As if I couldn’t get any more jazzed for Remember Me, the game is getting a titan to consult. Street Fighter producer and uber-legend Yoshinori Ono is helping with the combat system. Yus.

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I suppose this is one way to recuperate Darth Vader’s swag. Dude is a total little emo sociopath by Revenge. How does one go fixing that? Imagine the dude as some sort of eerie Xenomorph hybrid.

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Take two hot commodities like steampunk and Harley Quinn, sprinkle in some sexiness. Boom. Instant appeal.

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Hello friends! The Omegalytes are transcending space and national borders this week to lock down a booth at Fan Expo Canada. The sumbitch is in Toronto from August 23-26, and we encourage all of you in the area to stop on by our little niche of insanity at the gala. Come! Behold Rendar Frankenstein, Patrick Bateman, the suspiciously familiar looking Allen Drinkwater pushing OMNI, Budrickton and myself.

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This may be old as fuck, but Eddie Not a Planet shared this with me today. In but a moment, I was transformed. If two lads ever channeled the spirit of the Omega Brothers while igniting something, it is these lads.

Three years ago today, I awoke with a mission. I was going to grow wings, fly to Mars, and fuck each and every Martian I could find. All holes. Any holes. Dudes, chicks, transgenders, Siamese twins. It didn’t matter. I was a man with a plan, and on Mars nothing is impossible. Unfortunately for me, and each and every Martian babe and hottie bro, my girlfriend awoke. Slathered in my own spittle and hanging precariously from our roof, she calmly Michael Jordan’d a deec amount of lamotrigine down my gullet. No backboard, all throat. Teary-eyed, I went from crying that my wings weren’t working to politely asking her to pull me up into the house.I was too heavy, we both fell. She broke her tailbone and my fall.

When I recovered later that day, I decided I would start a blog.

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This video has melted my mind. It has forced me to evolved, and for that I am better off. I know it is probably like tots old for the 4chan and tumblr wizards out there, but I’m just getting my first taste. It is the wonder.

Tifa’s huge rack and Cloud’s huge sword. It isn’t science (or maybe it is?) why I got behind Final Fantasy VII back in the day. There was flowing breasts and enormous bladed phallic weapons to swing at objects of my desire destruction. My adolescent brain was careening on raw hormone. You see, I regularly destroyed compact discs for no apparent reason. More often than not, I’d crank open my Mortal Kombat II strategy guide and awkwardly rub my groin all over my carpet with odd feelings and gooey groin. This game brought together these two absurd occurrences, and wrapped it up with the emergent teenage sense of wonderment. As Cloud and his rag tag of condemnable terrorists rolled the fuck out of Midgar, the world opened up to them. I couldn’t help but feel the same fucking feeling, with friends getting their licenses and our own world map unfolding before our eyes. Granted, Cloud was saving the world (when not being some sort of eco-Jihadist piece of shit). I was getting fat off of Wendy’s chicken nuggets and cajoling friends into trying to buy porn for me. Cloud and me? Mutually assured bildungsroman.

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Rendar’s was actually more provocative.

We’re a corrosive element.

No grandparents are spared.

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Yeah, happy Monday ya’ll. Stephanie Castro brings the heat.