[click the picture for a high-res version]

Over at Slashfilm they passed on a couple of LOST promos that have the gang posing like Jesus and his B-Boy posse from the famous Last Supper painting. Slash also mentions that a bunch of other television shows have done it, but I don’t love none of them more than Battlestar Galactica. It is fitting then, that my two favorite shows wank one another off.

And take a good luck at who is rocking the Jesus of the table, Locke! But wait, did he really come back from the dead? Or was his broken, bald, scarred, dumb body simply possessed by Facob, or Jacob’s enemy, or whatever you want to call him? Who the hell knows! I’m ready though. This shit is getting real. My pants are getting tight. I got a pencil, a pad of paper, and my DVR. I’m cracking the code. THE CODE.

Head over to Slashfilm for high-res versions of the promo. And commence fawning, fapping, and anxious awaiting.

[Remember That Time On LOST is a daily post running the entire month up until the season premiere of LOST on February 2nd. I’m going to just pick something awesome, noteworthy, or ludicrous about LOST when I wake up that morning, and hopefully get you geeks talking about it with me.]

LOST starts one month today. One month until my favorite show on television begins its final run. I fucking love LOST. It isn’t my favorite show of all time – Billy Adama and the Space Cadets hold that award. But I can also acknowledge that LOST is roughly four-million times better in the areas of plot, and smoke monsters, and other shit.

So let’s start at the fucking beginning. Look at the god damn promotional picture for season one. It’s almost hilarious in its simplicity, and for what has occurred since then. You know, just a bunch of people foraging for food and trying to survive on an island. I was sold on that premise alone! I mean, there was like a monster and shit! And that guy from Party of Five, and a fucking hobbit!

How could I not be sold?

And now I look at that shit, and I just shake my head. How the hell did we get from crashing planes, to hypertextual mind-warping, time-traveling madness? I thought the biggest problem Jack Shephard was going to have was getting his weiner into Kate’s love nest. Turns out that oh yeah, she’s a filthy whore with linebacker shoulders (this will all be gone into within the month, I’m sure) and he is seeing his dead dad and rocketing through the space time continuum.

The dudes from LOST knew what they were doing, even when they didn’t know what they were doing. How so? I’ll explain it to you, chuckles! Even if they didn’t know how they were going to connect all the dots of the series, they threw us enough hooks that we had to keep watching. I mean, when that fat dude from Heroes, Parkman, gets eaten out of the cockpit of the airplane? Yeah, I had to keep watching. And then there’s some mysterious hatch or something?

Yeah, dope as hell.

Somehow LOST has managed to tell me absolutely nothing for like five and a half years, and I’m still hooked.

Remember though, when the fucking plane crashed? Of course you do, it was the start of the show. What a hell of a way to kick off the pilot though. I’d like to spin the Island’s wheel, travel through time, and masturbate JJ Abrams for his ballin’ pilot. It was god damn madness. Dudes were getting sucked into still firing engines, Jack was like totally stitching himself off, and the hobbit was a god damn heroin addict.

I distinctly remember sitting in my friend Dave’s room, watching it. It was one of the first shows to show off the thunderous erection that we take for granted now: HD television. Maybe I’m imagining it, and I’m definitely not putting much thought into proving myself wrong, but LOST seems like it was one of the shows that kicked off television as spectacle. It was in HD, it was in 5.1, and you definitely got a bigger bang for your buck. I sat there, thinking to myself, I need a fucking HDTV!

I had no idea what I was getting myself into at the time. It is something of a cultural phenomenon within the geek circles, and even branching out into other walks of life. The average asshole has no idea that they’re getting a lesson in utilitarian ethics, rocking out with Jeremy Bentham, or the delicious irony that John Locke the philosopher was   the ultimate empiricist, while the character they named him after seems to be a man of faith and blind belief.

Other nerdy shit like that. Viral marketing, altered reality games, clues wrapped within websites, insanity. Other television shows and movies do that now, but I feel like LOST was the first one to do it, or at least that I recognized.

Anyways, intro over. Let’s party until the party really starts.

I really can’t remember the last time a season finale’s final twist blew my brain out of my skullcap like Dexter’s last night. Like most shows, I was expecting the requisite finale to come packing a twist at the ending. You know, something to keep you talking and interesting in the show until the next season popped off. I had a million different ideas as to what it would be; most of them hinging on Deb beginning to suspect that her brother was a professional body carver.

Killing Rita though? Naw dude, I never saw that coming. Maybe I suspected that the writers would never go this far out of what I perceived was a comfort zone. Who knows. But I sat there blown away. Seeing Harrison sitting in a pool of hemoglobin eerily similar to his own father’s birth through blood gave me the chills.

Homeboy Dexter realized both his worth and the ramifications for those who got close to him. In the same episode he realizes that he doesn’t bring horror into the lives of those who love him. They benefit from him. And yet, the dude’s baggage, that which he brings along with him, lands his wife dead in their bathtub, Trinity Killer’s final opus.

It was a season obsessed with discussing the effects of nurture on two different serial killers. Both baptized in blood, what separated Dexter from Trinity? Presumably it was Harry’s Code that prevented Dexter from giving in to reckless bloodlust that consumed Arthur Mitchell. Or rather, perhaps, allows Dexter to channel in towards only those who he deems worthy of dying. So what now will become of Harrison? Who the fuck knows.

I do know that I was worried the show had backed itself up into a corner this season. It seemed they had rocked what could have been the ending of the series; Dexter realizes the importance of his family over his insatiable desire to fill the gulf stream with bodybags, he continues to put them first, blah blah blah. But him realizing it in the wake of him letting Rita die? What the fuck. Will the dude shut down and completely kill off all his sentiment, not wanting to feel all the ugly bullshit that comes with emotion. It allows for a whole different exploration of the character.

I was always sweating the day when Dexter’s extracurricular activities caught up to him literally. The police kickin’ down his door and collecting him and his impressive arsenal of weaponry. But I can dig on it collapsing on him in the form of death and strife for his family.

And a remorseful peace out to Lithgow and the Trinity Killer. You sir, will be missed. I know that big name stars that pop into a television show are always destined to be leaving at the end of the season, and in Dexter that usually means by ways of the blade. But Trinity was probably my favorite character on the show, ever. If the Ice Truck Killer was the shape of what could have come to be Dexter, Trinity was a asshole-pucking   portentous look at what he could develop into. You sir, from your creepy cottage cheese ass, to your odd fascination with trains, to being the man who may have finally broken Dexter, hats-off.

What a god damn season.

Goodbye Christine, we hardly knew ye. When you self-administered some shotgun therapy in last night’s episode, I shed a single tear. You had a booty that made my heart palpitate, and I was beginning to feel like we truly had a connection. And by that, I mean that when my girlfriend went home after watching it, I’d rub myself over my boxers to you.

I do have to chastise you for taking yourself out of the game. In effect, that means that your sociopathic dad could continue on his killing spree, now that some other douchebag has been framed. I’m not really sure why you expected Deb to forgive you, after you shot her, and murdered the graying dude who probably had saggy balls and weird spots on his ass who she was in love with.

That said, I’m not sure I should expect you to make much sense, you’re the daughter of a serial killer who saw her father cozying up to a dead chick in a bathtub of blood when she was just a child.

Adieu, Christine, you’ll be remembered.

This is the first awesome thing that Rita has done all season. She’s been running around like Crazy Baby Momma, she’s been going through Dexter’s shit. She’s generally been annoying as hell, just for the sake of being a source of agitation now that Dexter wears the cowl of Family Man.

When Dexter slugged that assfart Elliot for befouling Rita with his filthy tongue, I knew it could go one of two ways. Either she’d get pissed off because her man was decking dickheads with righteous right hooks, or she could realize that he was merely defending her honor. Or something. But she came through! Finally. It’s good to see her realize that her man Dexter is the quiet, stoic type. Or a serial killer. But just because he’s like uh, never around, and shady, and always making up lies, he loves her. And will pop a dude in the mouth for molesting her.

Well done, Rita. You’ve seen the light.

If you’ve been watching Dexter this season, the above image makes your goddamn head burst with excitement. The Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader of serial killers or some shit, in the same room. The Agent Smith and Neo, but hopefully without the awful CGI and philosophical pandering. The Magic Johnson and Larry Bird of people who stab people.

How the fuck does Dexter even get out of this room? Dude is finally exposed, his real life laying bare for Trinity to see. It’s okay though, since Kyle Butler is sort of a lame name.

But seriously, has there been a scene this tense on Dexter since Doakes found out that Dexter was a serial killer? It hasn’t been since Doakes was all “Mo’fuckah, you the Bay Harbor!” that I was thinking something like “I honestly have no idea how Dexter gets out of this predicament.”

I fucking love Dexter this season. Every episode has made my asshole pucker with tension. Butt cheeks clenched, I work my way through the episode wondering what the hell could happen next. There’s a multitude of things that occurred in this episode that had be thinking, “I would never ever fucking do that in a million years.” I suppose that’s why this shit is television, and not filled with mundane people like myself.

For starters, the dude Steven or whatever that was kidnapped by Trinity was the mouthiest little son of a bitch ever. I don’t know if it’s because you only learn kidnapping protocol as you get older, but I don’t suggest yelling at the dude who drugged you and stuck you in a van. That said, I would be in the corner crying and blowing snot bubbles while he sat there rocking his train set.

I have to give props to the Trinity Killer for being continually more creepy as the season has gone on. The dude has mastered the creep equation. I’m going to be pretty bummed out when Trinity is no longer on the show. The dude has stormed onto the cast bare-assed and solidified himself as a key character. Where the hell do they go from here?

Probably downhill.

The second thing that I would never do is let my father know that I’m onto him being a serial killer. I’m just saying. If my Dad was carving up ladies and bludgeoning dudes for thirty years, I’m taking that shit to the grave. Or at the most, to the authorities. But yeah, I’m not going to meet him in a dingy fucking parking garage. This was another scene where I could feel my testicles rescinding into my upper bowels from fright. I was waiting for Trinity to all choke the bitch out or something.

She may be goin’ to jail, but having Quinn and shit show up definitely saved her from shedding the ole’ mortal coil.

And finally, I wouldn’t be resentful of my detective partner if they found out that I was dating a murderer. Seriously Quinn, what’s your fucking deal, bro? I try to enjoy your presence on the show, despite your man-titties and the fact that you’re trying to bring my boy Dexter down. But now you cop an attitude with Deb? Like, really?

I think you’re ignoring the fact that Christine was just banging you to get close to the Trinity investigation. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she was a sexy lady. But you were used bro, and judging from the way you parade around those shitty night clubs, it was probably some sort of karmic uppercut.

I could accept you being bummed out, you know, finding out that you date a murderer, who also happens to be the daughter of a serial killer. That’s cool. But all cheesed off at Deborah because she cracked a case? Confounding!

I can’t spend much time on this post – Halloween is callin’ my name! But I just wanted to make sure that OL represented this video in some way. Truly the best Star Wars related happening since 1983.  Before watching, just realize that you will never see something as amazing afterward.

[(Ewoks+Alcohol) x (Karate+Moon Walk)] x Live Television=

Twenty-three days into the OCTOBERFEAST and things are getting kooky. Damn kooky. We’ve worshipped Lucifer, munched on cereal, and even hung out with apes. These are strange, horrifying days and they’re only becoming more wonderfully shocking. Sometimes it seems as though OCTOBERFEAST is an alternate dimension of its own.

Anyone who reads comic books or science fiction realizes that our reality is but one of many, a single chapter in book known as the multiverse. There have been countless depictions of realities other than the one to which we are accustomed, and they usually illustrate the idea that some essential quality has been altered. Of course, this makes for great narratives as it encourages the reader/viewer/listener to consider the grand What If?’s in life.

In the late 1950’s, this concept of disregarding standards and questioning society-at-large was the basis behind one of American television’s greatest products — The Twilight Zone. This televised anthology blew minds away every week with unusual stories and narrative twists that defied cookie-cutter formulas. In creator Rod Serling’s words, The Twilight Zone is “A series for the storyteller.”

Serling and his creative team (which sometimes included Ray fuckin’ Bradbury, if you’re still a doubter) seamlessly blended science fiction, horror, westerns, literary classics and comedy into compelling tales of the human condition.   Despite their drastic variances, each episode effectively acts as a parable or revelation.

As these ideas are defiant of those found in most television, The Twilight Zone did itself the favor of including an introductory warning. As seen in the first season,

There is a fifth dimension, beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition, and it lies between the pit of man’s fears and the summit of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call the Twilight Zone.

Admittedly, I haven’t seen every episode of The Twilight Zone nor can I claim to have an intense knowledge of the show’s history. But any time that I catch an episode on the Sci-Fi Channel (oh shit, I guess I mean SyFy) I find myself positively captivated. It is a terrific program and I find that even some of the shows I truly love (*cough*LOST*cough*) are doing their best to hit the high-water mark set fifty years ago.

Granted, this may be one of the most popular and referenced episodes of the series — so I can’t necessarily defend myself against arguments of That shit is played out. But with Richard Donner behind the camera and the all-mighty Shatner in front, Nightmare at 20,000 Feet deserves the status of goddamn classic.

I’ve documented my love for the women of Mad Men throughout this blog. Usually I’m waxing philosophic about the curves of Christina Hendricks. But I suppose I can give it up for the American Dream Ideal of this one January Jones, if it involves the actress playing that rocking an insane amount of cleavage.

Well done, Mrs. Draper.

Believe it or not, The Simpsons was once a great television show. In fact, I would argue that in its prime (somewhere in the mid-to-late 1990’s) The Simpsons was fucking untouchable. Marge vs. the Monorail? Twenty-Two Short Films About Springfield? The Itchy & Scratchy and Poochy Show? Episodes like these embody the spirit of the sitcom at its absolute finest.

So while its epic nose-dive has been enough to keep me away for the last decade, I still feel warm, fuzzy things for The Simpsons. Some of the warmest and fuzziest of these funny feelings are connected to Treehouse of Horror — the show’s annual Halloween special.

Every year, Treehouse of Horror would take everyone’s favorite family from Evergreen Terrace through parodies of horror & science fiction movies, strangely murderous tales and other similarly bizarre romps. It was insanity — the residents of Springfield killing one another before my very eyes! I guess part of the charm was that for one episode every season, the best show on television took it upon itself to make kooky stories about the zany shit I love.

Also, Treehouse of Horror always featured Kang & Kodos, two of the best alien characters of all-time. I think it was in the `96 episode that they inhabited the bodies of Bill Clinton & Bob Dole, then ran against each other for president. Genius.

Kang & Kodos hoping to hitch a ride.

Maybe I’ve constructed a false memory, but I really think that I remember coming home from trick-or-treating and watching Treehouse of Horror. As an eight-year-old, there was no better feeling than stuffing my face full of candy, paying my dad off with Almond Joys to look the other way, and watching Homer Simpson do silly shit. That was the life.

I’m not so sure that The Simpsons will ever reclaim the glory it once possessed. But at least once a year, when the pumpkins are screaming in terror as their captors approach them with kitchen-knives in hand, I’ll think of Treehouse of Horror and smile.

Sitting at the gym today almost paralyzed with fear that I wouldn’t be able to voice my nagging, unintelligent opinion. Sitting bored on the elliptical watching the deluge of sloppy bullshit that passes for news and entertainment. And then I saw Oprah was on, and she saw fit to wipe out both my fears and boredom. You see, Oprah was doing a fucking 1960’s episode in honor of Mad Men or some shit. She had both Mr. And Mrs. Draper on the show. She had some bullshit 1960’s barbershop boyband on all singing and being wonderful. The entire set was retro.

And I’m just sitting there wondering, what the fuck? I mean, it sounds counter-intuitive to me for a powerful black woman to be plugging the 1960’s, when both African Americans and women had it pretty rough back then. Sure, when she interviewed January Jones (Betty Draper), Jones spent four seconds like, poorly articulating the lack of rights for women. But besides that, the entire thing was a nostalgic orgasm. It wasn’t some critique, it was just like CHECK OUT HOW IDYLLIC SHIT WAS, ARE YOU PUMPED HOUSE WIVES!?

I find it doubly ironic, since Mad Men spends (from what I’ve seen, which is a season and some change) a significant amount of time exploding the myth that the 1960’s was some happy, Camelot-esque period. The whole thing screamed “Missing the Point!”, dedicating an entire episode to the sappy, syrupy illusion of the 1960’s in honor of Mad Men, a show which spends its entire time deconstructing that myth, spending time to highlight the inequalities of both women and African Americans.

Oh Oprah! You’re the bee’s knees.