Wait, what? The dudes behind Game of Thrones are going to be writing and producing a completely new series of Star Wars films. I can dig this, dig this so hard.
Man, I haven’t given a fuck about Tom Hank in a hot, quiet minute. But, I suppose the dude still exists. Not only that, but said-forgotten-and-now-remembered actor is starring in a movie helmed by one of the more prominent Game of Thrones directors.
‘Game of Thrones’ final season’s budget is $15 million per episode. That’s a lot of blue dragon flames, dude
Game of Thrones‘ final season budget is fucking staggering, dude. HBO is going to be barfing up $15 million per episode to send their flagship series off.
Come one, come all, to Monday Morning Commute. Yeah. Yeah! Fucking Yeah!, I’m late. Again. But, like, hey man. I don’t know, I got nothing. General tardiness. Spent yesterday trying to cobble together peer mentors for my Fall semester classes, while admittedly spending most of it playing Uncharted: The Lost Legacy, and watching Monday Night Raw. I’m Trash It’s okay. I’m Trash! It’s okay. I’m Trash!. It’s okay.
Come with me, friends. We can be Trash together.
Even though I’m tardy, even though I’m on vacation before the Fall Semester Gauntlet begins, I got a good amount of shit I’m up to this week. I got a good amount of shit I’m enjoying this week. I got a good amount of fucking shit I’m looking forward to this week.
I shall elaborate on all three of those categories after the beep, the robot vomits into the digi-textual microphone to check for efficacy, and the buzzer sounds.
Then I hope you shall elaborate on your own happenings in the comments section.
This is Monday Morning Commute.
*bzzt, vomit, vomit, one-two-one-two, bzzt*
Well then. Apparently, if a fuck-up at some assuredly demolished and buried Target is to be trusted, Bethesda is making a Game of Thrones game. I’m sure I’ll play it, if it exists, and jack off to it like the sloven I am, if it exists, but still. I would much prefer Bethesda gets releasing with their rumored science-fiction title that’s allegedly in the vein of Skyrim and Fallout.
Sometimes, man. Sometimes, I just straight-up spend too much time thinking of a post title for a Monday Morning Commute, and then I spend too much time hunting the perfect image. “Perfect”, I know. I’m trash. Anyways, how are you fucking folks doing? You stellar Garbage Lords.
Well, I’m currently pinched for time. Tomorrow I leave for the Great White North, meeting the rest of the family up there for a final service for my Nana. She sloughed the mortal coil last year, I think maybe I discussed it?, and now it’s time.
To throw Nana into the marsh behind the family home. Where her shamanistic tendencies can be unloosed, sent to interact with her fellow Reality Melters in the Gilded Plains of the OMNIVERSE.
Well, I’m currently wasting time!
So here, without further adieu, is what I’m currently enjoying, currently looking forward to, currently sweating. Let me know what you’re up to this week!
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, rhythmically at first! Ignore, ignore your eyes rolling into the back of your head!
Clap your hands, say Weekend Open Bar!
Clap with me, now with a bit of horror, a pinch of fear! Ignore, ignore your mind being severed from your body!
For! My friends! To the Omniverse!
The OMEGA-CAST is back, jackholes! With Rendar, to boot! Oh, so, delicious! Not really. It’s a bunch of me being really phlegmy, burping, and realizing the reason no one likes me anymore is because I come off as a sports talk radio host! Oh, I’m being negative.
Okay, okay. Um. You could always just skip to the part where Rendar, who has returned, and whose returned I said I would wait for, until we recorded a new podcast, argues with bitchy, loveless Eduardo about Baby Driver.
There’s, uh, other stuff. Han Solo movie talk, Bateman’s typical sociopathy, and overall just degenerate garbage lord fun. I hope you’ll join us!
Man, it’s been a weird summer so far. Today marked the sixth, and final week of the summer class that I teach for incoming freshmen students. There’s just been something off since the get-go, and as its conclusion nears, a sense of confusion that it’s really ending, and a sense of relief that it’s really ending are both making themselves known. But it’s the end, the conclusion, the finale this week.
And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to wear dress pants three more times until September.
And for all my whimpering, simpering, and bitching, I only have to work four days a week until September.
So here we are. Frazzled, and fried, but fairly grateful, all things considered.
This is Monday Morning Commute. The wank-off section, where we wank, and oh do we stroke, and rub, and perhaps even lick ourselves to the arts&farts we’re looking forward to on a given week. I’ll go first.
Then you go. Get excited. Don’t worry. Wet naps and warm towels will be dispensed per your request.
I don’t know, what the fuck do you want from me? Just kind of in a funk, lately. Not pervasive, rather it sort of floats in and out of my day. Tired. Burnt out. Expressed the idea to my wife yesterday and her response was immediate, logical, and undeniable: I haven’t had a proper vacation in who the fuck knows how long, and I work myself to death. Always busy. Always tired. Always distracted.
Case in point, I write the above paragraph at 2pm during my lunch break. But, here I am, now! It’s 7pm. I have surfed time, space, commuter traffic, a half-assed workout, and a dog walk to rejoin this act of writing. I’m just, you know. Tired.
But! Hey! It’s Monday Morning Commute! By way of Tuesday. Despite being slathered in a melange of malaise, I’m actually looking forward to some shit this week, I’m actually consuming some pop culture I’m enjoying this week.
Join me in the comments with your own pop culture proclivities, thoughts on existence, gifs of furries farting on cakes. I don’t give a shit.