THE GANG OMEGA’S PICKS OF 2012: Rendar Frankenstein’s Rumination Frenzy!!

December 31st, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

It’s with a tearful eye and a hyper-extended thumbs-up that I bid farewell to 2012.

The last twelve months have been some of the finest of my entire life. And I’m not exaggerating. Unlike those saccharine slobs who always clamor about the present hour being their finest and the preceding moments nothing more than the bliss-steps to their existence plateaus, I have no illusions about the fact that I’ve chalked up some miserable years. I’ve anguished through entire calendars, burnin’ `em up with fuel of the most incendiary sort.

Self-doubt! Resentment! Apathy! Vitriol! Cynicism! Sally forth towards the mire!

But 2012 was a whole different beast. Sure, there definitely some moments when my nostrils were assailed by the wispy vapors of the aforementioned propellants. But repugnance was ultimately cast aside, overpowered by the surfeit of wonder! It’s almost as though entertainment and art and love formed a giant sword-wieldin’, monster-destroyin’ mech, and I got to pilot the son-of-a-bitch!

If only!

Anyways, it looks as though every crew member of Spaceship OL is delivering their year-end highlights, so I’m going to join the party. But since I’ve garnered a reputation as being the erratic, currently-undiagnosed-but-we’re-working-on-it, hack-writin’ resident of the crew, I’m going to switch things up a bit. Each of my highlights will be paired with an Ultra-Dimensional Portal! By clicking on any UDP, a hole will be punched in space-time, and your consciousness will be projected astrally.

Got it? Okay, here’s one last look at 2012!

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OMEGA-`LECTION DAY!

November 5th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Oh snap! Looks like OMEGA-`LECTION DAY is upon us! I can’t believe we’ve made it to another one, but since we’re here we might as well celebrate! Hit the jump to check out all of our totally legitimate coverage!

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Bradbury Forever.

June 7th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

[Ray Bradbury died today]

I was filching my seventh cup of caffeinated splendor from the coffee machine when a coworker came rushing towards me. He had mustard on his shirt and concern in his eyes. “Hey man, how’re you holding up? You all right?”

After taking a rip of coffee, I proceeded. “Rodrigo, what the hell’re you talkin’ about? Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“Oh shit, I thought you heard…Dude, Ray Bradbury died.”

“Bwahahaha,” I sprayed coffee all over my dress-pants. “That’s hilarious!

Rodrigo was befuddled. “Hilarious? I thought you’d be upset. Isn’t Bradbury your favorite author?”

“Of course he is! Bradbury straddles the lines between science fiction and fantasy and parable like no other! He’s an avuncular horror-master, a winsome conveyor of the fantastic! Fahrenheit 451! The Illustrated Man! The Martian Chronicles! How could Bradbury not be my favorite?”

“So,” Rodrigo ventured forth cautiously, “you love Ray Bradbury but don’t care that he’s dead?”

I once again found myself struggling to spill the coffee past the bulwark of laughter and into my gullet. Finally successful, I wiped an errant tear streaming down my cheek and broke into a smile. I’d help my coworker understand.

“Ray Bradbury  can’t die. When he was twelve years old, Mr. Electrico imbued him with the power to live forever! And now, regardless of what’s happened to his corporeal form, Ray’s going to be with us forever.”

[Ray Bradbury is going to live forever]

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STAR WARS is 35 Years Old. Today.

May 25th, 2012 by Budrickton

May 25, 1977.  I suspect few of us were even born yet.  Even if, like me, your first exposure was the Special Editions in ’97, or an overused VHS copy from the ’80s, it was likely a definitive and defining element of most of our childhoods.

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[PREVIEW] OMNI: A God-Awful, Small Affair

April 28th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

OL has been given first crack at previewing A God-Awful, Small Affair, the first installment of OMNI from first-time writer Allen Drinkwater (who is, apparently, a friend of this site). After checking out the preview materials and being completely won over by the artwork of Manny Hernaez, I’ve decided to oblige.

Set on the Mars of 2090 CE, this comic follows Detective Farmer Murdock as he attempts to complete his final mission. The catch? The task at hand is to assassinate two of the planet’s most well-respected statesmen. The ensuing tale is filled with violence, rock’n'roll, nefarious secrets, and even a hint of the miraculous.

Hit the hyperspace jump to check out some samples!

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Monday Morning Commute: Goddamn `98

April 2nd, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

I could’ve sworn I filled the tank.

I mean, if I was goin’ to risk my life time-travelin’, the best false sense of security I could’ve had would’ve been having enough fuel. As such, I spent countless weeks double-checking my math, the calculations whirring around around my mindscape even as I slept. The formula for post-temporal diesel was arcane knowledge, and if I wanted to concoct it myself I’d have to be super careful.

And when I finally felt that the arithmetic lined up, I got a big `ole metal barrel and mixed the ingredients:

- 1/2 gallon of gasoline
- 20 ounces of Pepsi Max
- 3 gallons of liquid zebra feces (grassfed animals only)
- 1/2 hour’s worth of tears

When the sludge was uniform in color (and pleasant to the taste), I poured it into the Toast-R-Oven I’d outfitted as the energy converter. I plugged in the converter, took a whiff of paint thinner, and then hopped into my combination broom closet/time machine.

I closed my eyes. Waited. Exited.

And here I am, trapped in the year 1998. Ugh. If the 1990s were an orgy, `98 would be the unwashed hippie who’s shown up despite having never received an invitation and hopin’ that some cooze grants poon-access to his scabby semen-dispenser. 1998 brandishes neither the novelty of the earlier 90s nor the enthusiasm of the turn-of-the-century. And yet it still cries for attention, hoping and pleading and wishing that someone will give a fuck.

I could’ve sworn I filled the tank. Next time I’ll check more carefully.

–-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE. I’m going to present semi-coherence in the hopes that you’ll validate my role as a member of Team Omega-Level. In the process, I’ll detail the various ways I’ll be keeping myself entertained. Fuck human tragedy, let’s all have a swell time!

Your mission – if you’re as brazen as you wished your prom date thought you were – is to hit up the comments section and share the bits and pieces of fun-debris that you’ll be sifting through this workweek.

Let’s dance.

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Monday Morning Commute: Bakula’s Packin’

March 12th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Hello there, `fraidies and gentle-hams. My name is Rendar Frankenstein, and once upon a time I was one of the captains of the fine vessel known as Omega-Level. With Caffeine Powered, I helped steer this nerd-craft through the Interweb Ocean, fending off the ever-present threat of vibe-pirates and soul-trolls. In those early days, I’d write reviews and drink casks and even occasionally lend my word-vomit to the back of comic books.

But these days, I’ve taken to the dark underbelly of SPACESHIP OL. I like it here, where I can chat with the suspected mutineers about their murderous visions and incorrigible bloodlusts. And no, I wasn’t demoted to chomping on fish-heads and tossing the shit-barrels overboard by the powers-that-be, I volunteered for this spot. It fits me just fine.

Because the fact of the matter is that I’m Rendar Frankenstein — the hack writer extraordinaire who wears a heart on his sleeve that bleeds so profusely you’d swear he’s menstruating.

–-

This here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, a weekly show-and-tell session that promotes the cross-pollination of all things in the pop-nerd sphere. To get things started, I’m going to show you the various ways I’ll be staving off workweek ennui. Your job is to then hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be watching/reading/eating/playing/drinking/doing to exorcise the forty-hour-a-week demons.

Let’s do this.

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Monday Morning Commute: Ms. Americana 1973

March 5th, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

I’ll never forget the night I fucked Miss Americana 1973.

We’d met earlier in the evening for some casual drinks. Sitting in the Holo-Lounge, we ran a huge tab and sparred with one another. We both pulled punches, knowing that the other was far too vulnerable to be dealt a true blow. She was as defenseless against my clever quips as I was against her cheekbones   and ass. Oh boy, was I defenseless when I was against her ass!

Anyways, banging a supermodel in a space station hotel suite is hardly an event worthy of a bedpost-notching. Hell, the name R. Frankenstein isn’t on three different brands of jetpack-vibrators because my stinky-little-peenie hasn’t gone off-planet. No, I’ll never forget my sexual encounter with Miss Americana 1973 because of what she gave me.

My first LSTD experience.

She had just climaxed, yanking out a clump of my hair and pouring a bottle of Pepsi on my belly (per my request) when I started to feel…off. At first I chalked up the tingling at the back of my head to either coital-bliss or an impending tumor. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling persisted. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling grew stronger. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling turned into music.

And then the walls began melting and Roger Rabbit materialized so that he could tickle my ass and Miss Americana 1973 metamorphosed into a squid-creature that would’ve made even the likes of Lovecraft squirm and cry like a babby and then I began to cum but my dick shot out staples instead of ejaculate but I felt no pain only the wonder of producing steel from my sexual reproductive organ and I had to apologize to my squid-lover of the evening because I had shot staples all over his back but I made sure to clean them up with a rainbow.

When I awoke the next morning, Miss Americana 1973 was nowhere to be found. It seemed that I was completely alone in the suite. But then I closed my eyes and I saw that I had visitors – the spellbinding memories from the night before.

The remembrances of my first sexually-transmitted hallucinogenic experience.

–-

Hello to all of you – the heroes, bombshells, brats, nerds, Capitalist-hating-Commies, stuntmen, nurses, Commie-hating-Capitalists, post-modern Romantics – that visit Omega-Level? Thissere’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, your spot for sharing the various means by which you’ll survive the workweek. Hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be reading, watching, playing, eating, or listening to this week.

It’s internet show-and-tell at its most dastardly.

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Behold! Winston Churchill’s Dieselpunk Life Pod He Used In Airplanes. Amazing.

January 30th, 2012 by Caffeine Powered

A little bit of the old Retro-Future to start your week off. Winston Churchill was a beefy old bastard who wasn’t supposed to fly above 5,000 feet. Given that the motherfucker had to, you know, fly a lot, how’d they get around this little mortality bit? Boom! Life pod in action.

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Monday Morning Commute: An Accident of Birth

January 2nd, 2012 by Rendar Frankenstein

Today is January 2nd, the nightcap on what is typically thought of as the holiday season. The wrapping paper’s been discarded, the ornaments have been put back in the box, and Uncle Bosco’s been evicted from his spot on the couch. This our last chance to sample the holiday pastries before their thrown out, to empty the champagne bottles into our guts when no one’s looking, and to lounge around in sweatpants without worrying about judgment.

This is a glorious day.

I’m doing my best to revel in this final moment of jubilation, as I know that when tomorrow hits I’m going to be a miserable bastard. I don’t hate my job, but it’s incredibly time consuming and I often find myself dreaming of finding a job that’s less demanding, even if that’s synonymous with less lucrative. Which is kind of insane, because I don’t exactly make mad cheddy-donkies right now.

I know I’m not alone.

And thus, I present the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This is OL’s weekly 9-5ers Anthem, the spot where we share our strategies for surviving the workweek. After you check out the various bits of entertainment I’ll be using to salvage my sanity, hit up the comments section and show off your wares.

Let’s do this.

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