Despite all my lamenting about Fallout: New Vegas, last night had me running around out of my god damn mind. Giggling, like a motherfucking mad man. I have this issue where when I make someone explode with a violent weapon, it induces all sorts of insane glee in the bowels of my soul. Nothing makes me happier than launching a concussive blast sent to dismember and liquefy someone dumb enough to cross my path.

I noticed this dementia when playing through Fallout 3. I was playing the game while Mrs. Caffeine Powered looked on, and eventually I began to notice she looked worried. Shrug. I continued playing. But the fretting continued! What the fuck was this shit. She looked uncomfortable. At some point I noticed that every time I shot someone with my gauss rifle, the poor son of a bitch would be sorted into a bunch of bloodied and mushy parts. Smashed, vaporized, and sent flying through the air.

However, the next connection was even more important. Every single time that I ripped some errant douchebag apart with my rifle, I laughed. Out loud. To myself. Every single time. I don’t know why I was laughing out loud. You see, when I play by myself, usually these exploding bodies just make me smile. Broadly, and with empty, insane eyes.

Perhaps I was trying to convey my enthusiasm to my girlfriend. “You see honey! Do you see how they explode into bits! I did that! For you! Isn’t it fantastic? SAY YES OR I’LL HIDE YOUR BODY SO WELL.”

This sort of head-exploding nightmare dance party hadn’t really gotten underway in my playthrough of New Vegas. Until last night. Yes, last night I was finally reunited with my favorite wasteland friends: power armor, and a gauss rifle. It was a reunion drenched in blood and hugs. I suited up, loaded up, and shimmied my way through my pirouetting dance of death. Finally, New Vegas had begun to make sense to me.

Fire! Slow-motion explode. Body parts everywhere. Smile. Fire! Concussive blast liquiefying a body. Smile. Fire! My smile broadened and broadened. Life was good. I let it be known to frequent commenter The Dude exactly how I was feeling about my current situation in the Wasteland.

12:02:26 AM Ian: I’m clad in power armor, wielding a gauss rifle. I can hear the voice of god screaming murder.

Exceptional! There’s something about an exploding body that just speaks to me. It’s probably speaking to all the broken synapses held down and pinned into something resembling functioning by anti-psychotics, but who is keeping track? Those synapses need attention too.

[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]

At the same time that Vanessa was giving a phone number to the most genuine and charming boy she had ever met (and 8-Bit was trying to figure whether it was the pizza or the waitress that induced his boner), Riff was beginning to tear his way through Skull Beneath the Skin. While the rhythm parts were now swiftly under his command, the ferocious leads were still putting his fingers to the test. But it was a test that was worth taking, an exam that once passed not only provided incredible bragging rights but a sense of self-worth.

And if you have self-worth it doesn’t matter what the hell the world says about you.

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I was pretty stoked to buy Cataclysm next month at the midnight release. I had done so for Wrath of the Lich King, and the experience was pretty righteous. I bombed home, installed it, and ran some dungeons with friends until the early morning. I planned on doing the same for Cataclysm. But now I can’t.

Why?

‘Cause I live on the East coast. So despite being able to buy the game at midnight, I can’t play it until the servers go live. At midnight, Pacific Standard Time. Motherfuckers!

Kotaku:

Blizzard nailed down the launch time for World of Warcraft: Cataclysm today in a statement that clarifies several bits of information about the upcoming expansion pack. With the availability of Cataclysm as on online purchase, a first in World of Warcraft expansion history, Blizzard is redoing the way it launches expansions. Instead of having East Coast servers up at 12AM Eastern and West Coast servers up at 12AM Pacific, the whole shebang goes up according to Pacific time.

Blizzard, you fucking cocksmiths! This shit cheeses me off, like few things do. I know the argument is that us superior, East Coast dwellers would get a head start on all of those in the left coast. Well, fucking too bad! Instead, they’re making all of us run out, stand in line with other sweaty and dick-smelling dorks, only to have to come home and wait three hours? God fucking dammit. No, seriously. God fucking dammit! Who cares if we get a three hours advance window? Well, I suppose other people who can’t play it yet.

But still!

Blizzard wants the entire universe to launch simultaneously, I suppose. Well, that makes sense. But I still fucking hate it.

Make no mistake, our Earth is part of the cosmos that I continually wank to. And make no mistake, the Earth, and all its denizens (you and me) have created a pretty light show with all our modern technologies and demon-bulbs burning brightly. Recently, the International Space Station captured such sexiness.

Space Fellowship via io9:

From 220 miles above Earth, one of the Expedition 25 crew members on the International Space Station took this night time photo featuring the bright lights of Cairo and Alexandria, Egypt on the Mediterranean coast. The Nile River and its delta stand out clearly as well. On the horizon, the airglow of the atmosphere is seen across the Mediterranean. The Sinai Peninsula, at right, is outlined with lights highlighting the Gulf of Suez and Gulf of Aqaba.

Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous stuff. Hit the jump to check out their pictures.

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Variant Covers. Your one-stop shop for the comic books I’m excited about dropping this Wednesday. Your chance to comment, and recommend titles you’re reading not only this week, but in general. A brothel of pathetic attempts at intellectual dialogues, and more glaringly, juvenile jokes. Welcome, I’m excited you’re here.

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Scarlet #3
In recent weeks, I’ve tried to ease up on my bashing of writers. Well, ignoring the fact that I took Mark Millar behind the woodshed. Particularly writers that I like, and respect. So whereas I used to bemoan Brian Michael Bendis’ decline, I’ve tried to rationalize it under the idea that he carries an enormous work load for Marvel. Far too many pages for me to fathom churning out every month. I know he’s a talented writer. I know it.

Scarlet is case-in-point.

My brother and I are big fans of Scarlet, Bendis and Maleev’s creator-owned title being published through Marvel’s Icon label. As I’ve detailed before, the time that has been put into this book bleeds through in oodles of quality. Oodles, guys and gals, oodles. The title’s distinguishing feature is the smashing and tearing of the fourth-wall, with Scarlet talking directly to the audience throughout the book. Juxtapose that son of a bitch with Maleev’s creative use of paneling, and you have something that snags you by the nipples right away.

Scarlet’s recruiting a revolution, and she wants you to join in. Trust me, when a sexy femme fatale is talking to you, the loins surge.

It’s a solid title, with tropes that aren’t particularly new, but as I said, they’re executed well. Bendis’ wit shines through, and Maleev is fucking gorgeous as ever. The dude could pencil two pigeons fucking and I’d be on-board. The sort of artwork that could carry a title, but with the writing, simply compliments it.

Grab this son of a bitch.

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Baltimore: The Plague Ships #4
It seems like every time I turn around, a new issue of The Plague Ships is flying its way onto shelves. Get it, cause it stars vampires? Flying? I’m a fucking dunce? I concur. And that’s absolutely fine with me. While it isn’t righteous enough to command my full attention with every issue, the title entertains me in a mindless sort of way that I sometimes need. You should seem me when I’m reading an issue of S.H.I.E.L.D by Hickman. I got a pad of paper, and a pen. I’m scribbling notes and asking rhetorical questions like the grad school lit major loser that I am.

The Plague Ships is a way to decompress. I want to emphasize that this is no fucking knock on Mignola. The title is tight, entertaining, and extremely sexy in the artwork department. It operates on a level that I can definitely feel. Sometimes it’s perfectly fine to be nothing more than fun. For the burgeoning intellectual who is going to give some brilliant reading of Plague Ships in the comments box, let me stop you: you’re probably right, but I’m turning my fucking brain off for this title, and riding the wind. Get it? Like a vampire? Yeah, fuck me.

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Superboy #1
Lest you think I’m packed to the gills with dookie when I say I’ll read anything you recommend to me, consider this: prior to about six months ago, I had never heard of Jeff Lemire. A reader with good taste recommended that I snag up Sweet Tooth and I did so. Since then, my ass crush for the dude has been immeasurable. Love him. I’ll admit I’ve only ingested seven issues or so of his work, as I can only grab Sweet Tooth in TPB around these parts, but I dig him.

So with that said, his name alone is enough to push the relaunch of Superboy onto me. What’s it going to be about? Damned if I know. The synopsis promises wonder and the beginning of the next great epic in the DC universe, but I mean, c’mon. That’s cream puff bullshit. All I know is that it’s a very talented writer getting a crack at an up-and-down icon within the stretched parameters of Metropolis.

Sometimes the author is enough for me to check something out. Actually an author I like is always enough for me to give something a try.

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[Image: Kotaku]

I’m not a lawyer. I don’t have legal knowledge. I can’t make an informed decision, to be honest. My initial response to everything is always “Anarchy! Anarchy! Burn it down, blow it up!” So my gut tells me that in the video game trial beginning today in California, I’m siding with the notion that video games should be protected under the first amendment. But please refer to the first couple of sentences, word?

The case unto itself is becoming quite a big fucking deal, with even heavies like Rush Limbaugh weighing in. Surprisingly (to me), weighing in in favor of video games being protected.

Unaware, or behind in the controversy? Stephen Totilo at Kotaku does an excellent job of distilling the case into tasty, easily consumable morsels.

Totilo:

The United States Supreme Court is hearing that video game case this week, right? Right. The State of California vs. The Entertainment Merchants Association and Entertainment Software Association (aka “The Video Game Industry”). Oral arguments begin at the Supreme Court in front of Justices Roberts, Thomas, Kagan and the rest on Tuesday at 10am ET.

What’s it about, again? Whether violent video games should be treated like pornography – in other words, whether there can be a type of violent video game that would be legal to sell to adults but illegal to sell to kids.

Oh, like R-rated movies? No, not like R-rated movies. It’s legal in the United States for a kid to go see an R-rated movie, even if it’s against the rules set forth by the movie industry. The only kind of movies that are illegal for kids to see are obscene ones (they’re illegal for anyone to sell to anyone of any age). Those movies would fall under a special category defined by the Supreme Court in the late 60s for certain kinds of sexual material. California wants violent video games to be treated like that extreme sexual content, something no violent movies, books or magazines are subject to.

So who got the idea that violent video games should be treated like Hustler magazine? The government of California and a bunch of other states. They’ve been trying to get this on the books for much of the past decade.

Do yourself a solid and read the entire article over at Kotaku. It’ll get you up to speed. So whether you agree with it or not, this case has some serious ramifications.

I came across this sign today, taking a drive. It stunned me so much that I had to fucking pull over and take a picture of it. I can’t think of anything that would make this sign a good idea. I mean, well, I have two ideas. Either they were listening to Bono’s command to perform cunnilingus, or they were like “Fuck it, let’s just come out and be honest about it. Little boys, supplicating positions!”

Not exactly a brilliant slogan, but god damn if it didn’t make my morning.

Making its way with a stunning, Flash-like rapidity around the internet today is Kerry Callen’s fucking rockin‘ take on Marvel comic book characters. Callen imagined what it would be like if Marvel characters went through the same absurd, mind-fucking scenarios that their DC companions underwent in the bonkers 1960s. Callen puts it best:

Have you ever noticed that early Marvel covers typically showcased a superhero fighting a villain, while during the same period, DC covers presented mostly outrageous, character scenarios? I started wondering what DC would have done with the Marvel characters back in the 60’s.

Then, I felt compelled to create a couple.

Outstanding. Not only are they hilarious, but they’re mesmerizingly accurate as old school, faded covers. Hit the jump to check out Callen’s work.

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Check out this footage from (what one has to assume is) the studio session for Between the Buried and Me’s new EP.

No more than a few seconds of music is heard and yet I’m still excited beyond belief.

Anyone with me?

Remember the Red Shirt Guy, who I dubbed Maxwell and immortalized in last Friday’s Press Start? Well, not only is Maxwell the coolest son of a bitch ever, but he’s also being added to the upcoming expansion pack, Cataclysm. Like, no, really.

Kotaku:

“Red Shirt Guy”, who shot to internet fame last week for his intimidatingly deep knowledge of World of Warcraft lore, has been turned into a character in the game’s latest expansion by developers Blizzard.

That’s him there on the right – Wildhammer Fact Checker – complete with his red shirt.

Before you cry fake, Blizzard’s Lead World Designer Alex Afrasiabi popped onto the WoW forums to confirm that he is indeed a real character in the World of Warcraft: Cataclysm. Congratulations, Red Shirt Guy; fleeting internet fame is one thing, but being immortalised in the game (or at least in its beta) you love is something way cooler.

Fucking outstanding. You have to give props to Blizzard for continuously implementing community phenomenons into the game itself. Maxwell! You are a fucking hero to us all, and now you’re further enshrined in polygon. Well done, you sexy son of a bitch.