Sixty people were snagged Tuesday in a series of raids across Canada, picking up a bunch of gang members who were using aliases taken from Marvel superheroes. Oh reality.

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Hello fellow travelers on the Spaceship, it’s worth mentioning that there may be insanity outages throughout the rest of the week. I’m currently cranking out a couple of final projects, and so if there is a bit of silence don’t despair. The ole ticker hasn’t popped because of one two many 2 liters of Pepsi Max. Not yet. Not yet. Caffeine Powered prevails. Anyways, godspeed and by next Monday I’ll have a month of glorious stability with which to pepper your tits with stunningly nerdy posts and other drivel.

[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

Alas, life is embraced once again! It’s a Wonderful Life reminds all viewers that they’re worth something, even if they don’t think so. And for its saccharine resolution, the movie has come to be known as the forerunner of all holiday entertainment.

But what if the lesson in It’s a Wonderful Life can’t be universally applied? What happens if someone who is a societal malignancy begins contemplating non-existence? What do we learn when peering into another dimension in which an individual’s absence allows others to flourish?

In those instances, we have to accept that It’s a Bundyful Life.

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Talk about one in the fair trade department. Remember all those warnings back in the day about how Mountain Dew kills sperm? Yeah, me too. Didn’t stop me, and I’ve since gone on to replace 90% of my body’s blood with the substance. What I didn’t know, and hasn’t been revealed today is that it has made me flame proof. Flame proof! Sort of. I’m about to become a Darwin award.

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Let the musky cosmic scent of Sir Nic wash over you in these troubled times. Stressed about finals? Christmas shopping? That itch on your groin becoming a boil? Don’t worry. The Good One is watching over us.

It’s a beautiful world sometimes. Tonight the Rendar and myself swung into a sneak preview of the Dark Knight Rises prologue that’s set to run before Mission Impossible: Phoenix Wunderblast. Previewed that shit for free at the local IMAX duplex and they even threw in a t-shirt. The Lords of Kobol have chosen to smile, and I’ve nuzzled my face in their glowing bosoms.

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[Is there a better way to celebrate the manger-birth of a superpowered messiah-baby than watching television? Hell no! Join Rendar Frankenstein as he navigates Spaceship OL through the Televised Days of Christmas!]

There is something to be said of the idea that human beings need excuses to party.

Think about it – holidays have been celebrated since the advent of the human species. While the pretenses and customs vary from tribe to tribe, most cultures have set aside days specifically for the purpose of cutting loose. Work is momentarily forfeited, and individuals are encouraged to engage in social events so that they can relax, enjoy the kinship of their peers, and contemplate concepts that transcend the corporeal.

It’s basically psychic catharsis.

Again, such is the necessity for relaxation that it has been prescribed by multitudes of societies. Anyone doubting this need only consider the confluence of December-holidays: pagans honor the winter solstice, Christians eagerly anticipate Christmas, Jewish folk rock Hanukkah, and of course the saturnalian Romans go bananas for Saturnalia. These holidays are different, for sure, but the common thread is that all celebrants look forward to shirking responsibilities and spending time with loved ones.

For many, the holiday season serves as the canvas upon which some of life’s most cherished memories are painted.

But what about those individuals who, for one reason or another, are without their families during the holidays? How would you feel if in the time between one Christmas and the next, you divorced your spouse and could no longer see your kids on a daily basis? What if you didn’t want to burden friends with your grievances? In what ways would this alter your attitude about the most wonderful time of the year?

If you’re Don Draper it means that you take a swig of booze, bang your secretary, and woefully declare, “I don’t hate Christmas, I just hate this Christmas.”

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Oh lord. I loved the original G.I. Joe, and this one looks just as fucking ridiculous, absurd, stupid, and entertaining as the first one. It’s all that, and supplemented with The Rock and Bruce Willis. Fuck yeah.

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For the love of all that is holy I’m fucking done with this season of Dexter. Or whatever has become of it, which seems to be a pastiche of HBO television tropes. We have the incestuous vibes from Game of Thrones, the insufferable psychoanalysis of the Sopranos, and the Six Feet Under (Hi David!) prolonged dream sequences. Meanwhile people are running around and Colin Hanks is trying really, really hard to make grim faces. Let’s rock out this shiz with some bullet point blitzes.

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Remember that time in The Matrix where Neo totally learned kung fu in like ten seconds? That shit apparently isn’t so outlandish according to some scientists. The only drawback is the same sort of chicanery could be used for, you know, mind control and the ish.

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