#August2018

Weekend Open Bar: Salt + Charcoal

weekend open bar salt and charcoal

Salutations, fellow denizens of the Space-Ship Omega. It is I, your over-caffeinated, mentally-compromised captain! Why, when I’m not hurtling us into the gaping maw of echo-chamber buffoonery, talking about my own dick (and how it pumped, oh did it pump for the Doom Eternal gameplay), and generally embarrassing myself, I like to open up the Open Bar on the weekend! I know, oh do I know. I’m infrequent these days. Apologies all around. Here, here. Take a moist, poorly-wrapped candy from my pocket. Here, here. Take an I.O.U, redeemable for approximately one brutal high-five and chest-bump.

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Weekend Open Bar: Let’s Get Weird!

weekend open bar lets get weird

Let’s get weird, motherfuckers! ‘Cause it’s the weekend! Let’s get weird, motherfuckers! Cause it’s the weekend, and it’s the twentieth of April! You know! That day. That probably means nothing to you!

But that said, this week it’s the Weekend Open Dispensary! Ha, get it?

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Weekend Open Bar: The Groove Salve on the Brain Boil

The Groove Salve on the Brain Boil

My desired Existential-Aesthetic is mid-to-late-1980s Jean-Claude Van Damme movies.

There is such a manic, loosely-tethered lunacy to his movies that more or less perfectly captures the reciprocal nature of It, itself. The meaning in his films are kind of missing, maybe there, sort of apparent, but always haunting you as you dare to ascertain It. Yet, despite the non-sensical, godless, utterly conflicting messages of his movies, that still manage to have fun and revel in doing so.

And yeah, I guess, that’s sort of how I want to approach life, to approach It. It’s a godless, non-sensical world, with no apparent plot or overriding structure. But, despite that, I’m going to cobble together my own absurdist meaning, and have fun doing so.

And I hope you’ll join me, this weekend, at the Open Bar, in celebrating our own non-sensical, absurd existences together. Come, come, come into the bar. Share what you’re up to. The movies you’re watching, the liquid you’re imbibing, the books you’re reading. Anything and Everything always, so long as it adheres to this place’s sole rule: goddamn it, you’ve got to be kind.

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Monday Morning Commute: Doldrums City

monday morning commute doldrums city

Welcome to Doldrums City, comrades. Population: Me (at the very least). I’m sick. I’m tired. The Earth is melting, our government is run by lily livered cretins and monsters. Football is over. The sky is ash. I’m stick. I’m tired. All I want to do is sleep, masturbate wildly while screaming at the ceiling fan, and eat. Eat, and eat, and eat, and eat. Rinse. Repeat.

The columns must flow, though. The Commute must be Monday Morning’d. So here we are. So here we are.

This is MondayMorningCommute by way of TuesdayAfternoon.

Being MMC BYO TA, the task at hand is simple. I share what I’m looking forward to this week. What I’m hoping will rocket me out of Doldrums City, comrades. Then you share your own anticipatory happenings in the comments section.

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Weekend Open Bar: Make A Wish (God Isn’t Listening)

weekend open bar

Good god damn, it’s the Weekend. Good god damn, I’m glad.

Can minimize the amount of time I’m stuffed into these ever-tightening pants, and maximize the amount of time I’m working towards further corpulence. It’s a merry sequence, a happied romance. I hope, oh I hope to do it with you folks. Here at the Weekend Open Bar. The weekly weekend invitation, nay, the weekly weekend invocation of the citizens of Space-Ship Omega. To gather around the digi-hearth and spend their weekend together. Sharing what we’re eating, sharing what we’re drinking, sharing what we’re reading. Sharing anything and everything! Drunken tales of anal gapes around Slurpee dispensers. Sober tales of contemplating. Anything and everything.

Good god damn, it’s the Weekend. Good god damn, I’m glad.

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Monday Morning Commute: The Sky Above Was Neon

monday morning commute the sky above was neon

I suppose, invariably, writing Monday Morning Commute on an actual Monday evening will find me: tired, stank-ass from the gym, palming my eye sockets attempting to figure out what to say. So, invariably, here we are. Here I am. Stank ass. Tired. Palming my eye sockets, praying to the Elder Ones to provide Divination. I’m tired, you’re tired. I’m somewhat fulfilled, in a somewhat fulfilling job, that compensates for its fulfillment by being tenuously existent from semester to semester, and perpetually stressful about said existence. But as the French Philosopher CaffPow once said, “C’est la adjunct life or some shit.” He said that. I said that. I hope you’re feeling at least as fulfilled as me, minus the stress, the perpetual scrotum-shrinking stress of contemplating the harrowing, horrifying prospects of what Next Semester Will Bring, less than a week into This Semester.

Fuck, fuck me, I’ve gotten myself off one of them Old Tangents. They used to be about how I beat my meat inconsolably to gifs of Katy Perry or some shit. Many moons ago. Now they’re just another tepid meat-case lamenting its tepidity whilst stuck in said meat-case, completely ignoring how Goddamn Good the meat-case has it Relative To So Much Of The World.

But, uh, buddy. Buddies. How are you folk-fuckers doing? What are you up to this week? Watching anything dope? What are you sweating? Anticipating playing anything dope? Sharing the answers to said questions is not cheating, folk-fuckers. No, in fact, it’s encouraged in this post here’s comments section. One could even say it’s the fucking raison d’être (the phrase popped into my head but truthfully I had to Google it to confirm it actually was a phrase) of this entire column. Generating a self-sustaining Community Bubble wherein we can share what we’re STOKED and JACKED for during a given week.

Me, this little ole devil? I’ll go first.

Hope to see you in the comments section! Folk-fuckers!

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‘The Expanse’ Season 2 Trailer: To The Brink

Man, I’m stoked for Expanse‘s second season. I would be excited anyways, but I’m doubly excited because of Bobbie Draper. A goddamn glorious character in the universe’s mythos.

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Tuesday Afternoon Commute: A Copy Of A Copy Of A Copy

a-copy-of-a-copy-of-a-copy

I’m just fucking done, man.

The semester has unravelled my precariously knitted-together psyche, spooling it across the OMNIVERSE. If you’ve randomly tripped today, know that it was probably a shredded, knotted, bloodied-strand of my former-consciousness. What was formerly an ebullient, marginally sarcastic whelp has been transformed into a quick-to-fret, foggy-headed nightmare.

I’m just fucking done, man.

This here is Monday Morning Commute, by way of Tuesday Afternoon, sponsored by Ennui and A Colossal, Albeit Ineffective Amount of Caffeine.

This is what I’m looking forward to, this is what’s on my mind, this is what’s simmering in my soul, this week.

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‘The Expanse’ Season 2 Trailer: War Comes To The Solar System

Monday Morning Commute: the whirlybird of universal disconstants

the whirlybind of universal constants

Looking back upon my past, over the past (six months), of the past (several years), two questions have arisen. The first one, perhaps obvious, is: who am I? The second one, perhaps obvious, perhaps not obvious, is: who was I? It’s easy to sift through the wreckage, the diamonds, the wrecked diamonds of your past these days. Facebook and Timehop provide constant reminders of what you were doing, this day, year, years, eons, ago. A feedback loop of experience. Remembering the remembrances, especially if you share those memories of memories. A feedback loop of experience.

I don’t know if I’ve gotten older (slowed down) or I’ve gotten older (matured) or if I’ve gotten older-older. But, this much is certain: I do not recognize the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past. Or more accurately: I do not recognize when I stopped being the Man piercing time-space from the Linear-Past, and became the older-older, more haunted, more nostalgic CaffPow.

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