In the span of five minutes yesterday, some grand mal douchebag in my class talked up The Phantom Menace as being a great movie, and then informed me he didn’t read Watchmen because Alan Moore “irked” him. The fact that he didn’t receive a jackknife powerbomb from me is both a blessing from god, and a sign my anti-psychotics are working.

In a more civilized time, I could have self-corrected this ass-hat’s douchery with a stern application of the most vicious move in pro wrestling. By god! How didn’t more people die from this? But alas, I can only watch this video, and dream of a time when society was able to police itself.

The second episode of this season’s Dexter dropped, and it was second verse, same as the first. Dexter spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how he was going to reconcile his family life with the fact that he has to kill people to sate his blood frenzy. Thankfully, by the end of the episode Those Fucking Annoying Kids were packed up and headed to their fucking grandparents’ house.

Thank. God.

I was pretty stoked when Astor and Cody got their insufferable asses packed up into a car and sent off to their grandparents’ house in Orlando. Seriously Astor, fuck you. Your Dad was a crackhead douchebag, who Dexter had to take out just to keep him from romping around your house.

And you dare raise your voice to this guy? And state that you want to go live with Nana and Pop-Pop? Have fun with that shit, yo. Someday you’re going to come downstairs and find your Nana topless, with a pair of fudged undies giving your grandfather a blow-job. Just look in the eyes of those two, they’re fucking freaks. Gramps got a bit of the nasty in him.

Then three years later, if that isn’t enough, they’re going to die. Don’t call Dexter when it happens, cool?

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The Human Abstract’s Digital Veil is set for a 2011 release. While their sophomore effort was lackluster, I have faith that the return of guitarist A.J. Minette will bode well. If the teaser is any indication, I think we’re all in for a treat.

[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]

A man is not a champion until he gazes into the eyes of his greatest adversary.

A champion is not a hero until he unflinchingly fights a battle that cannot be won.

A hero is not a legend until he is dead, buried, and more favorably misremembered.

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Last week, the United Nations finally stepped and recognized the obvious: extraterrestrials were going to, at some point, arrive and obliterate us. In order to work against this formality, they did humankind the favor of appointing an official United Nations ambassador to aliens. Her name is Mazlan Othman, and she is a Malaysian astrophysicist. Othman recently spoke about the obvious and forthcoming contact with more-than-likely pissed off aliens, and had the following to say.

News.com.au via io9:

The continued search for extraterrestrial communication, by several entities, sustains the hope that some day humankind will receive signals from extraterrestrials […] When we do, we should have in place a coordinated response that takes into account all the sensitivities related to the subject. The UN is a ready-made mechanism for such coordination.

My only concern is that she seems to underplay the fact that should we ever meet aliens, they’re going to want one thing only: to eradicate us from the planet and then harvest our bodies/souls/natural resources for their own profit. Hasn’t this lady indulged in any pop culture in the last twenty or so years?

The pertinent questions we should be asking are something like: Who is going to disrupt their force fields with a virus? Where are our underground bunkers going to be built? Can we have Bill Pullman prepped and ready to deliver an epic speech within moments of First contact?

Playin’ grab ass with these aliens ain’t going to happen, Ambassador Othman. At best, I predict these aliens will want to penetrate our orifices for their spiky speculums. At worst, they’re going to wear our faces as they bathe in our gamma-irradiated lakes. We gotta get real. Do some research.

Welcome back Dexter, you slimy piece of shit! I didn’t realize how stoked I was for the season premiere of this show until I was moments away, with a little bit of the sac tightening from anticipation. While last season’s finale would have been a perfect coda to the entire series, I’m equally intrigued to see where they go with the show after blowing up the entire status quo.

After Rita was axed (or was it knifed?) by the Trinity Killer at the end of last season, Dexter spends the entire premiere in an understandable post-widowing funk. His guilt is understandable, seeing that the whole reason she was iced was because he was busy satisfying his hard-on for blood. Dude laments quite a lot, and goes through the typical motions: I’m not a human, I lie to everyone, my hair is a fucking rat’s nest (comb that shit dude), and I can’t do this.

By the end of the episode, we’re right where we expected to be: with Dexter realizing that he needs to try and commit to the family life, even if he has to supplement that shit with some helpings of murder, and stabby-stab every once in a while.

The highlight on Dexter’s end of the episode had to be the flashbacks to his initial date with Rita. In case you missed their not-so subtle subtext, the date was their entire relationship in a microcosm. Flashback pontificating! It was nice though, and served as the goodbye that Dexter couldn’t provide. So Dexter returns from the good life on the high seas, having made his peace within the dark walls inside his skull-plate.

Ready to move on, and shit!

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Humankind’s capacity to reduce each other to cinders shall not be conquered by love. Nor shall it be conquered by diplomacy. Instead, it’s going to be conquered by extraterrestrials. Apparently they’ve been rolling up for a while now, floating over our nuclear weapons, and disabling them with wunder-magic.

io9:

For years, military officers at nuclear missile sites in America have been reporting “disk shaped” UFOs that hover near their facilities and often wreak havoc with the weapons. Now, a group of former military officers are convening at the National Press Club in Washington this Monday to give a report on their observations of UFOs, and to demand answers from the government.

AP:

One of them, ICBM launch officer Captain Robert Salas, was on duty during one missile disruption incident at Malmstrom Air Force Base and was ordered to never discuss it. Another participant, retired Col. Charles Halt, observed a disc-shaped object directing beams of light down into the RAF Bentwaters airbase in England and heard on the radio that they landed in the nuclear weapons storage area. Both men will provide stunning details about these events, and reveal how the U.S. military responded.

Captain Salas notes, “The U.S. Air Force is lying about the national security implications of unidentified aerial objects at nuclear bases and we can prove it.” Col. Halt adds, “I believe that the security services of both the United States and the United Kingdom have attempted-both then and now-to subvert the significance of what occurred at RAF Bentwaters by the use of well-practiced methods of disinformation.”

Well then! C’mon, aliens! Don’t you know anything about free will? About humanity’s ability to sculpt our own future? Wait, you say we’re basically just a bunch of monkeys with technology we don’t know how to responsibly handle? Fuck you! Go build some god damn pyramids in some other dimension or some shit. Judgmental pricks.

I’m a huge fan of the Cold War, and all the espionage and tactics that went into it. For a while now, I’ve felt that I missed my calling as a suave-ass spy like James Bond. Let’s ignore the fact that I’m neither suave, nor particularly adroit at anything other than stubbing my toe and not washing myself. This unspoken feeling was confirmed yesterday when I came across the news that I possess en masse an essential quality that all spies must have: semen.

Well, sort of.

According to MI6: The History of the Secret Intelligence Service 1909-1949, a book dropping this week, MI6 experimented with using semen as the coup de grâce of invisible ink. The sort of shit that you simply can’t make up. According to the book:

A member of staff close to “C”, Frank Stagg, said that he would never forget his bosses’ delight when the Deputy Chief Censor said one day that one of his staff had found out that “semen would not react to iodine vapour.” Stagg noted that “we thought we had solved a great problem”.

Amazing. It explains a lot of things, namely why Bond was always around slamming the hottest chick he could find. You think he was doing it for love of the flesh? The temptation to sin? Hardly, dudes. The man was merely manufacturing some ink to go about writing some reconnaissance files. After all these years, we finally have a greater understanding of Bond, and the spy archtype. Philanders? More like poets.

Furthermore, it brings great joy to know that I have enough secret spy ink on my futon to pen The Long Telegram. I’ve been training to be a spy for so many years, without even knowing it.

Via.

Source: Super Punch

Fuck some lame ass cross around my neck. If I’m going to sport anything big reppin’ Mr. Christ, it’s going to be this figure adorning my computer desk. Water into wine? That’s fucking last week, duder. This Jesus Christ turns the faces of evil into mush. Hell yeah.

Holy shit. If this isn’t the most gorgeous thing ever, I don’t know what is. The packaging for the Star Wars x Adidas sneakers is a fucking blister pack, reminiscent of the Hasbro packaging many of us Star Wars nerds have blasted through to unleash Dagobah Luke. Wait, you didn’t open yours? Then how the fuck were you supposed to renact his training in the backyard? Weird.