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!
You’re alive, yo. Day after day you’re telling Death “No” and sauntering on in the Oblivion that is a Godless, Apathetic Existence. There’s something to appreciate in that effort alone. You’re Conquering the Drive to give into Entropy. Someday you’ll stagger, fall, maybe even tap. Don’t take it personally, don’t take it as a slight against your character. Even the Universe is mortal. But for now, while we persist, let’s body slam existence together. Celebrate the Weekend with this Open Bar.