Weekend Open Bar: You would *not* believe the deal we got on our digi-afterlife


It’s that glorious time again, comrades. That’s right! That’s correct! That’s precisely it. It’s time to kick-in the doors of the Weekend Open Bar. Flock to our designated *favorite* tables in the musty, dank-ass-air-filled tavern here on the Space-Ship Omega. It’s that glorious time again, comrades. For us to sit around the aforementioned tables, sharing with one another the glory that is the hypothetical weekend. I know some of you have the weekend off. I know that some of you have a long weekend. I know that some of you unfortunately have to work. But whatever your Existent Conditions are here in the OMNIVERSE, I hope you’ll join in the camaraderie.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Demoncratic Oath!


This is Weekend Open Bar, and I have a confession to make: I am Brett Favre. Last week I firmly, firmly thought to myself, “I’m fucking done with Omega-Level.” Was seriously bumming. My brother doesn’t write any more, my favorite commenters don’t comment any more. Fuck you, Omega-Level. Fuck you. Any of the three people who come across the site may have thought the same thing. There were no new postings. Since I had, in fact, quit. But just like Brett Favre retiring/unretiring/retiring/unretiring, here I am. I just can’t quit.

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weekend open bar

Welcome to the Weekend Open Bar! Where the BROS of any self-identified gender come together to hang out! Over the course of two days we share what we’re up to this weekend. You know. Typical shit. What show we’re binge watching on Netflix. What we’re eating. Funny GIFs. Terrible alcohol-fueled revelations we have while hugging the porcelain throne at 3 am after a night of mistakes.

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Weekend Open Bar: The Shape Of Things To Come


LIGHT YOUR HAIR ON FIRE AND SCARE YOUR LOVED ONES WITH POLEMICAL MUTTERINGS DENOUNCING THE ELDER GODS! It’s the only way to truly appreciate this column. With your heresy and their tears upon your soul! This is Weekend Open Bar! The weekly weekend column for us weakened weary existential wobblers. We gather around the bar, haphazardly hobbling up to stools. We share what we’re going to be doing across the next two days. Be it food we’re going to eat. Be it mind-enhancing chemicals we’re going to be ingesting. Be it loved ones we’re going to be spending time with. Whatever you’re up to! Share it! Whatever you’re thinking about! Spill it!

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Monday Morning Commute: The Hall of Hell & Mirth

hall of hell and mirth

It’s Monday. And the work week is beginning for the majority of this. The work weeks will begin for the majority of us, forever, until death or retirement. Which given the state of the Rotting Empire may or may not be available for all of us. In front of us: a wasteland. Or an oasis. Depending on how you approach the rolling of your rock. Do you embrace it? Modify it with personal creation, acts of enjoyment, and a collage of distractions? Or do you pound your fists futilely, condemning the Gods That Don’t Care for y/our fate?

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Weekend Open Bar: Summon The Devil Electric!!!


OH FUCK SHIT. The bar is open! It’s late! Supposed to open last night, but here we are. A day late. Namely because I spent last night eating too much, consuming too many mind-altering substances, and then woke up around noon today. But here we are! Let’s shoot the shit about what we’re doing this Weekend. To enjoy our Lives. It’s BLUE SKIES and ABOVE FREEZING TEMPERATURES in my neck of the woods. So we’re already off to a good start. Pull up a chair. Tell me a tale.

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Monday Morning Commute: No, Donny, these men are nihilists


Greetings, friends. Nihilism is exhausting. But so is commuting an hour-and-a-half every day, both ways. Just sitting in my goddamn car, staring at the brake lights of the Fellow Fools in front of me. I dream of many things, during those hours upon hours of weekly gridlock. Of video games I am looking forward to playing, of movies I am looking forward to seeing. Comics, books, and other distractions.

The yank my corporeal form through the thresher, these distractions. They shove my reluctant soul through the Monday Morning Commute. One week at a time.

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Weekend Open Bar: YAS YAS YAS


It’s the fucking weekend! It’s the fucking weekend! That means I don’t have to drive into the Frozen Hellscape that is Boston for two fucking days! It also means the Wife is returning from eight days of conferencing in San Francisco! Glory be to the highest, I’m so fucking ready for this weekend. And you should be too! Let’s celebrate together at the Open Bar! Drag a chair up next to me, consume your favorite chemicals, and share what you’re up to the next two days!

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