American as apple pie.
Well, that’s pretty good. Apple pie is warm and delicious and the basis for one of my generation’s greatest dick jokes. But I think we can do better.

American as apple cider.
This is certainly a step in the right direction. Drinking apple cider conjures up heartwarming memories of New England autumns – going to the county fair, roaming the `ole pumpkin patch, bundling up against the brisk breeze. Maybe just one improvement can be made…

American as hard cider.
There we have it! Perfect! Take all those awesome apple connotations, swirl `em around with the autumnal remembrances, and then cast a fuzzy jubilation over the whole damn thang. Is there really anything more American than apple-cum-booze? Perhaps apple-cum booze, but that’s a whole different story, filled with tears and therapy sessions.

Keep Reading »

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s newest fucking story.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who is guaranteed to die. For fans of pop culture, sci-fi, war epic, fantasy, and sick original art]

Daryl got out of the car, thanked his grandfather for the ride, and assured him that he wouldn’t need any further transportation. “Thanks Gramps, but after I see Riff, I think I’ll just walk to 8-Bit’s house. It’s nice out and I could use some fresh air.”

“No problem, kid.” Gramps gave the Buckley residence a once over, stifling his concerns about its dilapidated state and the as-of-yet-to-be-fixed window. Then he remembered the previous evening’s confrontation with Lieutenant Buckley. “You sure Riff’s dad is at work?”

“Yeah, Riff always has to walk to school on Thursdays because his dad has the earlier shift.”

“All right. But if he shows up, I want you to excuse yourself and head home. No need to stir the hornet’s nest.”

Daryl made his way to the front door and would’ve rung the bell if the door had been closed. But it was left ajar, no doubt the direct result of Larry Buckley drunkenly stumbling to his cruiser in the hopes of getting to work on time. As such, the hero walked into the house and called out to his friend.

“I’m in my room,” Riff groaned slumberously.

After climbing the stairs to the second floor, Daryl let himself into Riff’s room. The headbanger was in bed, doing his best to recover from his recent trauma.

His eyes were blackened.
His nose reset.
His spirit broken.

Keep Reading »

[via]

If you’re not careful, you may wind up a regular, boring person. You’ll sip only from bottles of regular, boring mind-juice. Your blood will never boil, whether in contempt or jubilation, at the sight of any unscheduled programming. You will never swing your Existential Monster Truck over the double-lines, crushing regular, boring soul-vessels in the process. In fact, you’ll just become mired in the homogeneous muck of mediocrity.

Forever.

Because that’s what THEY want.

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This weekly post is my excuse to ramble and then show you how I’ll be keeping my (in)sanity via entertainment. After I puff, I’m going to pass – hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be doing in the upcoming days.

Let’s rawk.

Keep Reading »

[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]

This one’s been debated so many times that I almost didn’t write the post. But then I started thinking about the the potential responses the creatures that frequent OL would drop, and I couldn’t help myself. This one might get ugly.

And I’m looking forward to it.

Since I only listen to Cherone-era Van Halen, I had to do a little research. From what I’ve gathered, Van Halen had two singers before Gary Cherone and the relationships with both of them were somewhat tumultuous. So who were these jabronis? Which one was better? Let’s take a look!

Keep Reading »

I’ve been consuming alcoholic lemonade for longer than I’d like to admit. Well before I could appreciate a good brew, I was sippin’   on bottles of Baby’s First Buzz, laughing as my face got warm and everything just seemed better. Sure, it was a great gateway into the realm of inebriation, but once I was able to comprehend the majesty of stouts and porters, I didn’t look back.

Until now.

Keep Reading »

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

The man in the gray trench coat watched as Rimina Jacoby left Bandini’s Café. “Ah, the clever bitch beat me to it! One eye and she’s got a foresight I’d kill for. Well, if ya gotta get beat, might as well be by the best.”

After limping over to a park bench, the visitor sat down and reached into the innards of his coat. He produced a bottle of Pepsi Free, popped off the cap with a twist, and drank greedily. He downed more than half the bottle, then wiped his mouth and chuckled. “Gah, why the hell did they ever stop making this? To make room for energy drinks? Fetid! Sometimes the world makes no sense at all.”

He briefly contemplated following the mystic. After all, it’d long been a dream of his to finally hold a second meeting of the minds. Last time they met he was but the learner, and now he was on his way to becoming a master. But he knew that she was long gone, vanished into an unquantifiable mist.

He was a master of a discipline that, although related, was at odds with the teachings of Rimina Jacoby. “If only we could palaver, everything’d be sorted out. She calls upon the stars, asking them for advice. I redefine astrophysics, discerning how it was that stars even came to exist. She moves only forwards, but can project infinite possibility onto any consciousness. I move in any direction I choose, but can still only experience a singular reality.”

The Pepsi Free was finished, the glass bottle held up in a makeshift salute. The man in the gray trench coat saw that he was alone…but something told him that the Woman in Gray Robes could hear him. “So we have it, one for the ages. Art versus science. And you’re winning…

“If if I didn’t respect you so much,” a smile of remembrance crept cross his face, “I’d be pretty pissed. Hell, I’m one of the world’s greatest scientific minds and I’m being outclassed by a gen-u-ine gypsy mystic.”

The lighthearted rival of the one-eyed seer brought himself to his feet and began shuffling away. It’s not that he didn’t want to keep sitting, thinking about his most formative days. Because he did. But he also knew that that he was a day away from Event Zero. And to be sighted this far into the game, to have to rely on reignition, well that was simply unthinkable.

He was out of sight just in time see Daryl and Clark as they left Bandini’s Café. From his vantage point, he saw them perfectly. Clark looked rewarded. Daryl was determined. And this made sense.

Of course it made sense. It couldn’t be any other way.

The wind picked up, kicking leaves and threatening to knock over the spy. He held his own, pushing back and limping along as he always would.

[via]

Broadcasting from Omega Station Monstar on this most glorious of three-day weekends, I present MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! This weekly post is my excuse to show off the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself through the workweek. After you read about how I’m going tranquilize my desires to scream “BURN IT DOWN!” while crashing an ice cream truck into the post office, you should then hit up the comments section and tell me what you’re up to.

If I don’t have new things to do, there’s a strong chance the mail’s going to be late this week.

Keep Reading »

[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]

As everyone knows, heavy metal is a genre of music performed exclusively by Satanists in the hopes of stealing souls for the Devil. But with the religious right constantly exerting their will, it isn’t always easy provide the Dark Lord the souls he craves. Fortunately, heavy metal wised up and stole a page from Big Tobacco’s playbook by employing cartoons! Since kids can’t resist cartoons, heavy metal has been able to ensure the damnation of millions of youthful spirits!

It’s wonderful.

So, who is the most metal mascot of all-time? Well, the debate always seems to come down to two contenders: Iron Maiden’s Eddie and Megadeth’s Vic Rattlehead.

Keep Reading »

Monsters are awesome.
Tigers are nature’s monsters.
Tigers are awesome.

It’s a syllogism celebrated by some of Planet Earth’s most respected intellectuals, from poet Edward Blake to renaissance man Charlie Sheen. There is both an inherent beauty and ruthlessness of the tiger which makes people like it. After all, tigers are powerhouses of muscle and controlled violence, demanding respect and rewarding only those most worthy.

So when I sauntered into the package store and saw a four-pack of Bengali Tiger, there was only one option: buy that muthafuggah and drink `em until everything’s funny. Even Gallagher.

Keep Reading »

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

Bandini’s Café was lost in time.

The year outside of the diner was most certainly 1986. Ten months in and gazes were still directed skyward, accompanied by somber sentiments for the crew of the Challenger. The Boston Red Sox and the New York Mets were trading blows in the World Series. And twenty-three year old Katherine Hushaw reveled in an admiration only awarded to a Playmate of the Month.

The year inside the diner, well that was up for debate. The booths were wide and cushioned in such a way as to support the heavy aspirations of those celebrating VJ Day. The walls were decorated with yellowed posters assuring patrons that I Like Ike and asking them to Drink Pepsi-Cola. And the most recent hit that the jukebox would sing was I Can’t Help Myself (Sugar Pie Honey Bunch). Moreover, no one inside of the anachronistic haven had been born after the year 1940.

Except, of course, for Daryl Millar. But, not unlike the diner, Daryl was in the process of becoming timeless.

Keep Reading »