[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

Spoilers Ahead. Forreal.

Don’t listen to Caffeine Powered.

Well, actually, you should — he’s a smart guy and is generally on-the-ball with all of the latest news pertaining to comics, video juegos, movies, sports, and all that other shit I live my life by. As the firstborn in the family, he taught me that superheroes aren’t just creeps in spandex and that the entire …And Justice for All album is a goddamn anthem. And so, I tip my cap to him.

But on Tuesday, Caffeine Powered wrote some pretty hurtful things about time travel. I won’t quote him verbatim, but his general argument is that between comics, television, and movies, time-hoppin’ has become pretty played out. I won’t deny the fact that it’s become almost ubiquitous, an apparent necessity for any franchise with even the slightest of science fictional properties. And maybe I should be a bit more pessimistic, pissed off that one of my favorite plot devices has been misappropriated as a plaything for retard America.

But I’m still pretty stoked on time travel. And I guess that’s why Caffeine Powered and I are the dynamic duo of nerdcore brothers; between the two of us, we’re bound to be digging some shit that the mainstream doesn’t talk about at the dinner table.

So while big brother is approaching The Return of Bruce Wayne with cautious enthusiasm, I have a nerd-lust that defies physics. One issue in and I’m already a total believer in this miniseries. Yeah, Grant Morrison’s last attempt at a big event was a total mindfuck and he’s been known to get kooky from time to time. But he’s been kicking ass ever since that last debacle and I’ve been questioning reality on a daily basis.

So what do I make of a time-lost Batman blindly stumbling through the centuries? What if he’s not sure how he came to be in his current predicament? What if he has to fend off the enemies indigenous to each era? Well, I think it sounds like a damn fine comic book.

And, so far, it is.

The first issue of The Return of Bruce Wayne sees Gotham’s favorite son chilling in the prehistoric times of cavemen. These cave people are just like us — they divide themselves into rival tribes, fight one another for arbitrary reasons, and occasionally smoke cigarettes. Of course, Brucie (despite being too messed up in the brain-piece to even feign coherence) aligns himself with the sympathetic Deer People. They recognize him as one of the “shining ones” and believe a fallen rocket ship to be his; they treat him with reverence and wished their Old Man lived long enough to have a conversation with him. So when the villainous Blood Mob comes to fuck shit up the Batman has to come to the rescue.

He isn’t completely successful, but he manages to defeat their chief…while wearing the hide of a giant bat as a damn costume. It’s wonderful.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Bruce never really gets to speak (again, he’s still woozy from being shot through time). While I can see fans griping about this, I like where Morrison is headed; rather than relying on the exposition of a super-detective, the reader gets to experience the comic from the perspective of the time’s natural inhabitants. So in this issue, Bruce Wayne’s journey is described through primitive speculation. For instance, notice how the leader of the Blood Mob announces his arrival;

THE CHIEF WHO SCARES DEATH HAS RETURNED!

CONQUERING CHIEF SAVAGE BRINGS GIFTS FROM THE FORBIDDEN LAND!

A SKY-CART OF THE BRIGHT ONES!

FOUR SCALPS OF DEER WARRIORS!

AND A MAN-GOD WHO CAME FROM ABOVE TO CHALLENGE ME!

Could this come off as hokey? Sure. But Morrison’s script is backed up by the more than legit art of Chris Sprouse and Karl Story. This speech is accompanied by a two-page spread of Blood Mob revelry. We get to see skulls impaled on spikes, fires being danced around, and a close-up of a savage snacking on a huge hunk of…heart? brain? I’m not sure, but it’s something fleshy and gross.

Seriously, this art is beautiful and I think that a great deal of credit should be awarded to Karl Story’s colors. During the introduction to the Deer People, the skyline is painted with shades of light red and pink, offering a sense of liveliness and fading hope. But as the interlopers make their way into camp, Story shifts into dark grey, dark blue, and good `ole black; only fire brightens up these panels and it adds dramatic tension. By filling in Sprouse’s pencils, Karl Story deftly sets the unspoken tone for The Return of Bruce Wayne.

By the issue’s end, Batman has fended off the bad guys, saved a young member of the Deer People and unknowingly shifted forwards in time. Right after Bruce hops ahead on the timeline, Superman, Green Lantern and Booster Gold pop into the prehistoric era. They’re dismayed to realize that he is no longer there. In fact, their disappointment takes a turn for the ominous as they discuss the necessity of finding their comrade;

Green Lantern: Batman has no memory of who he is. He has no idea what’s happening to him.

Booster Gold: What chance does he have? Even he can’t make it.

Superman: You are joking, right? He can survive anywhere. Anytime. Surviving is what he does. But if he survives this, if he does the impossible again…If Batman makes it back to the 21^st century on his own…everyone dies.

Oh shit! Hey Booster Gold, why don’t you shut the fuck up?!?! Fucking dumb-dumb.

The Return of Bruce Wayne is over-the-top, filled with shit I’m not sure I quite grasp yet, and serves as the beginning to the unfortunate end of Dick Grayson’s reign as Batman. With that being said, the book still works. And it works well. If you give me time-travel, caveman beatdowns, and the goddamn Batman I’m going to enjoy it.

As I laid awake in bed last night, I contemplated the insane amount of time I have dedicated towards writing about, talking about, and thinking about LOST this year. From beginning in January by writing an article a day for an entire month, to taking screen captures relentlessly to provide you with retarded facial expressions, to writing absurdly long recaps of every episode of this season, I have been all LOST, all the time.

Last night, I watched what I feel is the worst episode of LOST. Ever. Worse than Nikki and Paulo. And I’ll tell you why. Nikki and Paulo were a couple of terrible characters that in the long run, didn’t do anything other than waste our time. Last night, Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse bent over, and took a big bloody shit on the entire mythos of LOST.

Not only did they show us the midichlorians like I feared, they then decided to explain the midichlorians’ midichlorians. They spent an hour needlessly explaining things that would have been perfectly fine unexplained. And in doing all of this explaining, they created a universe of utter ridiculousness beyond the scope of ridiculousness in which LOST already exists. They took muddled concepts that were cool because they were never explained, and made them insensibly more complicated and lame.

So lame.

What an absurd world of convenience they built last night. Let’s see Jacob and Smokey are twins? Really? How heavy-handed and retarded is that? And in case you missed it, the dichotomy that separates the two of them, after immediately being shit out of some woman we’ve never met before, they’re wrapped in blankets of white and black. Just in case you couldn’t put it together. That’s what is wrong with LOST this season, an inexplicable drive to replace all of their vaporous bullshit that stemmed from sloppy writing with hard line answers that stem from sloppy writing. They have crossed the chasm, switching from one extreme to the other.

After shitting out the unexpected MiB, the Mom comments that she only had “one name” and yeah, we never get MiB’s true name. It’s amazing that with all the awful demystification we’re given in this episode, we can’t get the guy’s lame fucking name.

Amazing.

Amazing! That’s the one detail they skimp on.

At some point in the episode the Step-Mom from Juno takes Smokey and Jacob to the Glowing Vagina at the center of the Island. This is what they’ve been protecting the entire time.

Wait, what?

I thought the entire point of the Island was to prevent evil from getting out. And now it’s to prevent people from taking the light? As well, what the fuck is this, the Lion King? I mean, there’s some “light” inside of every single human being? Jesus fucking Christ, what is happening to this show? This sort of drippy, tear-soaked dogshit love bullcrap that I can’t even conceive of someone writing. Let alone Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, who have ushered me through some of my favorite television ever.

MiB decides he’s not cool anymore and he wants to leave the Island. Now we know he’s been a whiny bitch since forever, but that’s okay because Jacob is a weepy Momma’s boy. He goes to live with the people on the Island, and they figure a way to get off of the Island. Somehow it has to do with electromagnetic currents and shit. And then the show really just begins fucking farting and shitting inside of its underwear. Oh my God Jesus fucking Lord help me.

The annoying bitch Mom goes down and we see MiB making the fucking donkey wheel. The fucking donkey wheel. Ready for this? Somehow, the fucking PRIMITIVES on the Island, have figured out that like, there’s light or something.

Wait, what?

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It’s fucking 10:40 on a Thursday night. And I’m feeling relieved for the first time this week? Why? I’ll tell you why. Because I just finished outlining the second half of my first of two final papers this semester. What a sad fucking state I’m in, no?

I actually don’t mind it. It’s just amazing, I’ll put my head down to outline something, and the next thing I know, there’s a wasteland of pens and soda cans and novels strewn about.

It’s this madness that is responsible for a lack of updates lately from me on the most Omega of Levels. Classes finish next week, the first paper (which I have gleefully half-written, completely outlined) is due a week from tomorrow. And then I have until the 20th to churn out the last paper.

It’s cool.

Right?

Sure!

Hey, remember the Micro Machines Man? Yeah, me too. Question, though: Why the fuck did he feel the need talk so goddamn fast? I’m fairly certain he could’ve calmly said, “Hey, these are miniature cars and planes and boats,” and I would’ve still been interested.

Just a thought.

Just in case you forgot, Marty Friedman is *really* good at guitar.

Watch him unleash Street Demon on a Japanese crowd:

[via kotaku]

Neon Genesis Evangelion is one of those monumental experiences that occurred in my teenage years, that shaped who I was. No lie. It goes Star Wars, Final Fantasy VII, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Broadband Pornography. NGE drifts into the back of my mind, but things like this figure bring all the old warm fuzzy feelings both in my heart and my crotch up the forefront.

SHINJI-KUN.

LAUNCH EVA.

TEENAGE HIGH SCHOOL BONER.

This shit is so fucking amazing, it can only be the result of some sort of karmic justice paid forward to me. Welcome to 2010, where Absurd Rules the Domain Of All.

the guardian via robot 6:

However, the project has finally been confirmed. Patton and Broadrick are both attached to Unearthing, “a bewitching story written and narrated by Moore set against an epic score”. Although the soundtrack is led by Crook&Flail, a partnership between Fog’s Andrew Broder and rapper Doseone, there are a slew of cameos, including Hella’s Zach Hill and Mogwai’s Stuart Braithwaite. “It is about, uh, a co-worker of Alan’s and somehow seemingly about Alan himself,” Doseone told Pitchfork last year. “And it’s about the comic industry, the world of magic, the world we live in, the world we don’t live in.”

How do you fit this much fucking insanity and awesome onto one album? I have no idea. I can’t even wrap my head around this. It may be the worst shit ever, and I’m still there Day One.

I used to work in a run-down mom & pop video store. Without any real customers, I had more than enough free time to watch some really awesome shitty movies. One of my favorites was MVP 2 – Most Vertical Primate. The premise is pretty simple; in the first MVP the monkey was really good at hockey but now he’s good at skateboarding. It’s amazing. I mean think about it, it’s a fucking monkey on a goddamn skateboard! What’s not to love?

I tried to find the trailer and was successful…but it’s in German (I think). In a way, I think watching this movie in another language (and high) would only make it better. Which, I had previously thought was impossible.

I had heard about this project some time ago, but it looks like it’s finally going to see the light of day. Mike Patton’s Mondo Cane (due out May 4th) is an Italian language release, in which the singer is backed up by a forty-piece orchestra. Just when ya think the dude can’t do anything crazier, he goes and proves ya wrong!

Check out a live rendition of Il Cielo in Una Stanza:

[via egotastic]

I love Christina Hendricks. A lot. It’s well documented. So when glancing at these pictures from Esquire, I can feel so much blood shifting in my body that I near collapse, only to rally to the point of consciousness, and become acutely aware of an inexplicable, unrelenting, indescribable pain in my groin.

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