I can’t imagine anyone actually being shocked that Call of Duty is seeing a decline in sales. The son of a bitch is trotted out every year. Weary-eyed, it is set on the ground, while ravenous dickheads like myself snack on its messy innards. There is only so much it can give. A year off would do it good. Such a break would allow for a refreshing of the vibe, as well as allow for some tinkering time. That shit ain’t going to happen, however. No way. You’re better off betting on me spitting teeth into a gaping Unicorn prolapse. It simply makes too much money to abscond for a calendar’s waste. The solution? I got nothing.
The Multiverse is tired, man. It’s been kicking it around for like, billions or something. Billions of years. Across an infinite amount of realities. During that duration, it has seen some shit. Some yokel Farm Boy wielding Voodoo Mind Powers blowing up a giant mechanical star. A creepy Wizard hanging out with a bunch of little midgets who hug each other a lot while fingering this really creepy vaginal symbol. Dinosaurs. Computer-generated realities that serve as prisons for Meat Sacs while they power Robotic Boners. All of them have come to pass.
Here in our little morsel of the Multiverse, the lot of us lead banal but enjoyable lives. Hugging friends, drinking oak sodas, arguing about meaningless things. We feign importance because in reality we’re monkeys covered in our own seminal fluid and killing one another over Space Gods and illusory physical boundaries. Eh, what can you do. Here on Monday Morning Commute, us Monkey Monsters of the Multiverse share the various things that are getting us through yet another infinitesimal moment in the Infinite.
It’s a little batch of nothing, but Christ if it ain’t all we got.
Thanksgiving! The week in which the Empire descends once more into gluttony and materialism. It has been so long without an excuse to devolve into primal man, consuming and farting! The fourth of July is so, so far away at this point. Let us not slide into complete debauchery this week. Let us be gracious. I’m thankful for you ladies and gentleman who frequent this establishment. You eat the appetizers, tip the doorman, and thankfully don’t let the others know that the abandoned warehouse down the street near the bowling alley has become my personal scat hovel.
God is good.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we share the various activities that are getting us through the week. A little bit of a curveball this time around though, what with the aforementioned holiday. So what are you mortals, deities, and demigods of the Netterwebs during this Thanksgiving week?
Holla back, youngin’.
My friends, welcome to the show. It’s been quiet around here at the Omega Level. For that I apologize. The past month has been a full-ass sprint towards the Grad School finish line. Due to this, I’ve all but dropped off the face of the Earth. I haven’t seen that son of a bitch Patrick Bateman since NYCC, and God knows without me keeping him in check he’s probably been returning a lot of video tapes. A lot of high school color guards being terrorized by a trench coat-and-smirk marauder. I haven’t even read a fucking comic book since August, folks. August. My life is a whirlwind, with only brief jaunts to the movie theaters and Borderlands 2 giving me respite.
Soon though! Fucking Thursday, this 50-page beast will be turned in. Then I’ll be able to relax. A bit.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we diddle and jack it to the activities and loves that are getting us through this week. What are you degenerates digging at the moment? ATM? Ass to mouth?
Goddamn! Black Ops 2: Bro Dudes Requiem hasn’t even come close to street date yet, and there is already some homie modding a leaked version of it. Hats off to the dude who is assuredly on the run from a legion of Activision cereberus-ninja hybrids.
Imma buy and play Black Ops 2, because it has joined Thanksgiving and gaining twenty pounds as perennial November habits of mine. Now I know I’ll be partying to a uh, wait what?, theme song by Trent Rezzy when I boot the fucker up.
Wouldn’t you know it. Black Ops 2 reveal trailer has finally dropped, days and days after the game was tots leaked. We’re going to the (near) future, baby!
Not the way I’m sure they wanted the information to come out, but here is confirmation of Black Ops 2.
These may or may not be leaked Black Ops 2 screenshots, featuring in-game looks at the title’s quadrotor machine of death.
Is this the official poster for Black Ops 2? It would make sense. It’s about that time of the year again when Activision pulls apart its slimy cheeks and begins to show the world the cresting head of the latest Call of Duty iteration.