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!
Woo, woo, baby! It’s the first fucking weekend of the summer semester, and I’m torqued! Got a little The Last of Us Part II to endure. Got The Warriors queued up for the flick tonight. As well, got a really impressive testicles-stink, with the muggy, hot weather descending upon the region. In other words, shit is definitely good. But, maybe they could be better? How, you ask? It’s fucking simple!
If you mofuckin’ denizens of the Space-Ship hang out with me this weekend, here at the Weekend Open Bar!
Every weekend, my friends. I’m living the motherfucking Diarrhea Death Race 2000! Nothing compliments five-straight days of clean eating like a 48-hour bender of insane caloric bombardment. And every weekend, there’s at least one point, where I have to sprint full-speed into the bathroom before my blow ass all over my boxer briefs. Doesn’t matter if I’m about to fuck, it doesn’t matter if I’m working out, and it doesn’t matter if I’m playing Final Fantasy VII. The moment grips me. The bowels quiver. And like that, I’m off to the races.
This weekend kicks Summer square in the dick, sending it off packing. At least, emotionally. I can’t speak for temperatures, or the literal end of the summer. But after this weekend, the Pop Culture Zeitgeist turns its eyes towards football, fall, and All-Pumpkin-Everything. How does that register across your greasy tits, friends? Me? I’m fucking ready. Ready to lean deeply into Spooky Season. Football season. Hoodie season. All them fucking seasons!
It ain’t over yet, though, until this weekend! A weekend packed with cookouts, crank-downs, and coolers of adult beverages. And so, I’m stoked to enjoy the sendoff, while tapping my feet at its passing.
How’s it going, friends? Me? I’m about to put a cap on the wonderful age of thirty-five. How was the year? Some good. Some bad. Another year of sucking wind, and another year of having my health. Thus, it’s hard not to feel grateful as I hurdle into the back-end of my thirties tomorrow.
I’m in the best shape of my life. Mentally, physically, and as a teacher. Yet, oh does Entropy ever whisper in my ear. Quietly passing along the irrefutable axiom, “all of this is borrowed.” Eh, what can you do, you know? Spend the time with friends and family, purpose and appreciation.
Hey! Jesus Fuck, did we make it? To the weekend? By god, we did! And, if you’re lucky enough to have it the weekend off like me, it’s time to fucking celebrate. Let’s celebrate together, right here! At the Weekend Open Bar! It’s the weekly way station here on the Space-Station Omega! Where we all gather, sharing what we’re up to on a given weekend!
And a pleasant Weekend Open Bar to you all, as well! How’s it going, anyways? Hope you’re as lucky as me, to have the next couple of days to convalesce. And if you don’t? May you find the strength to punch the fucking weekend work day squarely in the throat! Indeed, indeed! Maybe you find the strength to axe-kick its compromised organs, and drink from its futility! Fuck, fuck. I was trying to come in here floaty, relaxed from yoga. That’s a thing I’m doing now, I guess.
Going to my wife’s class on Friday evenings.
I’m as basic and as privileged as they come, but, what do you want from me? I hope some sort of meta, tactic acknowledgement of this can salve my weeping wound which has burst open from leaning into Generica.
Hello, friends! It’s The Weekend Open Bar! Come hang out!
I’m feeling good over here. The weather has finally turned here on the Eastern seaboard of the Empire. My semester has finally ended. And, I’ve gotten consecutive nights of good sleep. All of this is to say is that I’m actually sticking my head out of the Depressive Cocoon I build around myself ever so often, and smiling!
By god, smiling.
It’s the weekend, friends. The fucking weekend, friends! Man, I don’t know how a shortened week felt so fucking long, but here I am. Basking in the freedom of two days of adolescent debauchery with a grown-up bank account. And if you’re reading this, you’re here too! By chance or by intention, you’re fucking here too! At the Weekend Open Bar! So now that I got you, so now that you’re here, let’s hang out!
Welcome to the Open Bar, you fucks. The wank-off where we, the gilded turds of the Space-Ship Omega, share what we’re up to during the weekend. I must level with you, seeing Black Panther is at the core of my entire existence the next couple of days. Seeing it tonight, Friday, with comrades. Seeing it Sunday night with my male progenitor. And in the middle? I imagine gushing and flushing all my savory glands discussing it. Here, on OL. Saturday night, on Twitch.