What the fuck is up, members of the Space-Ship Omega? How are you doing? I’m currently typing this bitch while actual rays of sun blast through my window. And while they aren’t supercharging my glands, my glutes, and my muscles ala Superman, these rays do feel good. So I’m hitting this son of a bitch with a bit more ebullience than I would have, had I actually written this yesterday.
Which I intended to, honest! But then the day got in the way, and blah, blah. None the less, let’s embrace the Here and the Now together.
What are you radical fucking pseudo-primates up to this week? What are you enjoying? Sweating the next WandaVision? Gleefully watching the snow melt? I don’t know, enjoying baseball’s Spring Training or some other odd shit?
I want to know! I want to show! I’ll go! First!
This is Monday Morning Commute.
Holy cannoli, motherfuckers! I am back! Not only am I back, but I’m back with a little secret. I actually started this MMC last week, and then just sort of petered out. Yup, both the title and the image were forced in the stupidity of 7-days prior! But we all know the fucking truth, right? My stupidity is both eternal, and timeless. Seven days ain’t going to change that, nor really changed what I’m up to these days. Actually, that’s sort of a lie. Last week, Sam and I were in the continued thralls of Mother-in-Law mania, but it’s definitely cooled down since then. The general VIBE in the HOUSE OMEGA is far more relaxed now. Which is obviously a good thing, ’cause, you know, I feel mentally capable of writing something in this here WordProcessingUnit.
Anyways, enough of this fucking prologue, no? Let’s jump down into the happenings (the haps!) for the week! Then in the comments section you slugs better share what you’re up to in this week! It’s the pact we have made, we have sealed in blood and discussion of boobs and butts over the past 10+ years.
This is Monday Morning Commute, you motherfuckers!
Hey! You fucks! How are you all doing? During this week of Giving Thanks, amid the most rotten-ass year in memory? How are you all doing? During this week of a Blackest Friday, amid the most rotten-ass year of Fridays in memory? This guy? Truthfully, I’m fucking zonked, dude. My core feels hallowed out, and spread across the astral plane. I exist as a collection of core functions, shambling through the next couple of days. If I can make it to Thursday, I’m golden!
Then? On Thursday? I’m popping on a pair of joggers, pulling up a chair, and just fucking getting gluttonous. Consuming some Thanksgiving feast. Consuming some shitty movies with Bateman. Consuming some Spider-Man: Miles Morales.
I’m really just leaning into the concept of elastic waistbands and corpulence this week.
Tell me, what are your plans this week? Crushing some mashed potatoes? Crushing some Shadowlands? Crushing a backlog of comic books with your free time?
I want to know!
This is Monday Morning Commute, Thanksgiving Week Edition!
Mamma mia! Take a depressed dude (hi!) and mix-in some insane work schedule, and what do you get? Just an absolute fucking absence from the digital universe. Specifically, his own Space-Ship. For that, I’m sorry. Apologies, my friends! Apologies. I’m trying. And I suppose that’s really all any of us can be doing in the Year of Misery, 2020.
Shit’s just hard right now! Damn hard. Which means I’m retreating into a cocoon of silence, watching my favorite comedies such as Always Sunny for momentary amusement, and trying and failing to sleep.
Oh yeah, motherfuckers! It’s time for high fiving, and high flying! At least for Bateman and me! Tomorrow night we’re going to a Halloween party, and with the lede in mind, you can guess who we are going as! And I’ll confess, I’ve never been closer to having a mustache. And I’ll confess, it terrifies me.
If you’re good, you’ll get pictures. Unless it terrifies you as well, in which you’ll get pictures if you sin.
Anyways! Anyways. This is Weekend Open Bar! It’s the hangout that hits every weekend, imploring you to spend some time with me aboard the Space-Ship Omega.
Bet you thought you had seen the last of me, fuckers! It’s been a hot minute since I cranked out one of these Monday Morning Commute columns. I’ve returned, though. Full of vim and vigor, ready to golly gee knock this one right out of the fucking park! The fahhhkin’ pahk, kehd! Actually, that’s a handful of goose shit. In fact, I was laying on the futon in my office nary two hours ago just fucking zoning out, man. But here we are.
I’m still sucking wind, thankfully. My summer course is winding down, thankfully. And, OL still exists. Thus, it seems clear that I must carry out the car-crash that is the column! Give you folks, you fucks, the ole rundown of what I’m up to this week. You know, the games I’m playing. You know, the books I’m reading. That sort of tomfoolery.
Then, if you’d be so obliged, join me in the comments section! Tell me, what you’re cranking it to this week. Be it literally, be it figuratively! Both!
I’ll go first.
I’m glad you (didn’t) ask! I just blitz’d a weekend in Maui for a best friend’s wedding, and well. Coming back to reality after two days in paradise requires efforting on several levels. Readjusting to timezones, readjusting to the perils and praxis of regular life, yadda, yadda.
But I can’t complain.
I’ve discovered the answer to a question I’ve been asking myself since last year, when I knew I would be going to Maui. Is thirty hours of travel in the span of four days, and thousands of dollars for said travel, and missing teaching two incredibly intensive summer classes, worth forty-eight hours in paradise, for a best friend’s wedding?
But this, right here! It’s the weekly column where we share what we’re up to, on a given week! I’ll share my own findings, as I rattle around in the befuddled muck of my consciousness, trying to figure out not just what I’m up to, but what day it is, what time it is, this and that, this and that.
I’m fucking tired, man. Like — way tired. Like — eyelids half closed. But here I am! But here we are. This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I share with you fellow rotting meat-sacks what I’m looking forward to each week. Furthermore, additionally, I then, with all my audacity, ask you to share what *you* anticipating across the next seven.
So! Without further ado, without further verbosity, without further self-indulgent blathering, let’s do this!
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.
The Sophists dance on the Funeral Pyres of Intellectualism, crafting arguments made of Fluff and Clickbait. The Cynics bark at the Low Hanging Fruit, crafting arguments made of Bitterness and Clickbait. The Virulent scream into the Faces of the Oppressed, crafting arguments encouraging them to sit down and enjoy it.
I stuff my face, refresh Tumblr, and welcome the Ennui.
I don’t consider myself a sophist, a cynic, or a virulent, mainly I’m just Tired.
Physically tired, after a trying few days. Mentally tired, after a trying few days.
I’m stuffed into dress clothes, unfortunately bulging with despair. I’m stuffed into dress, unfortunately (not) bulging with guts stuffed with junk food.
Welcome to the Grand Pall of MidSemester Ian!
There’s gotta be…I gotta be…Surely there are things for me to look forward to, this week. There’s gotta be…I gotta be…Surely there are things for enjoy, this week. Right? Right! Sure? Sure!
Join me in the comments section. Raise my Spirits. Raise My Soul. Exhume my essence and use it to fight your foes in astral combat. I don’t give a fuck!