There’s no denyin’ that some creators are only interested in treadin’ water.

Once a successful formula has been stumbled upon – whether it’s a character arc, chord progression, or secret ingredient – it’s relied upon indefinitely. To some minds, there’s simply nothing wrong with rehashin’ the same material over and over and over again. In fact, some creators suggest that to stray too far from the tried and true is to do a great disservice, that the fans’re expectin’ something that resembles the work with which they originally fell in love.

These sorts of creative types grow like weeds in the comic book community. Think of how many careers have been made on the backs of characters created in previous decades. Again, some culpability may rest in the readership, which devours comics more for its comfort-food properties than its potential for innovation. But at the root of this issue is that there’s no shortage of creators who only want to relive past glories.

Fortunately, there’s always Warren Ellis.

Warren Ellis has the reputation of being a mind-pilot who of self-navigates the course of his own career. In addition to penning some of the most aspirational pieces in the comics medium (Planetary is just one example) and presaging scientific innovation (Spider Jerusalem was rockin’ Google Glass back in `97), Ellis has always made a point to explore other media forms. Most notably, Ellis has followed paths that have led to essays, novels, and television projects.

With this week’s release of Dead Pig Collector, Warren Ellis has given zero fucks unrelated to forward-thinking.

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Fred was certain that everything’d gone according to plan.

Sure, it was only the third time he’d been called upon to complete the procedure. But why should he worry? It was the first thing they’d taught him at the Neural Corps Academy, a matter of routine that even those struggling with the coursework could exact if necessary. And he wasn’t no goddamn wash-out, he was quick to remind himself while taking a deep whiff of the checkered material.

He was Fred DeCoup. First, a child prodigy. Then, the star student-cum-valedictorian. And at twenty-two, the youngest cadet awarded the position of Reprogrammer General .

Needless to say, Fred was more than a bit startled when the subject woke up screaming. Typically, subjects’ reentries into consciousness are marked by outward expressions of tranquility, sometimes even gratitude. But when XT-203 came to, he was writhing with hatred and spitting vitriol.

“You piece of shit! You raped me! I remember everything! Release these clamps so I can tear out your throat!”

Fred DeCoup dropped XT-203’s boxer shorts from under his nose. He froze. He knew that everything hadn’t gone according to plan, that he’d made an error of the most egregious sort.

In his perverted ecstasy, Fred had forgotten the most important rule: always run a mind-wipe.

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the weekly call-to-arms for all aboard Spaceship OL — crew and passengers alike — to discuss the various ways we’ll combat the Boredom Bastards! Rumor has that a few of these fun-suckers’ve been spotted in the very sector we’re headed towards this week, so we need to make sure that everyone’s armed and ready to face `em!

Murder your familial responsibility with movies. Crush your manager’s halitosis with comics. Piledrive your self-doubt with pizza.

I’ll get us started, but you hafta join me in the comments section.

Let’s do this!

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I love Colorado.

Now, I’ve never been to the state. But even from my perch aboard Spaceship OL, it ain’t hard to discern that Colorado is a multifaceted wonder. After all, it was the thirty-eighth entry into the Union that bore the mighty Tim Allen, creator of America’s greatest sitcom about a tool-man. Lest we not forget that Colorado gave refuge to a Boston hero and allowed him to become a champion. And then, of course, there’s always South Park.

I also love Mexico.

Again, I ain’t never been to Mexico, neither. But there’s plenty to appreciate about the nation. First of all, the Mexican flag features an eagle tearin’ a snake to shreds. Epic! Brutal! Awesome! There’s also the fact that Mexico is responsible for the taco. The goddamn taco! If there was ever a perfect food, it could very well be the taco! And if this didn’t win you over, the Land of the Shaking Earth was also the site of one of humanity’s greatest triumphs.

And now that I’ve discovered Agave Wheat, I can express my love for both Colorado and Mexico by drinking!

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“Oh snap! He just kicked off Grandpa’s fuckin’ head! Didja see that shit! Grandpa ain’t got no fuckin’ head anymore!”

Yeah, I guess you can say it was an eventful Fourth of July weekend at Casa de Los Brothers Omega.

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But today is Monday, and as such we must embark upon the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I show you all of the entertainment-junk I’ll crammin’ down my mind-mandible during the next few days. Then, you hit up the comments section and tell everyone what you’ll be feastin’ upon to get to the end of the workweek. Yes, it’s a bit like show-and-tell.

Except instead of kindy-gardners, the participants are the depraved Internet pirates clingin’ to the deck of Spaceship OL.

Okay, let’s do this!

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Holy shit! Maine’s making beer now!

As a lifelong resident of Massachusetts, I’ve always been a bit weary of Maine. That’s not to say that the Pine Tree State doesn’t have anything to offer. It does. It’s the spot to go for quintessential New England seafood, the people are friendly, and it’s scenic as hell. I wouldn’t try to dissuade anyone from vacationing in Maine.

With that said, there’s something a bit discomfiting about Maine.

Maybe it’s the fact that the state is in a weird spot culturally. After all, Maine is wedged right next to the libertarian paradise that is New Hampshire, the hippie epicenter of Vermont, and the progressive-to-the-point-of-scrutiny Massachusetts. What does this leave Maine claiming? Rocky shores and some mountains.

Or maybe I find Maine distressing because it’s mostly uninhabited. Last year I drove to Nova Scotia by myself, and spent the better part of six hours weaving my way through the wilderness of Maine. And let me tell you, if I had hit a moose out there (as the signs so comfortingly warned that I might), I would’ve been dead meat. There’s no way that anyone with the abilities of resuscitating my mangled corpse would’ve found me in time.

Then, of course, there’s Stephen King.

So it was with a bit of trepidation that I picked up a sixer of Bar Harbor Blueberry Ale from the folks at the Atlantic Brewing Company. As I brought the beers to the register, grappling with a barrage of thoughts, some rational and most not. “Is this ale any good? How strong is the blueberry flavor going to be? Is it safe to drink? Is this nothing more than Maine-yokels fooling us by bottling their pee after eating blueberry pie? Should I call Sam Adams and tell him that there’re some wild Mainers tryin’ to cut in on his action?”

By the time I got home, I was driven to investigate this beer.

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Authoritarian regimes maintain power by cracking skulls and giving exactly zero fucks.

Remember that time Napoleon rewarded Boxer’s ceaseless efforts with a trip to the glue-factory? Or how about when Grand Moff Tarkin blew up an entire goddamn planet? And who could ever forget when the children of Panem murdered each other for entertainment?

The reason that all of this wonderful brutality occurred was because those in power didn’t have to justify their actions. Without checks and balances, these motherfuckers were able to do as these pleased, whatever the consequences. And although freedom fighters occasionally inspire resistance, there are still plenty of totalitarian forces at work today.

Even in the beer world.

Tonight I’m drinking a limited edition Russian Imperial Stout from the folks at Otter Creek Brewing. Having had my interest piqued by the Soviet-styled design on the label and box, I wanted to learn more about this stout. Hell, I even compiled a list of questions. But when I went to the brewery’s website, I was greeted by nothing more than an “under construction” declaration and the encouragement to visit the Otter Creek Facebook page.

Thanks but no thanks, Otter Creek! I haven’t been on Facebook in years, and I ain’t fallin’ for your ruse! It’s pretty obvious what’s goin’ on. The Otter Creek Elite wants me to join Facebook and “friend” them, and then they’ll monitor my beer-drinkin’ habits (via status updates and photo evidence) to target me more directly! Before I know it, Otter Creek shadow agents will be infiltrating the parties I throw, telling revelers about the newest promotions available from a beloved Middlebury, Vermont brewery.

Insidious.

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Friends, the newest installment of OMNI is here. Led by rocket-riding cowboy-maniac Sergio Mahmoud Jonas, the pioneers come to realize that the fourth rock from the Sun is filled with miracles and horrors inconceivable by the leadfeet stuck on Earth.

In the early years, death cults and the monsters they worship descend from the mountains to wreak havoc. Later, corrupt statesmen misappropriating the Martian dream have to be assassinated. But these are small prices to pay for the benefit of an otherworldly home that produces genuine wonder and challenges us to reconsider the very parameters of possibility.

Hit the jump to check out Rocket Man, a five-page short illustrated by Steven Walters that shows us why Jonas decides to take humanity to the Red Planet!

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the weekly entertainment call-to-arms hosted at OL! First, I’m going to share a short piece of fiction I’ve just unearthed from my brain with a caffeine-excavator. Then, I’m going to detail some of the ideas I have for entertaining myself into the weekend. Lastly, the final step of the MMC is for you to hit up the comments section and share party-agenda for the week!

This is pop-culture show-and-tell at its most unabashedly passionate.

Take a rip of your favorite beverage and go for it!

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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 kal-if-fee that is the comments section]

It’s time for us to get emotional about science-fiction’s most beloved logician.

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Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of The Great Gatsby‘s been in theaters for a couple weeks, and it is a truly divisive talking-point amongst moviegoers. While some appreciate the sleek visuals and pervading splendor, others believe that the film isn’t grounded enough to give a fair representation of the novel. No matter which camp you find yourself in, chances’re good that if you’ve read the book or seen the movie you’ve spent some time slinging ideas about.

Such is my situation.

Allow me to be forthright – I believe that The Great Gatsby is an absolutely perfect novel. I’ve spent countless hours reading, discussing, and writing about Fitzgerald’s magnum opus, and yet I still find myself stumbling into new terrain. Of course, whenever I think I’ve find a rock worth turning over, I make a point to shout at anyone who’ll listen.

A couple years ago I posted Nick Carra-Gay?, an exploration of the possibility that the novel’s narrator is gay. Whether or not you go for the theory, it generated some great conversation.

In the hopes of generating similar discussions, I’ve taken a grad school paper I’ve just completed and rearranged it for the OL audience. Give it a read and then hit up the comments section to share your thoughts. I’m not sure if my argument’s got legs to stand on, but at the very least it’s evocative.

After all, the idea at hand is that Jay Gatsby is actually a black guy.

I now present – The Great Blacksby – The Literary Hero You Never Noticed.

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