I went to school and lived in the Boston area for most of my 20s. I can safely say that for the most part, the MA youth dress like shit (OL bloggers excluded). Lots of “Yankees Suck” shirts and “Believe in Boston” caps with battle-damaged brims.   That’s where Regan Smith Clarke steps in.

Inspired by vintage signs and advertisements, RSC is a Boston-based clothing company that’s been turning heads for a year now with their solid designs and integrity. Created by a Boston local who thought it’d be a good idea to name a clothing company after himself, RSC currently slings tees, hoodies, tote bags, and prints adorned with original designs that truly POP! To celebrate their first birthday, RSC has released a commemorative shirt, the “Year One.” And now, there’s an app for that!

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Apple dropped the bombshell that ignited the dirtying of millions of acolytes’ panties today. Boom!, the Apple iPad 2. Sometimes there’s an advantage to be a bumbling asshole graduate student. It prevents me from splurging on things I don’t need. Despite working thirty hours a week, I’m paid shit for working “eight”, and the poverty assures that this thing will remain out of my hands. I don’t need this shit, but it ignites such a techdork part of me into a  frenzy  that is  incalculable  by modern mathematical rubrics.

Fuck, is it hot.

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Today’s pick: the “Suite” from Jerry Goldsmith’s score for Outland (1981).

Part two after the jump.

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Welcome to the first edition of OLOST. When you say it out loud, it sounds like you’re remorseful for the end of Lost. But what it really means is Omega Level Original Soundtrack. This is going to be a Mon-Fri post where I, Patrick “Swift Dick” Cooper, posts a song or other audio-related nugget that I hope you enjoy. I listen to a lot of movie scores because I hate the human voice. Unless it’s unexpectedly rapping at the end of a movie.

Which brings us to today’s song, “Manic Cop Rap.” Last night I bought Maniac Cop 3 at Walgreens. I live in Florida, so that makes sense. Enjoy.

Odd Future is fucking blowing up, and I love it. These motherfuckers hit Funny or Die up with a skit that is centered around them getting signed. Maybe it’s because I’m a purple-donged fanboy for these guys, but it’s fucking hilarious. Also, any skit that involves Katy Perry, Selena Gomez and fucking mouths, I’m down with.  The skit is like the group: awesome, crude, swag.

Hit the jump for the video.

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I showed this to Mrs. Caffeine Powered, and she laughed so hard and at such a pitch that she sterilized my nuts. Sorry honey, I’m now sterile, but it’s probably better for the human race. I don’t usually talk about music here on the Omegaship. While everything invariably breaks down into snobbery and douchery on the internet, music always seems the most ignitable topic. Of course, there’s a but. But! I can’t help but be stoked for the next Between the Buried and Me album, and the fact that they tease it in such a manner only makes my butthole beat like an 808 for them even harder.

Party on.

I went ahead and killed the 365 project here on Omega Level. It was with hesitation, and a single tear rollicking down my stubbly cheeks. Call it a moment of clarity piercing through the dense, tropical haze of insanity that is my internal monologue. At a certain point I figured that as I am teaching to an extent and will definitely be teaching to a greater extent in the forseeable future, I couldn’t have hundreds of pictures of myself plastered around vomiting prose about the visual  correlation  between feces and beef tacos.

It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

Even Bruce has to clean up.

Banksy  continues  frolicking along in Los Angeles. His latest work went up alongside some taco joint in Oceanside. According to Hypebeast, “the piece came as a surprise to most, including the shop owner, who contemplated painting the piece over before he noticed the attention its received.”

If you enter into the comments section at Hypebeast, there’s a good three-thousand comments debating whether or not its actual Banksy. I have no fucking clue. I love how the aura of Banksy is so pervasive, his influence permeates throughout boundaries regardless of whether or not this handiwork is courtesy of his agency. The Banksy! He lives. He replicates. Or he doesn’t. But he still does.

It’s late man, I don’t know what I’m saying.

Hit the jump for the work.

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Enlarge. | Via.

Walk softly and carry a fucking boomstick, am I right?

What up, felons. While Omega is by no means an enormous website, we have a certain collective of warped folks who have been inextricably sucked into our orbit. It’s with them in mind that I blather on momentarily about a totally new shiny thing we’re trying out. After jerking off to it at Slashfilm and Iheartchaos, I decided we could give the Disqus comments plugin they both use a try over here.

You don’t have to register for shit. You can still post using your email address. But should you choose to snag a Disqus account, you can pimp everything out with an avatar and the such. Theoretically, it’ll be a lot doper for communicating. We can reply to one another within the comments thread without an “@” or whatever. Sleeker. Plus we can jerk one another off by clicking the “Like” button. On, you don’t have a penis, you’re labia-bound? We can totally e-finger as well.

Was that too crude?

Alas.

Alack.

I hope you’re all on board.

Should it crash and burn, we’re also not too proud to revert back to the old bullshit.