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Oh shit! The motherfucking Erf is hungrrrrrrrry. Check it out as it takes a bite of the Sun. Munchin’ on plasma gets the heart beating like you wouldn’t believe. In all honesty, this is a picture snagged by  NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory, and the reasons for it appearing the way it does is beyond me.

But not Phil Plait.

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This is Press Start! If you don’t know, now you know! The whacky, zany, okay completely retarded and juvenile weekly gaming column. In it!, you’ll find five things that caught my eye this week in the world of killstreaks and waggle dongle wonders.

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#1: Gamestop Buys Impulse. This Shit Is Big.
If you’re a modern minded motherfucker, you know that tangibility is for bitches. You can disagree with it, but it’s inevitable. A forthcoming facticity that can’t be stopped. Sometimes it bums me out, in the dark night as I lay next to my copy of Twilight. Kissing the book, I can tasted Edward! Yet, it’s coming.

Gamestop knows this shit as well. This week they bought Impulse, one of the monolith of PC digital distribution. What the fuck fun is a clunky ass case and game as a reward for leaving your fucking house?, when you can buy that shit online? None. With digital sales driving up and up, Gamestop needs in on that sheezy. They’re twitching, aware they’re being left behind like dinosaurs of a forgotten age. That age being like ten years ago or some shit.

They also bought start-up Spawn Labs, who are up on the streaming video game tip.

I don’t think the motherfuckers can compete with Steam. Perched atop a mountain of money and ruined childrens’ rectums, adrift in crumbs and hate Gabe Newell laughs at them. They have to try though.

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#2: Original Madden Developer Wants Some Cheddar.
Robin Antonick wants some fucking money!, and he wants it from Electronic Arts. Despite the fact that he hasn’t lodged a claim regarding it in twenty years, Antonick wants a chunk of the Madden franchise’s profits. Dude was a contracted developer hired by Trip Hawkins way back in 1986 to work on the original Madden. Apparently working on the game back in 1986 entitles the dude to some money from every iteration until then. Wait, what?

I don’t have my Lawyers Glasses on, the likes of which enable me to purvey the cosmos and inner workings of United States law, but I’m going to go out on a leaf and bet this dude loses his fucking case.

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#3: WWE All-Stars Dropped. I Need This Shit.
I don’t watch wrestling anymore, nor do I play wrestling video games. Even in spite of this shit, I need WWE All-Stars. The game dropped this week, and it has a magical set of attributes. These attributes are responsible for making it one of my most sought-after experiences. The hierarchy goes like this: orgasms, pizza, orgasms, WWE All-Stars, followed by comic books and video games. As currently constituted. Obviously. Ever since it was announced that Macho Man Randy Savage and a litany of old school dudes were going to be available in the title, it was obvious I needed to play it.

There’s few things I want to do more than tool on someone fucking bozos dome with Andre the Giant. The game is straight-up arcade ridiculousness, which is fitting of time when wrestling didn’t take itself seriously. Let me rage in the ring as Macho Man, and put a stink on John Cena, that jorts wearing asshole.

Fucking mental insanity!

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[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]

When it comes to the pantheon of classic American literature, it’s hard to argue against the inclusion of The Great Gatsby. Fitzgerald’s seminal novel is an uncompromising examination of class divisions, the promise of the American dream, constructed identity, and the power of love. Who among us can’t sympathize with Gatsby’s yearning, his desire to become something greater than what he is? Is there anyone who hasn’t at least contemplated throwing caution to the wind, casting off the shackles clamped on at birth, and chasing the unattainable?

I fucking hope not.

Every time that I read The Great Gatsby, I feel as though I have a firm grasp on the title character — poor kid dreams of a life beyond his means, seizes the rare opportunity to move beyond his station, falls in love with a girl beyond his means, stops at nothing to fine tune a new persona, gets tangled up in crime, can’t acknowledge that his aspiration has been reduced to mere nostalgia, and is murdered for his inability to forfeit impossible ambitions. And while I’m absolutely enthralled by the transformative journey of James Gatz, I can’t say that he is the character most capable of piquing my interest.

It is Nick Carraway that I see as the most fascinating figure. And maybe the most enigmatic.

As the narrator, Carraway is responsible for taking us through The Great Gatsby’s alternately glamorous and sordid adventures. Between his actions and exposition, it would at first seem as though Carraway can be trusted as an objective, reliable narrator. In fact, the novel opens with a declaration of just this sort:

“In consequence I’m inclined to reserve all judgements, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores.” (5)

Right from the get-go the reader is led to believe that Nick will be presenting his story without bias, prejudice, or exaggeration. Which is sweet, I suppose, as these misdirections can lead one astray when traveling on the path of Truth. When a story is recounted, isn’t it of the utmost importance that all the facts and figures be in order, quotes presented verbatim, images recreated without blemish?

So if we want to, it’s easy to let Nick Carraway mollify our skepticisms — this is exactly what I did when I first read the book. After all, it’s both comforting and easy to take words at face value, never rousing suspicions that there may be an element of deception abound. But when one keeps a keen eye turned to the page, it’s a bit more difficult to invest complete faith in the absolute veracity of the narrator’s yarn.

For me, a turning point comes at the end of Chapter III. While recounting how he has been sending weekly love letters to a girl back home, Nick also expresses his physical attraction to Jordan Baker. He then states,

“Everyone suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.” (63)

As I read that line for the first time, I saw all sorts of flags go up. My knee-jerk reaction, off-the-cuff thought was, “What type of person feels compelled to constantly assert their honesty?” The answer I settled on?

A liar.

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[face of a franchise presents two individuals that’ve fulfilled the same role. your task — choose the better of the two and defend your choice in the rancor pit that is the comments section]

James Bond is the most popular fictional secret agent of all time. And why shouldn’t he be? After all, the dude has pretty much set the archetypal standard for the Suave Spy character. He’s that perfect balance of gorgeous yet gritty, cutthroat yet clever. He’s a man capable of accomplishing any mission, whether it’s securing nuclear secrets or banging a smokin’ babe.

Of course, with nearly fifty years worth of movies under his belt, James Bond has been portrayed by a few different folks. In my experience, any Best Bond Debate usually comes down to two choices: whoever is currently portraying the agent and the precedent-setting Sean Connery. But truthfully, I think that this discussion can, and should, extend beyond Daniel Craig and Forrester.

For most of the 1970s and 1980s, Roger Moore helmed the James Bond franchise. Moore’s 007 is noted for being a bit campier and more lustfully-minded than other portrayals. Movies like Octopussy give us a Bond with gadgets that are kooky and dames that are sexy. Audiences ate up this depiction, and by the end of his tenure Moore would be known as the actor with the most Bond-years.

On the other hand, Pierce Brosnan reinvigorated the stagnant franchise with 1995’s Goldeneye. Some might argue that Brosnan injected new life into James Bond, giving the character a sensibility and usefulness in a post-Cold War world. The Brosnan-Bond could also be credited as having tempered the character, bringing him back to the idea of a man with a license to kill. Moreover, Brosnan’s involvement in the series also made possible the greatest first-person-shooter of all time.

So who’s the better Bond? Roger Moore or Pierce Brosnan?

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It’s fucking okay to get pumped up. To smile. If the Brothers Omega and P. Coop are to be known for anything, it’s hopefully our bridled hammer-fist enthusiasm for existence. One of the things I try to carry through by example! is a genuine excitement on the website.

Sure we piss and shit and sometimes smear the old fecal blast across the nose of someone who has annoyed us. Here’s looking at you, Zack Snyder! Yet, by and large, I’d say we’re the smiling goofball fuck-faces of the internet. Three working dudes who whittle away some time on the internets desirous of spinning the yarns de bullshit with people who share likeminded interests.

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