Want to know how to have a whole mess of fun?

Hide your grandpa’s medicine. Steal it from wherever he keeps it, and then put it somewhere else. Ideally, you’re goin’ to want to go at least two rooms over. After all, geriatric hips are rustier than robot dongs. And remember, you’re aimin’ to maximize your entertainment.

For example, if Grampy’s bottle of pills rests on the bathroom sink, filch that motherfucker and bring it to your kitchen. Once there, turn the bottle upside down and open it up over your dog’s dish. There’s no joy quite like that of besprinkling Alpo with Valtrex. Then, while you’re waiting for your parent’s parent to discover just how badly he’s been goofed, stand guard so as to make sure that Fido doesn’t start snackin’ away.

After all, the dog didn’t do anything.

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to show you some of the ways I’ll be keeping myself entertained during the hellish stretch known as the workweek. Then, you hit up the comments section and describe the weapons you’ll be wielding against the 40-Houred Beast of Burden. Yes, this is essentially electronic show-and-tell.

And no, you may not be excused to go to the nurse. Everyone must participate.

C’mon, let’s do this!

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I know this is late news in the wunder-deluge that is the internet churn cycle, but fuck it I want to celebrate. NASA’s Curiosity rover has touched down safely on the Red Planet. Fuck yes.

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What’s up folks? It’s Captain Caff-Pow here aboard the Mothership Omega. You may have noticed things have been quiet lately, but I assure you we’re bringing ourselves up back to speed. I spent a lovely weekend afar in a land of cows, fresh air, and very, very, very low levels of caffeine. For a good four days, I could not see the Eyes of God. The mysteries of All were hidden for me. Now that I’m back, I promise to double-down on the jitters and re-up on the verbal diarrhea.

[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.]

I’m always down to eat pizza.

How could I not be? Even in its most basic form, pizza is the perfect food. Dough. Tomato. Cheese. I’m no nutritionist, but I’m pretty sure that those ingredients cover all of the important food groups. As simple as it may be, a large cheese pizza is a versatile accompaniment, perfect for business meetings,  birthday parties, and beer drankin’ sessions.

But the true beauty of pizza-pie is that there’re so many goddamn varieties.

You can make a pizza with garden-ripe ingredients and freshly-mixed dough, or you can treat yourself to a frost-bitten bad-boy from the back of your freezer. Not digging circular shapes? Then feel free to rock a square pie! Thin crust? Chicago deep-dish? Both’re wonderful. Oh, and when it comes to toppings there’re no rules – pizzas are blank canvases, eager to be painted with pepperoni and mushrooms and pineapples and onions and BBQ chicken and whatever else your depraved mind desires.

I’m no Hellenic expert, but I know that there’s a pizza for every member of the Olympian pantheon. While Zeus chomps on a deep-dish three cheese, Poseidon Earthshaker snacks on a shrimp scampi pizza. Everyone gives Artemis a hard time, because she asked the pizzeria to use the venison she flayed herself. And of course, Dionysus steals a slice from everyone, too drunk to realize that he’s not eating his own pie.

Mortal or god, chances’re good that you enjoy pizza.

But here’s what we don’t know: What is your favorite type of pizza?

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Friends, I have undergone massive, personal changes this week. I decided to finally turn my back on the dark arts and have since ceased to be a necromancer, instead choosing to focus my powers on the noble art of aquamancy.  It was a huge change for me and my family and we are slowly learning to live our lives without summoning hordes of the undead to do our bidding. It’s tough. On the plus side though: you need some water conjured? Bam, I’m there.

Obviously, there is more to my life than sorcery: video games, for example. Here’s what happened in them this week.

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Vroom! Vroom! That’s the awful-pun sounds of Grand Theft Auto V‘s marketing campaign kicking off. Ain’t never been no sacred cows in the line of this franchise, and now it appears that Scientology will be getting dragged through the mud in the fifth installment. Fantastic.

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The sequel to X-Men: First Class is called Days of Future Past. Goodness me, if they can bring that storyline to life with something resembling fidelity I am sprung. Goddamn sprung. It is one of my favorite X-Men tales of all time, though I know I am not exactly setting myself apart by saying so.

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Vince Vaughn, that guy who says those things that aren’t really funny anymore, is dragging up the lifeless corpse of an old television favorite back into the idiot box. I’d say if there is a God this won’t be a success, but maybe that dude just loves girls getting hit in the nose with footballs. Who knows.

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Well, fuck. Prometheus 2 is going to enter into this world, aiming straight for our cerebral cortex with vomit-inducing themes of faith and nonsense. Here is hoping Ridley Scott can find himself a human being aside from Damon Lindelof to write the script. Here is hoping Lindelof’s busy schedule doesn’t let him do it. It’d be amazing to see what could happen if the writer wasn’t patting himself on the back with one hand, while mashing out high-fives to Christianity with the other ad nauseam.

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It is a tasty world when a flick based off of a board game fails in rather spectacular fashion. Not usually one to rub salt in the wound, I never the less still enjoy dancing on the ashes of this movie.

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