Hell yes. SpaceX wizard Elon Musk says that human beings could be on Mars in as early as 12 years. This may very well be bluster and nonsense, but who gives a shit. Let me have this, you naysaying bastards.

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Goddamn amazing. Living on Earth got you down? When we’re not destroying the environment (whether or not you believe in Climate Change, we’re pretty impressive dicks to the Blue Marble), we spend the time fighting one another. Get the fuck to Mars if only virtually through this app that lets you explore the Red Planet through a panorama of Curiosity pictures.

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These galaxies ain’t getting along. Ain’t getting along at all. The two of them are colliding, in a billions-of-years dance of death. Eventually they will reconcile their differences, to forge an uber-galaxy capable of bodyslamming anything in its way and acting way rude in bars.

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“Ain’t even close enough to get me where I need to go.”

Rodrigo scrutinized the cup in his hand, sighing at the fact that there weren’t even enough coins to cover the bottom. Four hours at this goddamn shuttle station, and he’d earned no more than two dollars in assorted change. Which was a shame considering the lengths to which he was going to elicit the goodwill of the ticket-wielder passengers. He’d offered up the absolute cream of his milky anecdotes, skimming off the grimiest details about the mission to Saturn that’d first dented his sanity.

Gravity-maladjustment brain-bubbles killing crew members. Robotic death camps. Radiation sickness. A three-vagina’d Siren that forced herself on him and bore a son he’d later kill with a curling iron.

But nobody believed Rodrigo.

At this point, he was a week without a shower and even further from a clean shave. His fingernails were the color of rust and his breath smelled of sushi prepared in a bathroom stall overflowing with excremental exuberance. It didn’t matter that he still wore the boots from the Saturn mission and held onto the remnants of his helmet, without his DigID Card no one’d ever believe that he was Rodrigo Graham.

To the people walking about the Deimos Interplanetary Shuttle Station, he was just another space urchin.

As such, Rodrigo begged for change and the they kept on walkin’, content to gaze into their brain-rot glo-screens for updates every nano of the second.

shuttledelays.rodrigograhammemorial. civilunrestonearth. honeydon’tforgettopickupaquartofsynthmilk. livenudesfordeadsouls. superbowlreturnstohomeplanet. brutalstormsravagevenutiancolony.

And those that glanced up long enough to see Rodrigo’s desperate lips jabbering about still couldn’t hear the pleas. How could they? They were deaf with sound, ear-chewing on the synthesized bubblegum audio that piped into their brains without reprieve.

Rodrigo Graham was a hero of a human race that’d lost its humanity.

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to detail some of the ways I’ll be getting excited about life during the next week. Then, you hit up the comments section and share your own strategies for defeating boredom!

Let’s do this!

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Rick Remender and John Romita Jr. have the less than enviable task of following up Ed Brubaker’s stellar run on Captain America for Marvel Now! Brubaker brought a decade of pure rock, dropping outstanding storylines and doing the unthinkable. He brought Bucky back and it was awesome. How do the two considerable talents follow up on such a run? By going in a different direction.

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Welcome to the wonderfully quiet Police State, folks. Wikileaks has expose “TrapWire”, a government program that uses ordinary surveillance cameras to spy on the reg. In response, the site has suffered a rather massive DDoS. Sadly, you know what? Shit is unnecessary. The average United States citizen don’t give no fucks, as long as they have their fried foods and reality television.

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Nic Cage is going to do The Expendables 3. Good goddammit. The first flick sucked, I’m not enticed by the second, and now I’m going to have to see the third. My love for Cage and his penchant for madcap completely awful roles is well documented, and he is signing up for this pure fecaltainment I’m theater bound.

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Yeah, happy Monday ya’ll. Stephanie Castro brings the heat.

Whoo! Do you see that? It’s Spaceship OL, and it looks like it’s gone to plaid! There can only be one reason for traveling so quickly to the OL STORE!

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Crack open a can of Perri-Air, pop in the newest instant-cassette, and enjoy the feeling of passing right by then. That’s right, everything that happens now is happening now. And as it happens you’re going to want to make sure to wear the sickest of all Spaceballs-themed tee shirts. Hell, I know that Lone Starr even keeps one packed in his suitcase labeled What I Need to Survive.

How do I know this? Simple – I figured out his luggage combination.

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Head to the OL STORE and snag one of these fine shirts!

RoboCop is going to fight terrorists in his upcoming remake. File this under the pantheon of dumb ideas that manifest themselves in reboots. Let RoboCop shoot some errant perps, posture a lot, and quip like a motherfucker. Don’t get him involved in an asinine plot point that wore out its jingoist welcome a solid seven years ago.

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