Last week I called out the Modern Warfare 2 whiners for the bunch of silly bitches they are. They whine and whine, and just like Warcraft haters, they continue to suck on the grizzled tit they lambast so often. I predicted they would still turn out like whores in heat to gobble up the Modern Warfare 2 DLC, Stimulus Pack. Well, what do you know, I was fucking correct.

via kotaku:

One million of those purchases and downloads occurred within the first 24 hours, according to a statement from Activision. In dollar terms, that’s over $37 million USD in revenue in the map pack’s first week on the market, a clear sign that 2.5 million people quickly came to grips with the Stimulus Package pricing.

Despite groaning like a bunch of dickbags about prices, and how much the maps suck, and blah, blah, blah, it still sold in fuckloads. Just admit it, you love Modern Warfare 2. It’s okay to say it.

Oh shit! Check this shit out! I was at 7-Eleven today to pick up my mandatory morning energy drink when I spied this cup. Not even wanting a slurpee, I, like a true asshole, just paid the slurpee price for the cup. I peed a little bit in excitement. It even moves when you rotate it! Swoosh!

My Mom came down into the dungeon today while I was taking this picture, and I was like “MOM CHECK IT OUT AN IRON MAN 2 CUP, IT EVEN MOVES” and she laughed and shook her head. It was the laugh of a mother knowing she bore out of her uterus a Manchild.

What can I say, it’s the little things in life, yo.

Gears of War 3 has been OOPS announced too early. I was totally shocked that a third installment in a highly successful franchise was coming. I damn near shit my pantaloons.

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[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]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Admittedly, I’m not 100% comfortable with this week’s featured comic book. Most of the time, Images & Words showcases a comic that I could actually describe to another nerd. Yeah, the standard fare’s something along the lines of “In this book Superman fights the bad guys, saves Metropolis, and still manages to meet Lois for dinner.”

But this time around, I’m not quite sure what the hell is going on. I know that there is hilarious dialogue. The characters seem authentic and relatable. There are some bad ass fight scenes. And the art is just goddamn gorgeous.

So without knowing exactly what I’m getting into, the comic of the week is COWBOY NINJA VIKING #5!

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And so I take my leave of OL for the day. Momentarily I shall be boarding a bus to New Jack City to see one of my fave bands in some sort of 20th anniversary show. I leave behind many a wonderful things, but more than most, Omega Level. Being an unemployed graduate student, I have far too much time on my hands for blogging and the such.

Instead, of you know, doing actual school work.

It is with tear-stuffed eye-sockets that I take my leave of OL. Like a neurotic parent I have already discussed my absence with Pepsibones.

Ian: Can you please, please post something.

Pepsibones: We’ll see, I may have something.

Ian: No please, can you just update something?

Pepsibones: Mayhaps.

Ian: …

Pepsibones: Mischevious smile

It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, that’s half our conversations go. I plead with Pepsibones for something, he smiles and quasi-commits before disapparating into the miasma.

There’s a certain anxiety that comes from not posting and keeping connected to OL. Since, you know, if you don’t post content, people don’t keep comin’ to this joint for the find introspective witticisms. Or the mentions of cocks and dong-rubbing. Both I mean, aren’t those the same thing?

The anxiety is, of course, compounded by the fact that I’m a nervous wreck, and a perpetual worry machine. I’m the definition of a homebody, and whenever I’m asked to leave the Dungeon of Horrors and Polygons, I hyper-ventilate. I told my girlfriend OMFG I WILL MISS YOU, and she’s all like “You’re leaving for a day, pfft”, which, of course, in the mind of a worry-wart only exacerbates the anxiety.

But I’ll see you fucks tomorrow evening. Be well, make good life choices!

There’s cookies in the cabinet and pizza money on the table!

I have to briefly apologize for the oddity of this week’s LOST recap. I’m boarding a bus Wednesday for the New City of York, and I have to pound this out tonight. That’s what she said. I generally write this at the apex of a caffeine rocket, filled up with an energy drink and three or four Diet Mountain Dews. As well, I take screen caps as I go along flipping through the episode to gather my thoughts. So I’m without the episode at hand, I’m tired and generally content, and I feel rather blase.

Like LAX, this is the LOST recap you’ve come to know and love. Just a little different. Next week will be back to the usual.

I dug the fuck out of this week’s episode. I really did. By the end of it, I wasn’t really certain what was going on, but it seems like the veil of LAX is beginning to crumble down around the alternate reality, courtesy of some gorgeous Scottish hands. Shit is getting more and more complicated, and I’m going to get a priapism from all the romantic ideals and science-fiction bonery. I’m sold man, sold man like woah.

I knew shit was poppin’ off when Charles “I’ve Got a Powerful Chin” Widmore stuck Desmond into that hut with all the crazy fucking coils and shit. The whole scene smacked of Dr. Manhattan and Watchmen, and I couldn’t help but think homage as Desmond stood in the middle of the room and began to glow like a motherfucker.

You have to admire such a pack of nerds and their ability to stuff their television show with a zillion references.

We find Desmond in LAX, and we all know that it’s merely a matter of time before he begins to ask himself what the fuck is going on. Note the first shot of Desmond in LAX is courtesy of a reflective surface. If you took a shot of whiskey every time the show uses a mirror or a puddle of water or something equally reflective to transition between the real Island and LAX, you’d be drinking at least once an episode. That drinking game wasn’t the best thing I’ve ever thought of, okay?

Much like on the Island, Desmond spends his time in this episode trying to save Charlie’s drug-addled ass. And once Charlie plunges The Constant’s sexy car into the ocean, it triggers the OMFG Moment you knew was coming but were secretly excited for anyways.

Desmond flashes back to the Island, and then snaps back into LAX, after witnessing the superimposition of Charlie’s hand on the glass underwater with his death on the actual Island. This coincides with Charlie’s earlier commentary on having witnessed the “truth” after nearly dying.

So wait, LAX is a construction? An intentional fabrication? Awesome.

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The XBOX 360’s USB Storage Update arrived today. Fucking yawn. I’m just going to reiterate what I’ve said before about this bullshit:

Via A Previous Rant of Mine

Wait, so you can only use flash drives, or your external hard drives can only be utilized for 16gb of their space? I wonder why.

Hard drives for the 360 are the biggest fucking rip-off going. For $120, you can get a 250gb hard drive. They’re fucking our wallets with thorny cocks. I got a 350gb hard drive for my PS3 for seventy-five dollars. And I’m sure they’re way cheaper now.

How about you douchebags at Microsoft stop raping our wallets and allow us to use the full scope of any external hard drives we may have? ‘Cause I have a 1 TB external hard drive that I paid a hundred bucks for, and that makes a lot more sense to me than getting raped by your proprietary bullshit, okay? I love your system, I already bought the 120gb hard drive like a fucking asshole, I pay for XBOX Live!, c’mon, do me a solid.

Seriously. I love my XBOX. I’m actually an XBOX fanboy. And yet, if you guys want to keep up with the PS3, dudes, you might want to go ahead and change a few things. Since you already don’t offer Blu-Ray, you may want to cut the proprietary bullshit.

Fucks.

[Variant Covers is a column every Tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world where a dude who is a Levi’s model and clearly touched can be a superstar penciler.]

Deadpool Corps #1

Pop-quiz, fuckers! What’s better than one Deadpool being drawn by Rob Liefeld? Uh! How about an entire fucking squad of Deadpools rolling out, being penciled by my favorite idiot savant? Oh hell yes. Deadpool Corps #1 comes out this week, and I’m fucking stoked. It’s like being excited for a train wreck. My love for the unhinged genius that is Rob Liefeld is well-documented. So this week’s title of the week can’t be anything less than a testament to the utter insanity that is Rob Liefeld and Deadpool.

I mean, we’re not just talking about Deadpool here. No, no, no. We’re talking Deadpool and his merry gang of uh, other Pools? I don’t really know who or what the fuck these people are. But I know they’re called Headpool, Lady Deadpool, Dogpool and Kidpool!

WHAT! No seriously, what the fuck is going on here.

And if you take a gander at the picture, you’ll figure out what I already have; apparently they have lightsabers and are hurtling through space. And Headpool is a disembodied skull. Just fucking insane.

I have no idea what the premise of this title is, nor do I really care to. I’m going to buy it on premise alone. It’s such a throwback to the insane 1990’s and absurd post-modern behavior that I have to buy it. Rob Liefeld is a slice of pizza wrapped in bacon. Even while you consume it and know what an asshole you are for enjoying something so filthy and bad for you, you can’t help but smile. I’m on this like fucking woah.

Superman: Secret Origin #5

With all the zombies running around trashing shit and eating brains in the DC Universe, I’ve missed out on following this series. It’s got a recipe for awesome in the creative team. Geoff Johns is the Czar of all things DC, and when he’s not writing awful, awful, heavy-handed, mind-bogglingly shitty dialogue in Blackest Night, I’ve enjoyed him. And then there’s Gary Frank, whose pencils on all thing Superman generally get my loins aflutter. Even though I’m beyond fatigued with every artist interpreting Superman within the funny books as Christopher Reeves, I don’t mind Frank pulling such a stunt.

Why? I don’t know, I guess I find him gorgeous.

Issue #5 of this shit sees Superman finally throwing down with Metallo, which is what every Superman origin story should find him doing. Are you listening, Christopher Nolan? At the end of a Superman origin, the guy needs to punch the crap out of something. He doesn’t need to be shanked by Lester Burnham. Seriously.

I feel bad for having not checked out this series yet in full. Pepsibones bought the first couple of issues, and I skimmed it and said something like “Nice artwork, I have to take a shit” and left it at that.

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