“Runfer, what hell should we do? Runfer?!”
“Sorry, Harry! Goddamn crystal fragments in my eyes…gimme a readin’!”
“The lights’re blinkin’ red to blue to yellow.”
“Y’know what red to blue to yellow means?”
“Yeah, it means we’re down to two engines.”
“Right. And y’know what that means?”
“Other than the obvious?”
“It means that if we don’t muster up some serious elbow grease, there’s gonna be some serious blood on our hands.”
Runfer never thought he’d want to return to the job. Hell, who could blame him? Overseeing the engine room of Starforce One is a thankless nightmare. Everything’s perfect? No one notices. Anything’s wrong? Everyone notices.
And a situation like this? Engines blowing out? Smoke billowing all about? The very real possibility that the uncaring vacuum will tear the ship asunder?
The prospect is enough to prevent most men from ever even thinking about applying.
But Runfer wasn’t most men. He’d already retired. Twice. He’d already paid his dues, already done his duty, already decided he’d spend the rest of his days on a pleasure planet, getting rubdowns from his mistress. And nobody could’ve said shit.
So when Central Command called Runfer, desperate to replace the so-called prodigy whose chest pains got him medical’d less than a year into the gig, no one who knew him was surprised when he picked up the phone. And no one who’d worked with him was surprised when he was back aboard Starforce One the very next day.
`Cause some men will tell you that they just want to relax. They’ll jabber on about sleeping in late and drinking cocktails. They’ll declare fealty to Lord Relaxation. But when told there’re going to be fires to be put out and danger to run into, these goddamn maniacs lace up their boots and make room in their lungs for the smoke.
Two engines down, crystal shards cutting up his eyelids, and toxic fumes bathing over him, Runfer smiled the incorrigible smile of a goddamn maniac.
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!
First, I toss a bit of drivel-fiction at you. Then, I show off what I’ll be doing throughout the week. Lastly, you hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing to survive the workweek.
You’ve either done this before or you’ll catch on quick — LET’S ROCK!
I’m sure Warner Bros. is glad that they’re about to have another hit with Aquaman. But as with anything in the DCEU, all roads lead back to Batman. So, what’s going on with that project? The latest has it that a final draft is due by the end of 2019.
Jordan Peele shares poster for his next movie ‘Us’ and promises a trailer on Christmas. Hell fucking yeah
Man, I can’t fucking wait for Peele’s follow-up to Get Out.
Yo! We ain’t just taking out here in interstellar space, baby! We also dropping pictures from inside the sun’s atmosphere!
Lucasfilm has revealed the official cast of The Mandalorian, and well. It’s absolutely fucking stacked. I can’t wait for this series.
Scott Derrickson returning to direct ‘Doctor Strange 2’ but wait isn’t he dead yeah I know wink wink
Scott Derrickson is returning to direct Doctor Strange 2, folks. It’s a nice but expected development, right? Unless you’re one of those folk that bought into the idea that those culled by Thanos’ snap are dead for good. And so this news of a sequel must be startling. But like, those people don’t exist, do they?
Don’t get me wrong, multiplayer games can be dope. But, after years of catering to that field, companies seem to be getting it. God of War, Red Dead Redemption 2, and Spider-Man all have crushed it as single-player experiences this year. Now, Sony has announced they fucking get it — give the people single-player games.
Feeling blue? Humanity got you down? Well, check this shit out. NASA announced that Voyager 2 has entered interstellar space. In other words, we got two fucking probes that have left our solar system. If that doesn’t tickle your tits I don’t know what does.
You want some fucking monster mayhem in your Godzilla: King of the Monsters trailer? Bro, you got some monster mayhem.