[Search Engine Terms come from an app in the Word Press dashboard. It tells you the terms that people are using in google to lead to your site. Most of ours are ultra depraved and horrible. And amusing to sick people like me.]

I wish I had some idea why BioShock Porn is currently a hot topic among people on the internet. There’s been a run on dudes and dudettes needing their fill of Big Daddy drilling or something. Whatever the case, it’s been the lead search term bringing people to the site for the past two days.

If the goal of a television show is to keep you watching, then this week’s episode of True Blood succeeded. It had that sort of “son of a bitch it’s over?” cliffhanger ending that makes you regret your inability to pierce time and space with your Dong of Atemporality. If only I can run fast enough, piercing the thin skein that keeps us transcending space and time.

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[DEFEAT. is a   coming-of-death novella. every week a new episode pops up, accompanied by full art by Brian Galiano. for fans of science fiction, fantasy, video games, comics, war epics, and feats of triumph]

Bursting into tears, the girl ran into her father’s open arms. She was seven years old and learning about the unfortunate end of life. Death. She was learning what it felt like to watch a loved one succumb, to fall victim to the force by which we are all eventually swept away.

He wasn’t her brother. But he sure felt like it, having been there for the duration of her entire short existence. From the very first day Betty brought her home from the hospital, the seven-year-old had been loved and protected by this surrogate-sibling. And now she had to watch as he withered away into nothing.

Nothing living, anyway.

“Daddy, why is this happening? It isn’t fair! I don’t want him to die!”

Stoically taking a rip from his pipe, the father looked at his only child. He was challenged in a way that was new and unnerving. Which was saying something, given the scope of his life experience.

He had survived war. He had moved to America with nothing and made something of himself. He had mastered the arena of political science, becoming the department head of a prestigious university.

And he had done all of this with self-assurance, an unwavering belief that the path he had chosen was the right one.

But now he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He gently parted his lips, allowing for a light puff of tobacco smoke to billow upwards. The father savored the taste of the smoke and anticipated the rush from the nicotine. This was his ritual when preparing to do some heavy-duty–

“Daddy,” the daughter interrupted, “isn’t there anything we can do?!”

“I’m still doing zee heavy-duty thinking.” He hadn’t completely shaken his accent. Years later, when his daughter realized he had an accent, she’d find it endearing. But right now, she just wanted a solution to what had been described to her as an insolvable problem.

She had heard the word from all of them. Her mother. Her father. The doctor. They all had different ways of explaining what it meant. The maternal optimism that everything would be fine, despite what the word suggested. The paternal idea of confronting the inevitability of the word, becoming stronger in the process. The scientific defining of the word, plagiarized from a textbook. Yet, nothing curbed the inherent terror of the utterance.

Cancer.

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Hello faithful followers, stragglers, and those who have wandered into this Palace dedicated to Juvenile Behavior and Half-Cooked Intellectual Thought. Half-cooked is actually a bit of an exaggeration, but what will you have me say. I’m the proprietor of this joint. Like all those fucking restaurants – every fucking one of them – that claims to be World Famous.

I suppose in the sense that we exist, worlds within worlds.

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One of the best things about the short-lived BSG spinoff Caprica was Alessandra Torresani. Not that she’ll be nominated for an Emmy anytime soon, but she is really hot. And don’t worry guys, I checked. She only looks 16. She’s actually 24! *looks round for the high five*

Since the fall of Caprica (ha-yuck) Torresani has been canoodling around half-naked in various shoots with photographer Tyler Shields. Their latest collaboration is a video in which Torresani recalls her doomed relationship with Darth Vader. It’s not really funny, but she does lick Vader’s helmet at one point. I’d watch Torresani do anything. If someone filmed her doing her taxes I’d watch it. Check out the video after the jump. I’ve included a bonus video of Torresani licking a giant lollipop coming out of a man’s crotch. I love this chick.

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When we last left True Blood, Eric was a brainless twink dream, Jason was getting raped by a pack of werepanthers, Sookie was probably doing something, and Bill was sentencing dudes to death in-between knocking boots with that lawyer. Whatever could come next! Let’s find out, shall we?

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Alright, this is what I’m talking about. I dug last night’s True Blood more than I had any episode in recent memory. On a relative scale, nothing really happened.   Everything was par the True Blood course. Couples fought. Vampires fucked. Melodrama was as melodrama is. However by slowing down the episode and giving characters time to interact on a personal level, the show hit with a funny, charming episode.

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Press Start! Weekly Top 5 list chronicling the happenings in gaming in the past seven days.

The abridged week always leads to a certain funk that bookmarks both sides of it. You begin checking out prior to the Holiday, and the days that follow are (for most of us, I’d wager) a haze of recuperation, lament at the end of the Holiday, and an attempt to gain your footing again.

As such, the world of gaming news is either unremarkable, or I frankly didn’t give much of a shit. Too busy trying to burn off the impressive caloric excess while simultaneously polish off the remainder of flesh and sweets that populated my house.

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Still stuffed to the brim with hormonal beef, remnants of little alcohol atoms rocketing around my synapses, tired from the first day of work since Thursday, I sat down this afternoon and watched the second episode of True Blood’s fourth season. Be it the chemical-soaked flesh I munched en masse yesterday, the fatigue, the lingering hangover from too much frisbee and alcohol and too little water, but I enjoyed the episode.

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As I drove home last night, my girlfriend wearily turned to me and asked if we could not see anymore sucky movies this summer. She is my co-pilot in my various adventures as I rocket into the goopy chasms of pop-culture suck. A fellow space monkey. I promised her yes, I wouldn’t bother her with such an endeavor.

She had crossed the Rubicon last night, watching Transformers: Dark of the Moon. A movie so utterly dreadful, xenophobic, sexist and frankly fucking boring that I last night bled myself and affixed leeches to my freshly shorn testicles. I felt infected. I had to purge.

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