…If you get the title, and you know what a cream pie is, you’re my target audience. Welcome to the Cult. My raging juvenility knows no bounds. It’s a gorgeous day out, the sun is shining, the window to My Dungeon is cracked open. Life is swell.

It’s probably going to rain tomorrow.

I’ve spent all weekend holed up in the cave, reading shitty Villette. I’m so fucking sick of British Women’s Literature, I could spit! Spit! Fuck.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

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[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.

Shit’s late. I know. Normally I pump out Images & Words for Thursday consumption, sometimes even Wednesday. But this week I’ve been fighting the worst sickness I’ve had in years. This battle has included two trips to my primary care physician, a visit to the Emergency Room that lasted until 2:30 AM, and another voyage to Infectious Diseases. All in all, I stumped somewhere around eleven doctors. Huzzah? Oh wait, shit…

But despite feeling physically and mentally broken, I managed to read this week’s comic books. As they tend to, the comics lifted my spirits and helped me forget, if only for a few moments, just how miserable I was. It’s a magical gift, and truly part of the reason I will always return to the medium.

The comic book pick-of-this-week is Daredevil #506, which is hardly a surprise to me. Daredevil is easily the most underappreciated title of the last couple of years, even after Ed Brubaker departed with issue five-hundred. It feels like the only book from either of the Big Two Publishers that isn’t afraid to actually develop its characters rather than reeling in every progressive line cast. Matt Murdock is no longer a New York City attorney, but the leader of the global crime syndicate The Hand. He’s been trying to use The Hand for good — with mixed results. The one consistency, however, has been a refreshing and captivating monthly release.

This issue centers around Murdock’s attempts to bring together the Daimyos of The Hand’s various regions, despite their distaste for one another. The book opens with Daredevil and Bakuto, an outspoken critic of The Hand’s new leader, fighting off a pack of ninja assassins. Which, as you probably know, is a simple enough task — except that they’ve both been drugged. The result is a battle filled with all sorts of trippy visuals; Murdock looks like Satan, the ninjas look like ghouls, and the flashes of reality are grim & striking.

This sort of layered quality is present throughout the rest of the issue. There’s plenty of action in Daredevil, but it’s tempered with a story that keeps the reader guessing. Which of the Daimyos can Murdock trust? Is Bakuto really a villain? Was Elektra really on that page or was she just a vision? Writers Diggle & Johnston succeed in leading us to these questions while not instantly offering answers. There is a definite mystery to Daredevil and the title is the better for it.

The art provided by Marco Checchetto and colors by Matt Hollingsworth are simply perfect for this book. There is a real darkness to the imagery, conveying the sense that Matt Murdock is wondering through his own internal confusion. In fact, the brightest page of the whole book comes in the aforementioned opening scene, as a hallucinatory-moon shines onto the battle. Leaving a bit of a shroud around the characters really fits the tone at hand. Murdock is trying to sort out the mess in front of him and the reader has to occasionally strain an eye to do the same.

The other important visual characteristic worth mentioning is the range of subjects. Checchetto and Hollingsworth deftly work their way through crowded fights, evaporating skeletons, two-person conversations, dream sequences, and a slew of other varied scenarios. It’s always nice to have artists who can handle a variety of narrative styles within a single issue. And this is part of the wonder of Daredevil – we get to see the titular character travel through a number of different worlds. This isn’t just the rough urban environment Daredevil has become synonymous with, but a sort of mystical Japanese realm that harkens back to the days of feudal lords.

If you enjoy superhero comics, go snag Daredevil #506. It’s a worthy read, with writers and artists who know what they’re doing. Trust me. After all, I’m not an expert.

When I met Type O Negative and Peter Steele I was a fat, confused, sixteen year-old. I was beginning to realize that my parents were as fucked up as me, the path of glory led to nowhere but the grave, and rot awaited all of us. In other words, the dude spoke to me. A penchant for the melancholic, his discussions of life and death and fragility and infidelity made a real lot of sense.

Over the years I haven’t listened to them as much as I used to. Mr. Steele and his lamentations have faded into the background of my mind. Steele, much like what used to be my incessant obsession with my own mortality, floated to the forefront every few years only to drift away.

It seems fitting then, in a year that has had me caring for a withering grandmother and once again uncomfortably aware of my own impermanence that Peter Steele would pass away.

Oh, you would do that.

One of my most magical concert moments ever took place at a Type O Negative concert. I must have been a junior in high school, and I went to the show with a pack of friends. During the bridge to Love You To Death, Steele polished off the bottle of wine he had been drinking the entire time and gunned it into the crowd. He then told us to give ourselves a hand, and the quiet bridge accompanied the sound of applause. I don’t know why it’s stuck with me throughout the decade-plus that’s passed, but I’ve always recalled it fondly.

Maybe the thing I enjoyed so much about Type O Negative was their ability to turn the morbid into the beautiful. Their songs about death weren’t nearly as depressing as they were pretty. Steele somehow managed to capture the gorgeous decay of existence.

Steele passed away this week. So it goes.

I can’t remember where I found this, but I can’t stop watching it. It’s like a nightmare done stupidly absurd. I like the stupid, and the absurd.

[source : all games beta]

Magic everywhere in this bitch! The more I see of Super Mario Galaxy 2, the more I am convinced it is the product of an excessive amount of hallucinogenics and awesomeness. I really need this game. Super now.

…In case you’ve been wondering where I’ve been. Ohh, Charlotte Bronte, I hated you in high school, I’m hoping can enjoy all 550+ pages of you now. I’m doubtful. I’ve had enough British women’s literature in the past three months to satisfy me for life.

Whedonnites, prepare! to! fap!

via slashfilm:

Variety, in a confirmation of Whedon’s hiring two days ago, says that he’ll rewrite The Avengers. He’s got plenty of experience writing superhero teams and for ensemble casts, so that, again, was pretty much a foregone conclusion. But as The First Avenger: Captain America, set to shoot soon, is basically a lead-in to the big team movie, should Whedon do some work on that script, too?Pajiba says that’s exactly what he’s going to do. The site has “a source close to the project,” who says that Whedon is likely to be assigned a rewrite on Cap. That’s all the site really has, but given that the word I’ve heard about the Captain America script hasn’t been terribly positive, it’s certainly a rumor I’d like to believe.

I’m totally fucking stoked that Joss Whedon is rewriting The Avengers and Captain America. For starters, the first draft of The Avengers was by Zak Penn. He wrote X3. I rest my case. When I heard he was the guy behind The Avengers, a single tear fell from my eyes, and I said, “Well, it could be worse, they could cast Johnny Storm as Captain America.”

I’m kidding. I’m really almost sort of over that.

And despite the fact that Whedon rewriting the movies means that they’re going to be filled with existential angst, vampires, and atheism, I’m okay with it.

[source: tanooki via destructoid]

Oh shit, Super Mario Galaxy 2 features 2D gameplay! WTF, awesome. Two-dimensional. The good old days. Before pubes and polygons and raging psychosis. There’s a certain simplicity to 2D gameplay that continually draws us back. You know you still love it. For all the perks and benefits of a zillion-polygons and bonerfying graphics, a little old school Mario still makes me a fucking happy clam.

Everybody may love Hugo, but sweet fucking Christ did I hate 75% of this episode. What happened in this episode? Set-up. More set-up. Has anything happened in this season yet? Sure, like, some stuff. But we’re a ridiculous amount of episodes in, and everything is tied around the same dull shit. Really awkward conversations about love and destiny, sitting on tree stumps while trying to figure out what to do, the Devil trying to trick people, and my sitting on my futon trying so hard to love a show that’s really letting me down half the time.

And then there’s these little moments of awesomeness sprinkled throughout the episode that keep me interested. Just enough. It’s like season one all over again. I still have faith that the ending of the show is going to rock my socks off. I promise. But at this point, the terrible fucking turbulence I’m enduring to get there is fatiguing me.

I’m tired of all this speculation, of even dissecting everything, when every episode just comes at us with more set-up. More set-up. Over and again.

Let’s do something different this week, to make recapping what I found to be an abysmal episode more bearable. Bullet points!

Yeah, just smash down the bag of dynamite. Idiot! Savage!
So, if Jacob has a plan for everyone, he planned for Ilana to gather up all the Candidates, and then kill herself by accident? Dude is sort of a dick. I like his swagger. Either that, or Ilana is one of thirty-nine thousand characters the writers have introduced under a certain amount of gravitas and then been like “Uh, never mind.”

The Devil’s Advocate in me tells me she served her purpose, and that her death will ultimately result in them having to govern themselves. Which Jacob probably sort of knew, which makes him a dickbag like I said. With immaculate swagga.

Desmond Drives The Fuck over John Locke!
Alright, this part is awesome, I’ll give the writers that. And yeah, I can’t help but speculate why he would crush Mr. Bentham with his sweet ride. My first thought was the idle hope that running over Locke in LAX would push the departed Locke back into his body on the Island. Then I quickly dismissed this.

There’s also the obvious notion that running Locke over will reunite him with Jack, and they’ll form some sort of tag-team and begin uh…crushing heads…no…no, uh…You know what, I don’t really know what Desmond’s end-game is on LAX. He obviously wants to make everyone aware of their existence outside of The Matrix, but what then? This show isn’t beyond something ludicrous(ly awesome) as some sort of Collective Conscious willing them out of the day-dream.

The Power of Love!
Oh sweet Jesus. The power of love is bringing back memories of the Island. Are you barfing, or do you dig it? My brother Pepsibones really likes it, but he’s also been sick with the Flu, sweating through his clothes every evening. I’m happy he digs it, since he’s a secret romantic, and I feared he had become fully ensconced in his Jaded Shell.

Me? I dig the concept, but probably not the execution. Half of my problem with a lot of this season has been how the writers have handled their themes. Everything seems so heavy handed, and they’ve relied on disgusting, nauseating expository dialogue to get there.

Furthermore, what do you make of it it being dead people from the Island who have had these premonitions of the Island first? Charlie, Libby, and Faraday all seem to have a tighter connection the Island, via love, and they’re all fucking rigor mortis?

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Let’s get this out of the way. I thought Dollhouse was a steaming ball of fuckhate. But I like Joss Whedon. A lot. Not as much as some of the people I’ve seen, who build monuments to him out of their own pubic hair and ripped-up Firefly t-shirts they lost their virginity in. But I do. And I was pretty worried about the Avengers movie, so hearing that he’s probably going to be directing it? I am gladdened by it.

via slashfilm

On April Fool’s Day, IESB   had the bad timing to report that Joss Whedon   was on the shortlist to direct The Avengers for Marvel. Really bad timing for that scoop – while Whedon is the sort of guy a lot of fans would like to see on this film, there was too much reason to be skeptical when it ran on April 1. The LA Times confirmed that shortlist a few days later, but even then it was tough to tell if the studio   was serious, or just spitballing in the same way it seemed to do with the Captain America casting.Either way, things are evidently serious now, as there’s a report that Whedon is in final talks to direct the film.

I can only imagine the amount of fluids being excreted by fanboys and fangirls if this shit comes to consummation.