Holy shit, I’m alive! I’m a-l-i-v-e! I promise, I’m alive. This definitely isn’t a re-constituted Digi-ian communicating to you from beyond the Physical Realm. I promise. Anyways, how the fuck are you? Me? I’m doing okay. I’m not, praise the Elder Gods, tutoring this summer.
What does that mean? It means that I have some time to convalesce, ingest media, and eat too much before my summer class(es).
So, in the spirit of Corpulent Media Consumption, here’s what I’m absorbing into my totally-not-a-digital-construct of a brain this week. I hope you’ll join me in the comments section!
This is Monday Morning Commute!
I’m up in Vermont for a wedding. My wife is one of two Matrons of Honor (a cowardly option for getting out of determining, in front of friends and family, your “favorite” person), so she’s off doing things. Like what? Oh, I don’t know. Helping the bride ascribe significance to a litany of generic prefabricated rituals that belong to one of the most industrialized and fabricated social customs in our culture.
But hey, that leaves me alone in our overly expensive, gaudy ass, nightmare hotel room at the inn.
To sit, crush Pepsi Max, diarrhea, get some work done. The diarrhea reminds me to drink Pepsi Max, the Pepsi Max reminds my bowels to diarrhea. Speaking of perfect unions, I think I’ve found one. An ouroboros of caffeineated-turd glory.
To refresh the typical blogs, jerk it once-twice-who-is-knocking-go-away-room-service-three times.
And! More importantly! Welcome you to Weekend Open Bar!