Pretty clear here folks. If you’re a spoiler-whore like me, hit the jump. If you have self-discipline then stay the fuck away. Also, please teach me your skills.

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What the fuck is going on here? Zod can travel all the way to Earth, but homeboy can’t broadcast a clean transmission?

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If there was one thing Durban hated, it was his bedside electronic crow.

Every morning, every goddamn morning, the metal-feathered automaton would leave its battery-perch, hover above the bed, and screech directly into Durban’s face. It didn’t matter to the faux-fowl whether Durban had a day off from the mineral farm or if he was dreaming of his ex-girlfriend from Jupiter or if he was in the midst of an ethanol-fueled fever dream. And this is why it was such an effective companion.

`Cause at 5:45 AM, the electronic crow was guaranteed to terror-scream Durban back into consciousness.

To be fair, Durban recognized the practical value of his name-brand, top-of-the line robot-rooster. After all, he wasn’t going to wake up and go to work completely of his own volition. And who could blame him? It takes a special sort of masochism to rise early enough to catch the first boneshaking Teleport-Shuttle of day to Rhea, the most bastardly of Saturn’s moons, only to spend the next eight hours scavenging for traces of Lupillian.

Goddamn.

But without the bird, Durban wouldn’t get to Rhea on time. And if Durban didn’t get to Rhea on time, there’s no chance an operator would save him an excavator. And if Durban didn’t excavate Lupillian, he wouldn’t be able to pay his rent. And on most days, the thought of not paying his rent on time positively horrified him.

But on one fantastic Monday morning, Durban decided that his hatred of the crow was more palpable than his fear of landlord-ire.

5:45 AM crept into existence, and the crow came to life. Shaking itself off of its docking station, the bird began to flutter upwards. But Durban had awoken nearly a half-hour before, plagued by a crotch-burn no doubt gifted to him by the discount Prosti-Clone he’d rented on Ganymede. So with one eye open and a fire plaguing his urethra, Durban waited for his every-morning adversary to strike first.

“CAW! CAW! THE CURRENT TIME IS FIVE-FORTY-FIVE ANTE-MERIDIEM! CAW! CA-“

Whoosh! The whiskey bottle spiraled through the air! Smash! The crow simply hadn’t been programmed to anticipate such an attack, and as such its beak was decimated by the hard glass corner of the bottle’s ass. The bird spent its last few seconds writhing in robo-agony, head caved in and vital sparks bleeding into the air.

“Well, I guess ya still woke me up, eh?” Durban was crouching down to assess the damage. Seeing that the target was destroyed, he took a self-satisfied swig from the whiskey bottle and walked over to his much-littered coffee table. From the table, Durban snatched a stack of comic books.

“Fuck work. And fuck birds. Today, I’m drinkin’ and readin’ comics.”

—-

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! As OL’s weekly gathering for entertainment show-and-tell, the MMC is digital nerd-discussion at its finest. Here’s how it works: I’m going to showcase some of the fun-stuffs I’ll be munching on throughout the week. Then, you hit up the comments section and show off the enjoyment-snacks you’ll be stuff into your own mind-gullet. In the process, we geek out and debate and talk all sorts of nonsense.

It’s wonderful.

Let’s go for it!

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Oh shiiiit, I fucking hate myself for that pun. As you read through Catching Fire, it quickly becomes clear that its author Suzanne Collins doesn’t really have much of a panache outside of her original (stolen, borrowed, remixed, whatever) conceit. So while it would be awesome if Jennifer Lawrence, the film’s mediocre director, and the entire rush job could transcend its source material, I ain’t fucking betting on it. None the less, here is the trailer.

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Feels weird to call something a dude in the military is running around in a “costume.” Yet, that’s what we are up to right here. There is a good chance that Captain America’s costume-outfit-garb from Cap 2: Bro I Love You, Bucky has leaked. If the image in question is true then the outfit bares a resemblance to the outfit Rogers wore a couple of years ago as he was slinging missions in Top Secret Avengers Team 27.

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Here’s a fabulous new cover featuring Kal-Cavil in his Supergarb, as well as some new Man of Steel details. Be forewarned that there are spoilers are afoot. Also, God help you if you didn’t know that already.

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Real talk, and I can’t help it: Anne Hathaway in the Catwoman suit was a glorious addition to my spank-tank last year. There’s just something sultry as fuck about it. Plus I have a latex fetish that has me dry-humping spatulas and shit. So whatever. But…where was I? Oh yes, this same Anne Hathaway has been cast in Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar. Far out.

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I keep forgetting about Elysium, the flick from The Guy Who Did District 9 (Neill Blomkamp). Despite that, I have a feeling that when the film finally drops, it is going to blast my science-fiction o-ring into little pleasure particles. Here is the official poster for the son of a bitch.

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The Impossible Reality continues to inch closer. You know, the reality where there is actually a good Superman movie, and somehow (doubly impossible) it is directed by Zack Snyder. Bask in this reality’s approach, courtesy of the first Man of Steel TV spot.

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Here. Have some Captain America: The Winter Soldier details on this fine Monday. Wash them down with an official photo.

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