[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. // caffeine powered note: I begged rendar to let me write about shield #6. I had such a hard-on I needed to ejaculathink about it. He’ll be back next week.]

The final issue of the first volume of Jonathan Hickman and Dustin Weaver’s Shield came out this week, and it struck me at the very core of my philosophical soul. An imbecile dabbling in impracticality, I spent a good portion of my twenties floundering through school and accumulating credits in various philosophy classes. Modern philosophy, medical ethics, existentialism, Ancient Greek, Medieval, and Social Ethics among others.

I absorbed them all but I did so with a problem lingering in the back of my head. The brightest philosophers, the most powerful thinkers, my very heroes; they were all, to an extent, full of fucking shit.

In ways both gorgeous and clinical, Hickman and Weaver make this argument in the final issue of the first volume of Shield. In a way I never could. I don’t have the components, I lack the wiring. But I know a classic when I see it.

Keep Reading »

And you thought last week was slow. With Drive Angry 3D one week away, we’re hitting some sloooow news pockets here at Cage Match. Hopefully things pick up – I’m sure there will be a slew of interviews and such for DA next week. I’ll be interviewing him in my miiiiiind.

But I never come to Cage Match empty handed, folks. I suppose I would have this week if it wasn’t for my beautiful and talent fiance. For Valentine’s Day, she painted me the above homage to Bad Lieutenant. This is the greatest VD gift ever and is now proudly hanging in Cage Match Headquarters.

Prepare your minds and assholes next week for the OL Drive Angry Circle Jerk! Or just my review, whatevs.

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

October 22^nd, 1955

Mother,
In spite of my usual tendencies, I hope to keep this letter brief. Although I’d love to renew a regular correspondence with you, I understand that some of my decisions have led you to develop a coldness toward me. This troubles me deeply, but you are entitled to your opinions — which you have been more than willing to share and less than willing to have challenged — and I suppose that I must respect that. But I want you to know that should you ever want to open a true line of communication, in which we can both have our ideas entertained, I will be receptive.

And so, pretenses and formalities aside, here it is: I married Lukas. He proposed to me and a week later we became husband and wife. Neither of us could be more in love, and I have never felt better about the future. If you find any solace in all of this, I pray that it is in the fact that your only daughter has finally overcome years of tragedy and turmoil to reclaim her life as a joyous celebration. At the very least, however, you can rest assured that Lukas and I are no longer “living in sin.”

While I do not owe you any sort of explanation, I’d feel remiss if I never presented it before you clearly in writing (instead of trying to talk while simply being shouted over and waved away). For the last time — Lukas Lang is a good man. Yes, he fought in World War II. For Germany.

Keep Reading »

Remember a couple of years ago when Rémi Gaillard was the New Black? His whacky videos, especially the ones featuring real life Mario Kart were totally Oh Em Gee? Well, Gaillard is back with some more Mario Kart insanity. That’s about it. All you need to know.

Hit the jump for the video.

Keep Reading »

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

Like any noble leader, Daryl allowed a bit of entertainment only after ensuring that his friends were given their opportunities. 8-Bit returned, looking as baffled as ever. Daryl tried to reassure himself. “At the very least, it can’t be any lamer than that Ouija Board we tried to use.” 8-Bit and Riff didn’t say a word, but responded with eyes that did plenty of talking.

What you’re about to experience is the real deal.

Surprised by the reproachful staring of his two best friends, Daryl was now forced to reconsider his dismissal of the Woman in Gray Robes. Zipping his lips and nodding, steps were taken into the supernatural workplace.

Quickly accepting the possibility that he was graced by the presence unknown forces, Daryl was only marginally astonished by Rimina’s greeting. “Well hello there, Daryl, I’m quite glad to see you. Always the best for last, I suppose. I can already tell that the soothsaying I am to provide you will be of the utmost importance.

“So sit down, time is of the essence, especially in your case.” Outstretched hands, one of which held a cigarette (of course), beckoned the teen to rest in the chair. He was now directly in front of the embodiment of conflicting messages:

A woman doing the job of a wise man.
A pirate’s accessory on an astoundingly sexy face.
A healthy disposition residing in such an unhealthy environment.

Daryl was ready. So was Rimina. Sensing the beginnings of psychic fatigue, the last remaining leaf from the Jacoby tree did not ask for permission. Instead, she simply took an especially long drag from her cigarette and then snatched hold of Daryl’s hands. She waited a few seconds. When his eyes looked upward from the table Rimina blew smoke right into them. The exhalation was both blinding and eye-opening…

Keep Reading »

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

8-Bit didn’t wait to ask Riff how it went. We walked right past his friend, eager to get his own turn at gazing towards the future. His yearning to the watch the lion tamer had completely subsided when he saw those clowns in mid-coitus, and that previous excitement was now wholly invested in having his fortune read. Any other night, 8-Bit would have disregarded this sort of psychic endeavor as a base attempt to rip off the simpleminded.

But tonight was a night for celebration. A night for trying new things.

Inside the small tent, 8-Bit removed his huge glasses and frantically rubbed the lenses with the bottom of his t-shirt. The glasses were put back on, met with disapproval, and then removed for another scrubbing. With the spectacles back on, 8-Bit realized that they weren’t the source of visual impairment. It was all of the damn smoke.

“Lady, you might want to think about conjuring up some ventilation. I’m not even smoking that stuff, but I feel like I could use an iron lung. I’m cancer-bound for sure.”

Laughing, Rimina gave a sample of her talents. “8-Bit, you’re not going to get cancer from the smoke in here. If you do get cancer, it will be a brain tumor. And it will kill you on your ninety-third birthday. So don’t blame my incense. Or my recreational use of tobacco.”

Sobered by both her words and the nonchalance with which she spoke them, 8-Bit was ready to listen. “Can you…can you tell me more?”

“Of course. That’s why I get paid the big bucks.” Rimina’s cigarette, the fourth since her meeting with Riff, was brought to her dark lips. As before, an inhalation was coupled with the grasping of handsand followed by a hearty exhalation…

Exploration. Lots of exploration, all over… the world. The worlds. In a (not-too-distant) future, the teen with coke-bottle glasses turns into the man with coke-bottle glasses, and for the first time in this existence the look actually helps him fit in. It is the realm of academia — real academia, not just the optional four-year layover before going to work. There are schools and professors and textbooks stacked higher than one might think they should be. That’s dangerous he thinks they could very well fall over. Of course, worrying even now, during a glimpse past the present circumstances and into the future. Stop worrying the female voice, communicating without speaking, reminds him. Seemingly endless work is piling up, but the academic does not cave into the pitfalls of frustration. For this man, defeat is not an option, for the knowledge-seeking of the vision bearer is not a matter of being worthwhile in its own right — it is a deliberate attempt to construct a means to an end. There is a goal. Of discovery. Of impossibility? Many think so. But not the scholar. For he is atypical. He turns to the unconventional, the dangerous, and even the manipulation of the mind through use of the illicit.

But now, the future has slipped away and it is 1986 again. It is yesterday, before school. It is yesterday, at the arcade. It is today? At the circus? Now, is this the end of the week? The pep rally? Is this now or later? Both? It is unknown, but there are feelings of success and gratitude and love and accomplishment. There is work to be done.

“Heed my words — this is but one of the many, a mere sliver of a broken shard from the entire mirror of existence, whose inward reflections of itself far outnumber the outward. This fate has been neither determined nor surrendered. If it pleases you, think of it with cautious optimism. If it displeases you, change yourself so that you may best fit within this world.”

[to be continued]

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

The first to go in, Riff found himself wondering why Ray Dean had called her the Woman in Gray Robes. The moniker wasn’t inaccurate. But he thought a far more distinguishing title would have been The Lady with the Eyepatch. He just couldn’t take his eyes off that damn circle of black swatch.

One may be inclined to think that strapping an eyepatch on a beautiful face would be like smearing shit on a painting. But in this candlelit room, the smoke of incense and cigarettes swirling about, it was more akin to adding the cherry to an ice cream sundae.

Necessary to legitimize the entire experience.

Sitting on a small beanbag chair, the fortuneteller waved Riff towards her. “Come, come, child. Sit down with me. You are intrigued by my eye, are you not?”

Riff tacitly nodded as he found his seat.

“Don’t be afraid. I may have a restricted license and Jaws 3D was a waste of time, but I can still see better than most. Much better.”

Rimina flashed a smile, knowing that the teenager before her was opening up enough for divinations. “Lean in,” her sultry voice commanded, “and I will free your mind from the chains of the flesh. The shackles of the material. The handcuffs of the temporal. Come with me.”

Rimina took an extended drag from her cigarette. Held it in. Returned the cigarette to an ashtray. And then she took both of Riff’s hands into her own and exhaled…

Guitars. Lots of guitars, being played by an older version of the antihero. Sometimes, the smoke swirled in a direction so that Riff could see himself playing music on stage. Sometimes the stage was small. Sometimes the stage was large. Sometimes there were huge crowds of people watching the shredder demonstrate his craft. Was that Castle Donington? He wasn’t sure. But it sure looked like it. Other times, the bluish carcinogenic wisps danced in revelation of a guitarist playing a true solo — hiding away in some room, under self-imposed isolation with an acoustic guitar. The fingers of the hazy figure flew over the fretboard with a precision and speed that the world’s best surgeons could only dream of. A quick flash — the tombstone – an enforcer of the law – the father — the tyrant — dead — gone – thankfully — not missed. A return to the guitar, now slung over the shoulder. The guitarist iseen walking on the road. A future of some uncertainty… and some certainty. Hidden hardships in store, no doubt, but with the guarantee of a face pained chiefly by its grin of accomplishment.

“Heed my words — this is but one of the many, a mere sliver of a broken shard from the entire mirror of existence, whose inward reflections of itself far outnumber the outward. This fate has been neither determined nor surrendered. If it pleases you, think of it with cautious optimism. If it displeases you, change yourself so that you may best fit within this world.”

[to be continued]

Can you hear those crickets chirping, mon ami? That’s how slow of a news work it was in the world of Cage. He didn’t buy anything or yell at anyone on the street! WTF!?

To make clicking “Read the rest of the entry” worth your while, I had to do something I’ve been avoiding since Cage Match began: write about The Croods. Never heard of it? That’s cool, I wish I never did. Well, let’s (begrudgingly) do this.

Drive Angry 3D Red Band Trailer; Oh Hell Yes

My goal in life used to be “beat Mike Tyson’s Punch-Out.” Now it’s “stay alive long enough to see Drive Angry.” The tongue-in-cheek red band trailer was released earlier this week and it features so, so many awesome clips. From Amber Heard punching a topless girl in the face to severed limbs to Cage sneering at everything (IN 3D), this is why red band trailers exist, folks. This is gearing up to be the exploitation flick of the year and I’m moderately excited *flips over coffee table, punches out all the windows in the house*

Keep Reading »

As I’ve often told Broseph Rendar, one of my great regrets in life is not being able to rock out to Van Halen as they were huge. Just driving around in some muscle car, totally thinking David Lee Roth is the man and secretly loving his homosexual undertones. Just me, the bros, and maybe some sick ass peel outs in the local parking lots.

One of the ways I’m coping with the fucking snow around this area is using guided meditation to do just that. I close my eyes, and I’m fucking blaring “Feel Your Love Tonight!” while cruising around with my friends. I’m totally still a virgin in high school, and I’m talking ridiculousness about how hot some chick is, while sneaking peeks at the groins of my friends in their tight jeans.

The snow?

I CAN’T WAIT TO FEEL YOUR LOVE TONIGHT.

The cold?

I CAN’T WAIT TO FEEL YOUR LOVE TONIGHT.

The miserable Northeast?

I CAN’T WAIT TO FEEL YOUR LOVE TONIGHT.

Hit the jump and check out the video. Guarantee it helps.

Keep Reading »

This cab driver in Brazil is more Michael Jackson than Michael Jackson. I have no input for this post except AWESOME.