#Featured Articles

Weekend Open Bar: The Horizon Smelled Like Pleasant Lies

weekend open bar the horizon smelled like pleasant lies

Man. If you only knew how much time I burned through looking for a header image for this post. If you only knew how much time I burned through trying to come up with a title for this post. But here I am, folks. Opening up the Weekend Open Bar for one and all.

Now. I’m covered in sweat, lowered in the couch, delayed in showering before this evening’s activities.

Later. I’ll be covering myself in crumbs, lowering myself in the couch, consuming media with Bateman.

You. What are you doing tonight? Saturday? This weekend? What are you playing? Eating? Watching? Reading? Contemplating?

Somehow. It’s time for yet another Weekend Open Bar.

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Desktop Thursdays: autumn arrives on austere winds

autumn arrives on austere winds

It’s finally kind of, sort of, autumn here in the Northeastern arm of the Empire. The wind has gotten crispy, the leaves have gotten crispy, the heaters have gotten crispy. I’m excited! Stoked, even. I must, however, I must not glance at the weather for the upcoming week. For I shall see, I know I shall see, yet another spike in the temperature.

I’m tired of sweating, dudes. I’m tired of my balls smelling like a Dagobah swamp, dudes. Ready for the death of it all, ready to pray to the Ones That Don’t Exist that I get to witness the rebirth of it all.

But that’s neither here nor there. Or, wait, is it actually both Here and There?

Anyways, anyways, blah blah blah. This is Desktop Thursdays. A look into the life of yours truly, GarbageLord and Steward of the Space-Ship Omega. I hope you’ll share your own life in the comments section.

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Monday Morning Commute: They Still Haven’t Killed Me

They Still Haven't Killed Me

They still haven’t killed me.

That’s not to say there haven’t been a few close calls. That time I pulled the job on the Federation Bank on Ganymede? Goddamn, that pig went belly-up the second I scratched the skin, but I walked out with an empty clip and sack full of cash. Needless to say, I won’t be going back to Jupiter anytime soon.

Or that time I stowed aboard the Belt Skipper in the hopes of finding my beau for a real lunar tryst of a weekend. Of course, I was discovered halfway through, and that fuck of a captain tried the `ole airlock gag on me. Thing is, that shit only works on the criminally unprepared, and I’m nothing if not one prepared criminal. Fucker punched the release and I flashed him the bird before wrapping myself in a solar sail and then leisurely drifting to a comrade’s outpost.

Oh, and then just yesterday I was having a drink at Old  McQuarrie’s — bourbon and white wine, if you care – and all of a sudden the place goes neon! Bullets and beams whizzing past my head, Old McQuarrie crying behind the bar and doing that thing he does where he says those prayers and grabs at the – whatcha call it – that’s right, the Rosary beads! They managed to kill an old pervert sitting next to me, which is a shame because even though he’d spent a half hour shamelessly trying to get into my pants, everyone in the community really loved him.

So anyways, I end up having to basically gut Old McQuarrie’s with the better part of my arsenal – and I don’t just mean bullets and blades, I’m talking about pulse charges and pheno-drones, too. But, when someone’s trying to take your life, you don’t think to yourself, “Maybe I should save something for next time,” `cause the truth is that there might not be a next time.

They still haven’t killed me.
And I’ve got the privilege of next time.
But next time? They might just kill me.

—-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, you salty dogs!

Y’either know the drill or y’don’t. If y’do, just keep movin’ along! If y’don’t, well here’s what’s what: first I warm you up with some half-baked bit of writing nonsense (see above). Then, I share what I’ll be thinking about or watching or listening to or doing over the next week. Finally, you hit up the comments section and share your own tentative plans?

Why do we do this here at OL? Well, because life can be brutal but solidarity can be liberating. We’re all just trying to make our days manageable — or enjoyable or maybe even, in rare instances, triumphant — and sometimes a good suggestion goes a long way.

Enough blathering, let’s freakin’ dance!

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Bromega Twitchcast #1: Mine Cart Carnage can get fucked

The first Bromega Twitchcast! Bateman and I are going to be streaming SNES games on the first and third Saturdays of every month.

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Weekend Open Bar: Informal Gluttony

weekend open bar informal gluttony

It’s the fucking weekend, baby!

Not a minute too soon, not a moment too early. Caught myself some Blade Runner 2049 last night (it’s fucking amazing), and it was worth it! But goddamn, did I ever mentally and physically pay the Iron Price for it. No sleep, very little sleep, what sleep was had was shoddily attained that.

But!

It’s the fucking weekend, baby!

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Desktop Thursdays: it was a wonderful life

it was a wonderful life

Welcome to another edition of Desktop Thursdays! I’ll level with you, I don’t update this often, ’cause I really don’t do much. For a column that’s predicated on showing my world(s) with you, both literal and digital, I…I don’t take many pictures these days! But! I’m here today. So bask in my banality, and then share your own in the comments section!

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Monday Morning Commute: It’s hell on Earth and the city’s on fire

monday morning commute its hell on earth

It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.

Yesterday was one of those days where the laptop didn’t leave the book bag upon my return to the Mother-Ship. But, I’m here now! Ready to give you the rundown of what I’m looking forward to this week! Ready to eagerly anticipate your own happenings in the comments section.

It’s Monday Morning Commute, comrades! A day late, but what can you do.

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Monday Morning Commute: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah

clap your hands say yeah!

It’s been four weeks, but goddamn, I’m back. Computer, uh, healed. Its technological malfunctions sated by the astralGeniuses and of course the corporealCurrencies paid forth to said astralGeniuses. I, I can’t complain about the corporealCurrencies spent or the fact that the astralGeniuses really didn’t live up to their name. ‘Cause finally I have a fucking computer again. The Engines of Depravity that power the Space-Ship Omega and this Garbage Lord are whirring up to full strength, and we’re just going to fucking resume operations.

I’ve missed you fucks.

This is Monday Morning Commute. The weekly wank-off over the arts&farts that are serving to propel us through a given week. You know, the shit we’re looking forward to, enjoying, anticipating, worshipping, that serve as a balm on the existential burns of existence.

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Thursday Morning Whatever The Fuck: Who Gives A Shit

thursday morning whatever the fuck

Hello, salutations, and greetings, fellow Trash Lords. Scions of the Elder Garbage. It’s I, your fearless dumpster pile, Caffeine Powered. Coming to you from a shitty, broken down computer at the public university at which I theoretically work. I say theoretically since due to bureaucracy and the lack of an actual budget for the Fall Semester (seriously), I haven’t gotten paid since August. Eh, whatever, whatever.

I come to you here, because as I’ve commented upon in other posts, my goddamn personal computing machine is about to enter its own fourth week of in-action.

But, hey. I got time before class, so I figured I would throw some sort of line of communication into the EchoChamber.

For perhaps the first and only time, it’s Thursday Whatever The Fuck! My angered, frantic Thursday edition of Monday Morning Commute.

I miss ya’ll, I miss blogging for ya’ll (all three of you), so here’s what I’m up to this week. You know, when I’m not embracing a desiccated bank account and a general malaise.

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Monday Morning Commute: Pig Roast Don’t Cry

Pig Roast Don't Cry

“Y’gotta jam the apple in his mouth before y’roast him!”

“Stuff that!”

“Zackkly, y’gotta stuff it right in and then y’can roast the fucker on a spit real goo-”

“Nah, man, stuff that as in fuck that. We put an apple in that pig’s mouth and then tryta roast him on a spit, whattaya thinks gonna happen?”

“I don’t thinks nothing’s gonna happen, I knows what’s gonna happen! All that’s gonna happen is we’re gonna have us some good-goddamn-delicious barbecue, and its smoky-goodness is gonna have a hint of apple!”

“You fuckin’ moron! Lookit his fuckin’ mouth — it’s too fuckin’ small! Stick an apple in there and then spin him around and around? It’s gonna fuckin’ fall out! We kill this pig, we roast him up real good, and then we jam the apple in his mouth as a garnish!”

Clint, despite every instinct-bone in his body aching, had to admit that his brother had a point. Which really sucked, because Clint had been building up this moment in his mind for months, visualizing how it’d go down. And no matter what changed in his mind — the guilty parties present, the setting, the time of day — one thing always remained the same.

The Senator would be roasted on a spit, naked save for his tie and socks and the flag lapel stabbed into his tit, and he’d unable to scream because of the apple jammed into his mouth.

But if Clint’d learned anything since joining a gang of jenkem-huffing bipartisan cannibals, it was that sometimes you just had to temper your expectations.

“Awh, aight Brucie, you makes a good point! But I still thinks we should wait until the apple’s in his mouth before we post to Facebook!”

“Of course, Clint. Of course.”

—-

This is the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!

I’ve just foisted some drivel-fiction nonsense upon you. Thanks for putting up with me. Oh, who am I? I’m Rendar Frankenstein — hack writer, amateur sociologist, and pop culture enthusiast.

So, here’s the deal: I’m going to show you some of the stuff I’ll be consuming in the hopes of staving off workweek-ennui. Then, you hit up the comments and show off what you’ll be consuming! And then we all share!

Really, it’s sort of like a pop culture/entertainment-suggestion potluck.

But totally, totally cooler!

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