that android-body up to the bar, and kick the time with us flesh-rats in the Tavern.
Weekend Open Bar: Holiday With The New Scum
This is Weekend Open Bar.
I’ve got a cold this weekend, folks. This is how bad of a cold I’ve got, I’ll tell ya, I’ll tell ya. My cold is so fucking bad that I couldn’t even finish my chimichanga. How’s that for a fucking cold? My cold is so fucking bad that my farts are thick, hateful, nightmare blasts of Theraflu chemicals and phlegm-gut. How’s that for a fucking cold?
But the Theraflu does its job, oh yes. I knew the Theraflu was doing its job earlier tonight. I knew it while I was walking the Snowbeast and out of nowhere came the thought, “Man, I’m damn comfortable, I could just lay down.” Now mind you I may live on a rather comfortable, middle-class street. But at no time should a gangly man with a SpaceX hoodie be laying on the damp concrete sidewalk, a confused Great Pyrenees alternating between lapping at her owner and struggling to break free and run into the woods for a Vision Quest.
After I had that thought, after I processed that potential consequence, I thought to myself. Well golly, I’m straight fucked-up on Theraflu!
Weekend Open Bar: To The Left of Reality
My wife is really good at throwing wood into the wood stove that heats our sunroom during the Winter. Someday I’m going to be typing this from a shelter, or a shack, or my backyard. You see, she’s really good at throwing it. Ashes are really good at flying into the air. Burning embers are really good at hitting the tile, and not the rug.
But woah boy!
Someday them embers are going to hit the rug. I’ve seen it.
But woah boy!
Someday them embers are going to ignite the rug, maybe the dog, definitely the house. I’ve seen it!
In fact, somewhere across the OMNIVERSE, in an incredible amount of Universes, this is happening now.
Somewhere: my pubic hair, which dangles to the ground, is igniting from those embers.
In fact, somewhere across the OMNIVERSE, in an incredible amount of Universes, this is happening now.
Somewhere: my dog, which is also a dinosaur, which is also Jesus Christ, is turning nipple milk into water, drowning those burning embers.
I’ve seen it!
Anyways — until she burns down the house here, until the embers take down this dry ass house in this dry ass state on this perpetually dry ass Planet — until then — I will be celebrating Weekend Open Bar from my couch.
Right here!
Weekend Open Bar! Come come, folks. Celebrate the weekend with me. Come come, folks. Tell me what you’re up to this weekend!
Views From The Space-Ship: As Above, So Below
Hey fuckaroonis! What’s your world looking like these days? Your virtual halls? Your physical ceilings? This is Desktop Thursdays! Show me, show me, show me! My world? As evidenced by the relative silence here at OL-Proper this week — fucking busy! But I’ve snapped some glimpses into the hectic happenings.
I hope you’ll share your own.
Weekend Open Bar: A Fury’d Mess
Weekend’s half over, and I’m just opening the bar. C’est la vie of a loser blogger with a moderately busy life and a poor sense of discipline. Crazy week. First week of the semester. No gentle ascent into the warm, welcoming arms of academic banality. No ma’am. No sir. Instead. Picture it. A rocket-ship. My ass gently dolloped onto the top of said rocket-ship. Instead. Picture it. Said rocket-ship rocketing into the atmosphere, my poor, sad flaccid dong-dong burning up. My hair a fury’d mess. My nipples chaffing under the duress of embracing former-Earth, my throat. Oh, my throat! A bloodied, shredded mess as I howl at the enormity of the next fifteen weeks, laugh at my general enjoyment of this madness, scream at my own anxiety and depressing encircling my brain-piece with their gnarled claws.
I’m here, though. At the Weekend Open Bar. I’m here though, hoping you’ll join me at said bar. Come hang out. Come tell me what you’re up to throughout this half-over Weekend. What are you eating-playing-reading-drinking-worshipping?
Monday Morning Commute: crap i forgot my keys
School kicks off tomorrow. My anxiety kicked off today. Worrying about my clothes being ironed. Worrying about tomorrow actually being the day school starts. Anxiety is a hell of a drug. Caffeine is a hell of a drug. Caffeine is a hell of a drug for Anxiety. The two of them hanging out in the dank halls of my bathroom-brain, jacking off one another. Caffeine telling Anxiety to make me sweat, make me fart, hand on Anxiety’s slick shaft. Anxiety telling Caffeine to tell me to just have a couple more cans of Pepsi Max, make me jitter, make me palpitate, hand on Caffeine’s slick shaft.
Monday Morning Commute: We Can Dance If You Want To
untitled | christopher zelaya
We can dance if you want to!
We can leave the Material Realm behind! ‘
Cause your connection to the Linear Tangible Time-Cord is weak and if it’s weak, well, let’s leave this Plane behind!
What’s up, you fucking degenerates! Oh, don’t take offense. We’re all degenerating into worm-food, into former-human, entrapped by failing meat-cases.
So we might as well dance.
Weekend Open Bar: What Lies Beyond Doom? (Hope).
It’s the fucking weekend, baby. Kick open the doors to the Bar. Grab your favorite drink. Just reach behind the counter, and throw it down your esophagus-pipes. I won’t charge ya. Let the burn wash over you. And then saddle up next to me. This is Weekend Open Bar, the gathering at the InternetWateringHole where those willing join me in camaraderie.
Tuesday Afternoon Commute: Status Check from Space-Ship Omega
Oh shit! I’ve been gone for a minute. Went deep, deep into a Star Wars-induced blackout last week. Then every time I began to peak my head out, someone wanted to know: what did I think, how did I feel, was it as good as the originals? (c’mon now!), how many times have you seen it? (three!), how many times do you want to see it? (seven, at least), when are you seeing it again? (tonight, by myself!) did it meet your expectations (my logical ones, not my emotional ones), on and on. And I realized, in that moment, that I really just wanted to digest the entire thing by myself. Or rather, not on the internet. Writ large.
But I’m back! This is Tuesday Afternoon Commute! Semester break finally begins for me, today. And it’s mere days until Christmas. So let’s hang out. What’s on your mind, what’s on your plate this week?
