A couple of weeks ago I was yanking purple-tip to Almost Human’s premiere. It was jazzy, I was jazzed, my underoos were sticky but stern. (What does that even mean?) In the middle of my fluids-flinging, our own incalculably talented J-Hawtsauce pointed out that he had a hard time swallowing the episode orders that network television demanded. The good sir lamented the puffed-up nature that having to bring twenty-four (or so) episodes to bare every season can produce on a show.
At the time I claimed that I didn’t have a problem with what were essentially procedural television shows with a science-fiction tinge. After all, I love the X-Files, Fringe titillates me, and since I’m lazy and don’t feel like thinking I’ll nominate Battlestar Galactica as (a stretch of) an example.
Monsters of the week episodes rule! (Sort of.)
Hey friends. Straight-up static here on Space-Ship Omega. My life has been crazy lately. Frenzy. Frenzied! Busy. And all this madness taken me away from the controls. What about the rest of the crew? Great question. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but Rendar Frankenstein has left the ship. Yup. Quietly departed during a movie night. Whilst you were all entertained by the Team Omega’s sweded version of They Live, Frankenstein grabbed a null-grav suit and fluttered away to a local exoplanet. Pluto? Staring in the mirror puffing his bubble pipe while blathering about the impermanence of pop culture references and stroking his non-existent beard. The Dude? Johnny Hotsauce? An arm wrestling match that’s been going on for nineteen days. Bateman? Triple bypass.
Just me. And you. Aboard the Space-Boat. Here is what I’m using to kill my loneliness.
Okay, maybe sexy isn’t the right word. But it’s been a long day, I’m a horn dog, and I’m just sitting her warmly recalling J-Law’s dance scene from Silver Linings Playbook: The Caff Pow Story.
This IMAX poster for Catching Fire is pretty neat, too!
Hnng. Instant blood flow pretty much in that area when I saw Katniss all up in her form-fitting spandex tribute suit thing in this trailer. Goodness me. There’s uh, other stuff in this final preview for Catching Fire. I promise. What is it? I can’t. I can’t remember.
(I’m excited for this movie.)
Here’s the trailer David O. Russel’s latest jam, American Hustle. The trailer doesn’t feature much in the way of exposition but eh, who fucking cares? Tired of seeing trailers that spit out the entire premise. Instead we’re treated to Christian Bale with righteous shitty hair, Amy Adams in a swimsuit, and Led Zepplin. A fairest of trades.
Hit the jump to check it out.
Here’s the trailer for Catching Fire, which is the movie that is most guaranteed to make three-gillion dollars this holiday season. I’ll be there! Not just because I love Jenny Lawrence more than I love coating myself in peanut butter and asphyxiating myself to reruns of Ren and Stimpy. No, no. I also dig the source material. I mean, teaching adolescents rebellion and anarchy? I’ll take it.
Oh golly, that shameless pun. Here’s a first look of J-Law as Mystique in X-Men: Days of Future Past. If I’m being real, I’l cop to forgetting that she is involved in this franchise. And what an errant fuck that makes me. Anyways, enough of my blathering. Hit the jump for blue goodness.
Oh shiiiit, I fucking hate myself for that pun. As you read through Catching Fire, it quickly becomes clear that its author Suzanne Collins doesn’t really have much of a panache outside of her original (stolen, borrowed, remixed, whatever) conceit. So while it would be awesome if Jennifer Lawrence, the film’s mediocre director, and the entire rush job could transcend its source material, I ain’t fucking betting on it. None the less, here is the trailer.
It’s Katniss! It’s that guy whose name I don’t know, playing Finnick. They’re all posing, looking serious, rubbing up against one another. Wee.
The Lego Gaming Games series makes a good variety of people wet. Not me. However, I will surf the excitement this trailer and cover provoke in those in love with the titles, using them to conjure a portal to a dimension where I get to wear Jennifer Lawrence’s underwear. While she plays the banjo for me.