[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]

::click::

“OH MY GAWD, IT WAS HIM!”

“Who?”

“Daryl Millar, the good-looking guy I met at work today.”

“At Game World? Damn, Vanessa, you must be desperate.”

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I’m excited about The Wolverine. While it isn’t the first thing you’d think of when you conjure up Darren Aronofsky, I’m stoked to see what he can bring to such a huge franchise. He’s got such a unique touch that my naive ass thinks he can bring his own feel to the typically typical huge tentpole movies. Hugh Jackson is totally feeling me.

Slashfilm via EW:

He’s a visionary. I’ve been trying to get Darren since X-Men 3, really. We’ve been talking about this and Wolverine for so long.

[cont]

…we had a meeting about three weeks ago, catching up as friends more than anything, and he just ran a few ideas by me and my eyes just lit up, because already I think this is like a whole new ballgame — just the ideas, the level of depth, and intelligence, and creativity. I think he’s been waiting so long to do a movie in this genre. When he found the script, he said this is it. It’s really exciting.

Jackman and Aronofsky teamed up for The Fountain. And while it’s my least favorite of his movies, it did enough to jerk off my ocular glands that I came out entertained. Let’s see what the duo came bring about in this flick. I mean, Christ, it can’t be worse than the first Wolverine movie.

Justin Van Genderen dropped some gorgeous prints over on his Flickr. They’re sexy travel guide renditions of some of comic book’s most famous locales. Oh, and Neo Tokyo just for good fucking measure.

Hit the jump for his gorgeous work, and if you dig them, you can buy them right here.

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Variant Covers. Sometimes it’s a love affair. Sometimes it’s an apathetic union. And sometimes its a ruthless hate fuck. Today is the latter. Pressed up against a deadline, I am inspired to do nothing. Refresh the same websites. Pound caffeine. Ignore my schoolwork. But I’m here, you’re here, and there are comics coming out tomorrow. Here’s the shit that may grease your underwear with excitement.

Per usual, hit the comments box with your pull list for tomorrow.

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Lady Mechanika #1
This new comic from Joe Benitez caught my eye when wandering through the various release lists for tomorrow’s loot. G’damn! Sometimes something sneaks up on you, and you want to kiss the gaping asshole of whatever force pushed you in its direction. I’m hoping this a dope find. A gorgeously illustrated steampunk release starring a vixen? Had me at vixen. But here, check out the plot description, “the tabloids dubbed her “LADY MECHANIKA”, the sole survivor of a psychotic serial killer’s three-year rampage through London. Found locked in an abandoned laboratory amidst countless corpses and body parts, with her own limbs amputated and replaced with mechanical components, her life began anew.”

C’mon! Tell me that isn’t worth at least a glance at the introduction. Sold.

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A Collection of Collections.
There’s a collection of collections coming out this week that caught my eye. ‘Tis the season and shit! Gift a comic book nerd you know with one of these bad boys. First up is the second collection of Jeff Lemire’s Sweet Tooth. As someone who is following this in trades, I’m excited to dive back into this series. Think The Road meets fantasy meets familiar tropes of responsibility for society’s future, et cetera. It’s one of my favorite releases of the past year or so.

Speaking of Jeff Lemire, his Superboy #2 is coming out, and if you read the first issue you understand: this title has promise. I don’t give a shit about Superboy, or Smallville for that matter. Or rather, I didn’t. Then Lemire stepped up. God, the dude has writing chops. Jealousy +500.

As well, tomorrow carries the first collection of James Stokoe’s Orc Stain. I can’t find this motherfucker at any comic book shop near me. Trust me, I’ve looked. As my local comic shop continues its depressing slide into bankruptcy, my comic book shop love has become polyamorous. So I’ve slutted around in my search. Now’s a chance to snag it all up and collected from my buddy, Mr. Amazon. I have a good feeling Stokoe is going to be someone we’re all going to be hearing a shitload from in the next couple of years. He’s talented, eccentric, off-kilter, and bizarre. Something of a kindred spirit for my demented brain.

Also last week hee did the world an enormous solid and released an entire unreleased comic book over on his website. Murderbullets. It’s fantastic, and I’m actually saddened I couldn’t spend money to support the effort.

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Welcome to the Christmas Creep, you swine! It’s Omega Sinema’s celebration of the absolute worst in Christmas specials. I found some doozies to share with ya’ll, from childhood icons, to icons we’d rather forget, to utter shit from New Zealand that made me want to convert to Judaism so I would never even be put in the position of watching it again.

I decided to kick things off with probably the worst of the bunch. Get it over with, you know? Like tearing the duct tape off your girlfriend’s mouth following a night of passion. Right? Anyways, it’s pizza time in Hell: Christmas With the Turtles (1994).

Back in the day, us TMNT fans were loyal and the Turtle obsession teetered on the edge of religious obsession. We generally ignored the blatant ripoffs like Biker Mice From Mars and Street Sharks but always shelled out our allowance earnings for retarded figures like “Farmer Don.” We were forgiving of the third movie. We kept it green and we kept it in the sewer. What then, I ask, did we do to deserve this kick to the nuts? I love the Turtles and I love Christmas but fuck this:

…what. The hell. Was that? Why do they all talk like goodfellas but sing with a fake patois? And why won’t they stop smiling? They all look atrophied – like a bunch of green Amy Winehouses, which I think is the plural of Winehouse. God, I could go on and on nitpicking about the horrible production, but lemme tell you about the racy and thought-provoking plot for a minute.

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Ah, Dream Club Zero by Tamsoft. This is the same game that I covered a bit ago. You know, the “dating simulation” that lets you pump sausages into what appears to be underage chicks’ mouths? Hey man, it’s a date! You’re just feeding them! Well, Kotaku dropped some news on another way you’re going to help some chicks out; slapping bugs off their tits. Pesky bugs!

According to Andriasang, players will be able to brush away bugs from sensitive areas of the hostesses they’re trying to charm. Good and bad attempts of insect-removing techniques are shown, but both look like clumsy gropes that serve as an excuse to fondle virtual girls.

Excuse me? An excuse to fondle virtual girls! Why! What an accusation. What girl doesn’t want a Sir Lancelot to come into their life, and help them out? And for those not in the know, nothing says helping out like slapping bugs off of a helpless girls’ boobs, and I’m going to assume inner thighs.

It’s called chivalry. Clearly in Japan it’s not dead.

Since the wonderful unveiling of the R2D2 bathing suit, there’s been an obvious question: where the C-3PO suit at? Well here it is, true believers. Here. It. Is. If you’ve ever wanted to have a threesome with the two beloved droids, this may be your closest chance. Actually, it’d probably be two monsters in clunky cardboard suits. But still. Just imagine it’s with two hot women, one donning a C-3PO one-piece, the other in an R2D2 of similar like.

Hit the jump for the pictures.

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[Enlarge.]

All you have to do is hit the search button on OL to know the raging dick-crush I have for Chris Samnee’s artwork. This current find isn’t doing anything to reduce the purple-headed beast in my pants. Chris Samnee decided to take on the Superman movie in six panels. Why?

Chris Samnee explains over at Comic Twart.

A while back someone on Twitter (so sorry I don’t remember who) was talking about doing a movie as a six panel comic. When I heard the idea, I knew I wanted to do one for my favorite movie, Superman: The Movie. I never got around to it, but figured that Mitch’s pick of Superman this (last) week could be a great time to give it a go! Hope you enjoy!

It’s awesome. But to be clear, almost anything Samnee does is fantastic.

[Enlarge.]

Ready for some existential nausea? Today magical astronomer wizards spotted an insane solar prominence. The whacky space ejaculate rippled out into space. Like, really rippled out there. The solar loop of plasma is half a million miles long.

These features are known as prominences, and they form in the sun’s photosphere. Cooler plasma pushes out into the hotter, ionized gases of the Sun’s corona, creating massive loops that take about a day to form but can sometimes persist for months. This particular prominence, one of the biggest we’ve ever seen, isn’t expected to last much longer than a few hours, after which it should harmlessly break up.

But right about now, there’s a loop of plasma running around the Sun that could encircle the Earth twenty times over.

That’s god damn impressive. That rippling prominence can encircle the Earth twenty times. And as always, remember how god damn small the Sun is, compared to other suns. Oh the cosmos, I fucking adore you.

Via.

The phantom hides in the pantry, waiting for the child to awake. Always in the pantry. Always behind the cookies. The child, bleary-eyed and delirious with dream-dust, makes his way into the snack cabinet. His belly, constantly satiated by parents who know not of discipline, grumbles. Obeying, the child opens the cupboard door and reaches in to retrieve the chocolate-chip delights.

SNATCH!

Snack time.
For the phantom.

–-

Welcome, my babies, to the Monday Morning Commute. This is the place where we detail our agendas for the upcoming week. Avoid the drudgery of existence. Beat boredom into a pulp. Repel the Snack-Phantom. Let’s fuggin’ do this.

–-

Listening / A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra

In case you haven’t noticed the fleet of minivans parked at the mall indefinitely or the neighbors who think their front lawns are reasonable facsimiles of Times Square, let me clue you in: it’s Christmas time. Or holiday time. Or whatever. From my completely secular standpoint, I kind of wish we could all give up the bogus religious connotations of the Winter Solstice Festivals and agree on something new. One holiday to rule the all.

Anyways, I use a few different activities to get into the holiday spirit. Spending time with friends. Pounding eggnog by the liter. And most importantly, listening to seasonal music. Over the years I’ve run the gauntlet when it comes to Christmas tunes, from Jimmy Buffet to Savatage. Hell, if you don’t give yourself a chance to try the kookier coldcuts from the Christmas music antipasto, you’re really doing yourself a disservice.

This year, however, I’m going the route of the traditionalist. I took it upon myself to download a vinyl rip of A Jolly Christmas from Frank Sinatra.

Holy Jesus-Birth, Santa, a digital transmission of a piece of plastic that was listened to by someone fifty-three years ago?!?! Somebody with hopes and dreams and a consciousness that has probably since faded back into the Universal Collective?!?

Yes, I even try to make my holiday activities about temporality-defiance.

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