Bryan Singer just up and shitting on my life. I thought I had to merely endure him squat-thrusting dump-juice all over the X-Men. Now the son of a bitch has ingrained himself in the pilot for Vinny Gilligan’s next show.

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Shake your meth-laced ass to this groovy remix. Culled from the last three seasons of Breaking Bad by YouTube user placeboing, it’s funky enough to make you momentarily forget how fucking dreadful the descent happened to be.

Check it out. Spoilers, BTW. Fucking obviously.

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More Orphan Black! More Orphan Black! Gods Be Good, please let the season two premiere arrive already. Posto-cuto, there is the an S2 trailer, as well as a couple of sneak previews.

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Aaron Paul is in serious talks to return to the Breaking Badverse. The Bro who has THE NEED FOR SO MUCH SPEED could be joining Better Call Saul, and goddamn who cares if it only makes tenuous sense? Paul doesn’t!

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Talk about an endeavor! Marvel is intending to film sixty fucking hour-long episodes in the City of New York. That’s a lot of episodes smelling like homeless people grilling on the grates at Times Square and pizza. Naw — just kidding — snark power down! — this is a pretty impressive attempt.

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One of the great wonders of True Detective’s excellent first season is that its entirety is directed by one talented fucker. As in singular. One of the great wonders this produces is a gorgeous visual coherence that can sometimes be lost as a show shuffles talent around. Apparently one of the great bummers of True Detective Season 2 is that Cary Joji Fukunaga won’t be back to rock out in the director’s chair for a second installment.

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Well, it appears that my lucky comrades who have Comcast will have their Netflix service soon unfucked. Douchebags like me with Verizon? Who knows. I imagine they’re going to stand firm and try and push their Redbox Streaming Bullshit or whatever. God dammit! Yaddayaddayadda landmark deal after the break.

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Yeah cause like True Detective is all like cosmic horror and shit. Oh whatever. Mondo bringing the heat as usual, laying out some gorgeous posters for what is currently my biggest television stiffy.

Hit the jump to check them out.

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Servin’ a life-sentence on Spaceship Earth is a tedious, painful, agonizing wonder.

Why’s that? For one thing, there’s the fact that everyone you love will die. Your best friend. Your kid sister. Your longtime mistress. Your high school math teacher.

Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Along the way you’re guaranteed to deal with inevitable body-breakdown. Maybe you’ll abuse your body. Maybe somebody else will fuck it up. Even if you think you’re unscathed, the sands of time are wearing away at your flesh-vehicle’s gears. Every single day. Every single moment. Until when, you ask?

Until they’re so smooth that they don’t move shit.

But alas! There’s hope! Even those of us who’re agin’ more like vinegar than wine have a fightin’ chance at experiencin’ glory! Not only are we fortunate enough to have been imbued with consciousnesses, but we get to live in a hyperreal future! Are things royally fucked up? Sure! But we live in times in which anything is possible!

So if you start to feel a chill as an existential shadow lurks over your shoulder, spin around and blast that motherfucker with a science fiction repulsor ray!

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Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m goin’ to show off this week’s strategies for keeping me pleased with existence. I suggest you liven up the party by entering the dance circle that is the comments section.

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What the fucking golly gosh is this? TV adaptation news day? Third fucking story in the last twenty-four hours. Anyhoo! Less grousing, more newsing. Out of the three stories, this is my favorite. Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg are definitely bringing Preacher to AMC.

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