Roland Emmerich. Dude loves  blowing up the White House. Can’t get enough of it. I get this. He’s got a fetish. What I don’t get is how this guy keeps getting movies.

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I could’ve sworn I filled the tank.

I mean, if I was goin’ to risk my life time-travelin’, the best false sense of security I could’ve had would’ve been having enough fuel. As such, I spent countless weeks double-checking my math, the calculations whirring around around my mindscape even as I slept. The formula for post-temporal diesel was arcane knowledge, and if I wanted to concoct it myself I’d have to be super careful.

And when I finally felt that the arithmetic lined up, I got a big `ole metal barrel and mixed the ingredients:

– 1/2 gallon of gasoline
– 20 ounces of Pepsi Max
– 3 gallons of liquid zebra feces (grassfed animals only)
– 1/2 hour’s worth of tears

When the sludge was uniform in color (and pleasant to the taste), I poured it into the Toast-R-Oven I’d outfitted as the energy converter. I plugged in the converter, took a whiff of paint thinner, and then hopped into my combination broom closet/time machine.

I closed my eyes. Waited. Exited.

And here I am, trapped in the year 1998. Ugh. If the 1990s were an orgy, `98 would be the unwashed hippie who’s shown up despite having never received an invitation and hopin’ that some cooze grants poon-access to his scabby semen-dispenser. 1998 brandishes neither the novelty of the earlier 90s nor the enthusiasm of the turn-of-the-century. And yet it still cries for attention, hoping and pleading and wishing that someone will give a fuck.

I could’ve sworn I filled the tank. Next time I’ll check more carefully.

–-

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE. I’m going to present semi-coherence in the hopes that you’ll validate my role as a member of Team Omega-Level. In the process, I’ll detail the various ways I’ll be keeping myself entertained. Fuck human tragedy, let’s all have a swell time!

Your mission – if you’re as brazen as you wished your prom date thought you were – is to hit up the comments section and share the bits and pieces of fun-debris that you’ll be sifting through this workweek.

Let’s dance.

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Welcome to the future, motherfuckers! Weird as hell, right here. An interactive poster that you can make out with. As you zoom in, the babe or dude (ostensibly, c’mon and do it for us all here whacky programmers) will “react” to you. My question: why is the creeper leering in with their eyes open?

Hit the jump for video and details.

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The next Xbox isn’t that far off, and you’ve started to plan what you’re going to do with your current 360. You could consider hanging on to it to play your games, or you could consider trading it in for $2.93 and a handshake. However even if you really want that near-$3, it may be better keeping that shit in a closet somewhere.

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This is astoundingly arousing-easy-lowest-common-denominator-but-I’m-sprung-here stuff. DirecTV pops Kate Upton on a beach, has her tell the audience to get their product, then flies her back to wherever they cryo-freeze all the beautiful male and female bodies that surely can’t operate in the real world.

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Bounce to that shit, Wicket. Bounce to that shit.

Priscilla Tramontano has taken some of the stalwart  conquerors  of the Marvel universe and dropped a second X-chromosome on them. The results? A Galactus I find myself hauntingly attracted to, and more.

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Bungie has moved on from the Halo  universe, striking out into the realm of the third-party with a new title they have yet to reveal. Before departing they dropped this final tear-streaked wet kiss on their dedicated community, in the form of this ass-bursting infographic. Like there’s been  85,841,504 days worth of Halo  played. Or the fact that there’s been more deaths in the series than people who have ever lived on Earth. Insane stuff.

Hit the jump to check it out.

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I’ve been doing recaps of True Blood  for several seasons now, and when I came across this teaser I had a moment where I realized I needed to stop doing them. Nary a moment later I decided a better action would be to drink during them, and write in a state of drunken belligerence that will always segue into “Jessica makes me want to splooge slop sprung party”, so that’s what I’m going to do.

Hit the jump for the trailer.

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Want a handful of new rumors regarding the next Xbox? Like how it does  have Blu-Ray (this rumor is going back and forth), or how the Kinect is going to be built-in? Then continue reading, good friends.

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