Snap! Hugo Weaving has been cast as The Red Skull in the Captain America movie. Let me blast your tits with an analogy. This casting decision is as awesome as casting Jim from The Office as Steve Rogers would have been fucking awful. Take that to your Miller’s Analogies test. I dig on Weaving, the dude has owned my soul as Agent Smith, V from V For Vendetta, and as that Elf Guy whose name I won’t attempt to type from Lord of the Rings.

I tried to discuss this with my friend Andrew, and he went into such a blind rage about this casting being typecasting that I wanted to massage his testicles through the interwebz. I love you Andrew, it’s going to be okay. I’m fine with the casting, since I want The Red Skull to be some creepy, booming-voiced Nazi motherfucker. He’s got the sort of mug that screams “I’m creepy”, and his aforementioned voice is perfectly down for epic proclamations and monologuing, which we know all good villains must do at some point.

This is a total +50 to anticipation for the movie, and the first time I’ve been like, oh shiznit, this flick could work.

Apparently Bioware has announced their first batch of paid DLC for Mass Effect 2. Previously all their DLC was free for those of us who picked the game up at release through their nifty Cerberus pipeline. So now we have to pay? What the fuck! The balls! I’m actually okay with it, as long as it doesn’t blow. So far the DLC that’s dropped for ME2 has felt like either afterthoughts and bullshit   like the Normandy crash site; or shit that was intended to be in the game but cut to generate “DLC”, like Zaeed. I haven’t been really impressed. And while I am excited for the next batch of free DLC this month, I think I’m even more excited for Kasumi’s Memory.

Via Destructoid:

The content, which can be launched at any point during the narrative, can be divided into two themed swathes. The first half is exploration-based. The space Rogue Kasumi is seeking an item of value that is tucked deep in a bent rare-item collector’s vault. To get access, Shepard must travel to the collector’s house party, mingle, and discover where exactly that vault actually is. The second half is an escalating series of battles against mechs and soldiers after discovering the object.
Kasumi is, of course, a recruit for the suicide mission (or even after). And the best part is that she hits with fresh moves — the hippest being “Shadowcloak,” the space version of a “backstab.” But   more compelling than the addition of a thief and new moves is the fresh art. The rare item collector has a host of historical items in his house and vault, each lovingly crafted by BioWare’s artists. But The mansion, even the formal wear are all newly-created assets as well.

Fucking jawesome, bro! I’m a total and complete whore for Mass Effect 2. I spent the last two months playing through it non-stop. The only breaks I took from it were to look out the window of my basement dungeon and pine for a universe where I could get a drink in some intergalactic bar. I’m not a total nerd, but when I contemplate the fact that aliens aren’t real, I’ll never get to shout “JUMP” as someone flips an FTL switch, or go to the Citadel, I get mildly suicidal. Which is sort of par for the course.

Shit drops April 6.

[ source ]

[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Bruce Wayne has been dead for about a year now. During this time, Grant Morrison has unfurled one of the most interesting imaginings of the Batman mythology in years, letting Dick Grayson rock the cowl and having Damian fulfill role of Robin. It’s been refreshing to see typically static characters further developed, pushed into areas that drives some fanboys into genuine nerd rage. Yeah, it’s been great to see fans breaking down, screaming, “But…but, Bruce is Batman, not Richard…Because…that’s how it’s been…and…well, see…you CAN’T CHANGE THE STORY! BECAUSE I’VE NEVER SQUEEZED A TITTY! AND A RESPECT FOR SIXTY YEARS OF CONTINUITY IS THE ONLY THING KEEPING A BULLET FROM MY BRAIN!!!”

One might be inclined think that a comic whose cover advertises “The Return of Bruce Wayne Begins Here!” would really cheese me off. But Batman and Robin #10, the comic touting just that, is actually quite enjoyable. The book is a well put together balancing act, laying an early foundation for the return of the original Caped Crusader while still playing with the currently assembled cast. Since superheroes never manage to stay dead for long, the best one can hope for is a reanimation that still progresses the mythos.

With Batman and Robin #10, Morrison runs the characters through the unavoidable emotional gamut that comes with bringing loved ones back from the dead. On one hand, Dick is eager to snatch Bruce Wayne out of the abyss, snacking on every morsel of a lead he finds in his investigations. After all, Wayne is the guy that saved his life, offering him a home and a purpose after his parents got capped.

On the other hand, Damian is a bit more hesitant to welcome his father back to the land of the living. But when you look at it from his perspective, the reservations make sense. First of all, Damian never really had a great relationship with his father. Moreover, if Bruce Wayne were to reassume the Batman responsibilities, Damian would be SOL; Dick Grayson can go back to being Nightwing, but the younger Wayne has nothing to fall back on. He can’t go even go back to his crimelord mama, as he had to defy her to even keep his job as Robin.

When it’s not ruminating about feelings, Batman and Robin #10 has got some sick, kooky-ass comic book shit to keep you flipping pages. There are newly discovered secret passages in Wayne Manor. There are goofy bad guys, showing up just a second too late to get Batman’s mysterious ally. Oh, there are some strong hints (I smell red herring) that aforementioned ally is actually the already-returned Bruce Wayne. Also, time travel is involved in one way or another. I think.

The issue is peniclled by Andy Clarke and inked by Scott Hanna, whose combined efforts come across as an imitation of Frank Quitely. Which is fine, really, since Quitely started this series and is one of my favorite current artists. Clarke and Hanna are pretty much par for the Batman and Robin course, never particularly wowing me but certainly not disappointing me either. Again, I’d love to see Frank Quitely do every issue of the series, but I prefer this pair to former pencillers like Philip Tan and Cameron Stewart.

With its vibrant colors and bubbly approach to a morbid topic, Batman and Robin #10 is damn fun. Yes, I used the three-letter word that is to be avoided at all costs, but that’s what pops up when I think of this comic book. Grant Morrison is proving, once again, that comic books don’t have to be gritty, macabre spectacles in order to be entertaining.

Sometimes the light hearted approach is best.

You have to give it up to Square Enix. They don’t even try to be subtle in their hyper-sexualizing of teenagers in Final Fantasy XIII. Sometimes FFXIII feels like a copy of Barely Legal for overweight and underweight nerds.

At first I thought I was just a big pervert when I began playing Final Fantasy XIII. I mean, once Vanille was on screen, my parts engorged and I was like, why am I so attracted to this polygonal teenager? I thought to myself that it’s probably because I’m a fat nerdboy who also suffers from a laundry list of mental impairments. She was there on screen, all being cute, but scantily clad with skin everywhere. God dammit!, I thought to myself. This is how it starts.

But then I was saved! You see, Final Fantasy XIII wants to me to get a hard-on for the near jailbait! I realized it pretty early into the game. When the gang of douchebags get branded for their Focus or whatever, and they’re turned into L’Cie, there’s this moment where they’re all showing where they’ve been branded. I’m sort of half-paying attention as they show their brands, and then Vanille shows hers. It’s all the way up her thigh, right next to her ass. Which she reveals by pulling up her skirt, revealing pure, milky goodness. Jesus Christ I thought, this is exactly what they want! I was relieved, and continued playing, not bothering to put my pants back on.

I own this dumb shit already. It’s called my Wii. It sits unused gathering dust while I use two systems that aren’t predicated on gimmicky motion control bullshit. The only time I want to be furiously working my wrists is when I’m pleasuring myself or a partner. I’m going to probably end up buying this anyways. Oh well.

[Search Engine Terms come from an app in the Word Press dashboard. It tells you the terms that people are using in google to lead to your site. Most of ours are ultra depraved and horrible. And amusing to sick people like me.]

Dude, are you kidding me? The aisles are running full with the fluids spilled by fanboys and fangirls over Bayonetta.

I saw Tron when I was a little kid. And knowing how neurotic I was, it probably gave me nightmares. After I saw the second Terminator movie, I was convinced that every other child I interacted with was secretly a robot plotting my death. I’m not kidding.

Since it’s been so long, I really have no idea what the movie was about. That isn’t stopping me from being really stoked about the sequel. It’s got all the ingredients to make me excited for a movie. It’s got Hot Chicks In Latex. It’s got futuristic, maybe even retro-futuristic visuals. And it’s got The Dude. It’s a perfect storm. Watching the trailer is like snorting a line of Nerdboner Viagra. Check out the trailer below.

EL LINUS struck this week, giving us an hour of the weasel and his nasal voice. I’ve always found Ben to be a tremendous douchebag, and I mean that in a loving way. There has never been anything he wasn’t willing to do in the name of himself, and you have to appreciate that in a guy. Be it letting his daughter get shot, or owning Locke in a seedy hotel room, the dude plays for keeps. He’s a a shitbag you respect because of how far he will go to maintain his tenuous grip on power.

The interesting wrinkle that this week’s episode addressed is what happens to Benjamin Linus when he realizes that he’s been duped, ain’t had no power, and has been a rube for the past twenty or so years? The immediate answer is simple: he stabbed the shit out of Jacob, before his dumb ass was rolled into a fire. But I suppose I’m talking more about the emotional effects.

On the Island, Ben is totally busted as the dude who jabbed Jacob in the belly-guts with a knife. Miles rats him out after doing the creepy twitching thing with Jacob’s ashes and this severely pisses off Ilana. And not in the good way, because I know you’re thinking it may be enjoyable to get spanked by such an authoritative and sultry woman. No sir, she has a gun. So then she’s like, hey, Linus, dig your own grave while we go and eat mangoes and shit. TTYL, d00d.

What a busch league move by Ilana. Hasn’t she been watching this show at all? You leave Ben Linus alone for anything more than nine seconds and he’s going to get out of the situation somehow. He has a remarkable ability to escape certain doom. So while she’s letting him dig his own grave, y himself, with some bamboo shoot or something, good ole Smokey rolls up and chats up Linus.

The biggest revelation this week on LOST was something that no one seems to want to talk about. Smokey is a fucking Jedi! Did you see that shit? He unshackled Benjamin with nothing more than a cute little wink and a hand gesture. Isn’t anyone else amazed by this? I am. I mean, I knew LOST was awesome, but I had no idea that we were dealing with wielders of The Force! Good god damn.

So Smokey and Ben have a heart to heart. It’s all very touching but all I could think about is how Ilana, while she was eating her mango, had no idea that Smokey had approached. I mean, for the past six seasons, every time he went anywhere, Smokey roared and you could hear him from three miles away. Well, if she’s dumb enough to let him be, she may be deaf enough to not hear a rampaging pillar of black smoke. Smokey frees Ben’s ass and once again Ben flees and Ilana is like, “Oh fuck, maybe I should be watching the sociopath and not eating a mango” and chases after him.

The two of them talk, and they get into one of the overriding themes of the show, which is a person’s sense of purpose. Ben has been feeling legitimately ass-crushed since he thought that Jacob had been playing him for a fool. And when he found out he had been betrayed and his entire sense of duty was but a charade, he freaked the fuck out. All of the power he assumed he had, all of his existence was tied up in what he thought was his position as the leader of the Others. When this was dismissed, he wile’d out. Like, woah.

Benjamin isn’t the only one being a self-pitying asshole ever since they learned they weren’t a Unique Snowflake. My boyfriend, the inestimably gorgeous and immortal Richard Alpert, is afflicted with the same sense of Emotitis.

Emotitis is a disease that is fatal to one’s dignity and leaves them without any sense of pride. Where your self-respect once was, you find a puddle of wallowing and lack of self-worth. Many of those suffering from this disease also still use MySpace-esque pictures in their Facebook profile, post status updates that read things like “Gee whiz I can’t ever catch a break :-/” or “UGH today is the WORST”, and they use self-hate as a way to attract members of the sex they wish to copulate with.

So yeah, Dicky Alps is seriously suffering from that.

Ricardo dupes Hurley and Jack the Sexpot to follow him to the Blackrock, where we’re given confirmation of what we already knew: the dude can’t die. Everyone who Jacob touches receives a “Gift”, which explains Dick’s predicament, but is vague enough to create another thousand questions. Like, is everyone immortal? Or what are their gifts? Can Jack shoot lasers out of his asshole? And since he can’t die, he wants Jack to light the fuse of the dynamite he wishes to go kabloom with. What a shitty way to die, right? I mean, couldn’t Richard have found like, a bottle of pills somewhere and had Jack dump them down his throat? Jesus, explosion?

Richard is seeking obliteration because he as well as Ben feels betrayed by Jacob. Much like Linus claims, Dicky was told by Jacob that he was part of some enormous plan, and now that Deity-Dude-Guy has been stabbed and rendered ashes, he assumes that it was all a lie.

What a fool! How can you possible begin to conceive of God’s…I mean Jacob’s plan! You self-absorbed fuck!

Jack’s drinking the Destiny Kool Aid though, and he agrees to light the stick of dynamite. After staring out at the ocean and humming that Kings of Leon song from the Grey’s Anatomy commercials, he’s come to accept his totally-specialness in the grand schemes of everything. It’s just like in the Matrix when Cipher is like IF HE IS SPECIAL CAN HE TOTALLY DIE TRINITY?!, Jack knows he’s all Neo shit and the fuse won’t go off. And look at that, he’s fucking right.

Jack’s got some grand role to play in everything, and it seems by displaying that, he cures Dicky of his Fall Out Boy-Blues, though I assume Alpert will continue to wear eyeliner. Can’t win all the battles.

Read the rest of this entry »

My friend Buddy and I have been friends for ten years, and the two of us are legitimate Final Fantasy fanboys. In fact, we met on a Final Fantasy message board. We’ve been texting back and forth as we play, and this a good indication of some of my initial feelings. I’m in green, Buddy is in gray. I also spell fal’Cie wrong, because it isn’t a word constructed by humans, but rather by grammatical devils.