A friend of mine asked in the comments for yesterday’s LOST recap if I had seen the book Sawyer had in his room or some shit. And while I had seen the book, I didn’t know what the title was. There was a point in the show when I would have hunted that title down, desirous to know what the inference was they were throwing our way.

Now? Now I just don’t care.

This season there’s been something like nineteen book references per episode. Yes, an exaggeration. But it feels like every episode there’s some totally amazing reference they’re throwing at you through a book on someone’s bookshelf, or whatever. It used to be cool because of the sparsity of these references, but they’re just overdone.

When I was thinking about my apathy towards the reference today, I began to think maybe all the references are tongue-in-cheek. The writers from LOST have always been self-aware of how their episodes are analyzed by the fans. The meticulous nature with which we comb every frame of every single installment.

Maybe they’re fucking with us.

I mean yeah sure, the books could be references to themes and devices, no doubt. But maybe the density of the references this season is a wink. Some sort of meta-joke that they’re playing on us and hoping we will all play along. I hope this is the case with not just the books, but also the overt and sledgehammer subtlety references to destiny and fate, and all that sort of bullshit. Either that, or they’re laying it on thick. Thick and hard. Whatever the case, they’re so abundant and so overwhelming, I can’t help but not care and roll my eyes at them now.

(Until I crack because I have to know, and I’m just another complaining fanboy.)

Came across this today at Slashfilm. It’s one of a bunch of posters, all of which make my balls swell.

Via Slashfilm:

Joe Corroney has been providing Lucasfilm with official Star Wars artwork for books, games, trading cards, comic books, posters and magazines since 1997. He recently created a set of propaganda posters which he’s selling the original art for $250 a piece.

I can’t afford $2.50 for one of these, let alone $250. But if I had the money I would be totally fiscally irresponsible.

[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.

For some unintelligible reason, I usually try to write Images & Words from some sort of objective standpoint. You know, playing make believe that I’m a real journalist or some shit. As though Rich Johnston is going to stumble onto OL and hook us up with jobs or cash or booze or cigarettes. Or something.

But this week I’m stripping away the poorly constructed façade. In its place, I am presenting a full-on, irrational, half-baked fanboy diatribe. So while I generally try to curb the off-putting nerd excitement with cold, logical premises and a forward-moving train of thought, this Images & Words is all about cuttin’ loose.

So without further adieu…Siege #3 is goddamn wonderful.

The third issue of this mini series is a direct continuation of the first two; Norman Osborn’s piece-of-shit government agency is attempting to take down Asgard. It’s a bunch of bullshit, trying to evict Thor, so of course the benevolent warriors of the 616 form a resistance.

This edition of Siege comes out swinging — the second and third pages form a huge splash of about twenty characters. Oh, and I shouldn’t neglect to mention that most of these superheroes are tagging along with Steve Rogers as he screams Avengers Assemble! for the first time in years. The cynic in me wants to scoff at this, give it the middle finger and complain about the fact that every Marvel character seems lined up to be an Avenger (or one of the X-Men).

But I can’t stop myself from smiling. It is fucking sweet to see Steve Rogers teaming up with old friends (especially Bucky), getting together to stomp a mudhole in some villainous ass.

The second highlight exposes itself as Iron Man returns to duty. Having recently been drawn out of a coma during Stark: Disassembled, Tony Stark has to lay the smackdown on Norman Osborn. Using some sort of techno-gadget-wizardry, he overrides the Iron Patriot armor, revealing an Osborn who is in the midst of Goblin-dementia.

But Siege #3 succeeds most in what it doesn’t resolve. Whereas some bust their nuts with the penultimate issue, reserving the final comic for clean-up, this miniseries leaves the reader wanting more. At this point, Thor has gone toe-to-toe with the Sentry but did not fell him. Of course, this just pisses off the Sentry even more, inducing a sort of super-psychotic super-powered state (suck that alliteration, Stan Lee). This is a terrible disposition for a guy who, in the middle of this comic, earnestly asks “How many Gods will I have to kill today?”

Asgard’s in ruins. Norman Osborn has been defeated. The Sentry is on the loose, manic as ever. But hope is not lost, as Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are finally BFFs again, and willing to rise to the challenge.

Siege #3 is fanboy fodder, delivering in bulk the type of superheroics that have become the staple of an entire medium. And although this isn’t always a good thing, in this case it is. This is the type of funnybook that I’d love to hand to any member of a future Krueger generation and say, “Hey, kid, read this — it’s about superheroes and shit. You’ll love it.”

I always thought it was some kind of bullshit that the douchebags at Midway replaced the actor who played Liu Kang in the first two Mortal Kombat games when they made MK3. I mean, who the fuck is this Eddie Wong? Dude, no offense, but get the fuck out of here. We all know that Ho Sung Pak is the Liu Kang. He’s the guy we bonded with! I mean, god damn! We went through two tournaments locked in mortal combat with this guy, and you just expect to waltz up and steal our hearts?

Forget all the retarded shit from Mortal Kombat 3 for a second. Forget Stryker, and Sindel and Nightwolf. The real fucking travesty was this jabroni trying to supplant our boy as Liu Kang.

[Search Engine Terms come from an app in the Word Press dashboard. It tells you the terms that people are using in google to lead to your site. Most of ours are ultra depraved and horrible. And amusing to sick people like me.]

I’m glad I’m not the only one totally taken aback by Locke and his thunderous pimp hand last night.

Also Jean Grey prude? Dude, no way. Jean Grey has totally had Wolverine up in her glove compartment. And it takes an animal to tame that dude.

I fucking miss world maps in Final Fantasy titles. A lot. They ain’t really been around since what, Final Fantasy IX? And with Final Fantasy XIII turning into one long-ass corridor for like a zillion hours, I despaired that we would never see one again. Well, we’re getting one in Final Fantasy XIII Versus.

via Andriasang:

Question: How far along is Versus?

Answer: Not everything is connected together, so the various areas have different levels of progress. However, you can fly across the world map in an air ship.

Yes.com

I picked up Modern Warfare 2 last night for the first time in months. Four, to be precise. And I actually didn’t suck! Alright, that’s a lie. What I meant to say is that I didn’t suck anymore than   I had when I last played it. This is a tremendous relief, since I put in a good amount of time improving myself to the point of just less than adequate. Phew!

Last night, I realized something while I was playing. I realized that I play my best when I blow my whole load. Of ammo. Duh. Like, my clip. You see, I can’t aim for shit. And often, I try and present myself as an adequate player. What a dumb idea! I’ll slowly aim, draw my sights on someone. And then by the time my fat fingers finally have them within my scope, I’m dead.

Dead, done, decimated.

So I said to myself, Drinkwater, you need a new strategy. Blow your whole load.

And it works! It really works. Blowing my whole load works. No trying to keep it in, to save face and be talented. Naw dude, I got to go the extra mile. At first I didn’t want to be that guy, spraying everywhere. It looks ridiculous, and it usually ends up with me on my back. But who the fuck cares, a kill is a kill, right?

And ever since I began just really firing away, I’ve noticed that I’ve actually begun to kill people. It’s sort of neat. Sure, it takes an entire round to finally drop the dude, but whatever. As well, I hope it’s especially demoralizing when they see me taking them out on the post-death Kill Cam. I’m just some asshole spraying everywhere. As usual.

Thwack and kapow! Smokey this week laid down the meanest of pimp hands I had seen in a long god damn time. It was honed to a perfection that only living for hundreds of years can give you. I mean, I’m sure we’ve all imagined giving a pimp hand at some point in our lives. For some reason, the idea of slapping someone across the face just seems enjoyable. It’s probably all the television and violent cartoons we were raised on.

Smokey has officially begun to freak me the fuck out. While I’ve never been on the “This Guy is Sweet, Jacob Is Dick” train, if I had been, I would calmly requested that I be let off at the next stop after this week. I mean, I know that Claire is insane, and she has shitty hair, and she builds baby cribs out of animal skeletons and shit, but if you missed the foreshadow that pimp hand wrought, yeah I don’t know what to tell you.

You want to bring that Jacob is a deceiver heat? Get the fuck out of here. Smokey is just as grand a manipulator as Jacob, and how! I mean, seriously. Jacob presents people with choices, offers them destinations. Smokey gives you the illusion of choice. What MiB spits is tantamount to “I’m not here to tell you what to do. But if you don’t come with me, I’m going to smash you into paste as a billowing cloud of crackling smoke.”

Yeah dude, freedom of choice right there.

Smokey spent this entire episode using the oldest trick in the book: divide and conquer. If you wanted insight into how he’s able to manipulate people with impressive effectiveness, just check out what went down. Smokey takes everyone aside and beguiles them with sugary promises and rhetoric. He’s good man, he’s like, real good. In a revealing conversation with Kate, the dude even lays out how he bent Claire to his will. He gave her someone to hate, and by hating them, she really worked out his objective of throwing down those dickheads who lived in the Temple of Doom.

His methods are awesome, and I say that with no sarcasm.

It’s continuing to all be so Locke versus Hobbes that if you’ve missed it by this point, I don’t know what to tell you. The appeal of MiB versus Smokey at this point isn’t really deciphering their motives, but watching them play out. We get it, yo. Free Will and the belief that humanity will do a solid versus the whole Humanity is a Dung Heap and needs to be controlled. Yep, got it. I got it a season ago. But you know what? I don’t give a fuck, I’m a philosophy geek.

There’s something so alluring about Smokey; but there’s always something so alluring about the darkness. The promises of what ever you want. I’ve seen Star Wars though, I know how this fucking shit ends. You fight Mace Windu in some shitty office apartment, and then you sire a son who kills your crippled ass. I mean, do we really think that Smokey wants to get them off the Island? That he really cares about them? I sure don’t. But I also think there’s really some uncomfortable side to Jacob, the God that Failed.

Poor Sawyer. Even in LAX, he’s haunted by the demons of Anthony Cooper. Sawyer’s a tricky cat to peg on LOST. He always seems one step away from either redemption or full blown moral collapse. As the episode unfolded in the main reality, we saw Sawyer once again walk this tight-rope over the precipice. And as usual, there really was no denouement. I really have no idea which way Sawyer is going to go on the Island, other than apparently back with Freckly McHussy. Oh god dammit, Kate.

I dug how Sawyer is a undercover detective, which means that even in LAX he’s a con man who gets to sleep with tons of women. His monologue explaining the thin line between criminal and cop was interesting, even if it smacked of a thousand cliches.

As a brief aside, last night I realized something. Sawyer has to be a genuinely hunky dude. Why? ‘Cause if he wasn’t, we would totally fixate on his hair. I mean, it’s fucking dumb. It’s all like, flinging around and awkward, and I can’t tell if maybe it’s a mullet, or maybe it’s just oddly coiffed. But it ain’t usual. No sir. I was watching him clunk about the detectives’ offices and I was like, what the fuck? How did I not notice that hair before?

But yeah dude, what are you going to do? I need to know. The world holds its breath. Maybe there will never be any resolution for him, maybe he’ll always be torn by those demons. If LAX a reflection of the consequences of one’s behavior on the Island, it would seem fitting that Sawyer is once again pigeonholed between happiness and totally byronic brooding. You go ahead and seethe, Sawyer. It’s what makes us swoon for you.

Let me ask you something. WHERE THE FUCK IS FARADAY!?

Everyone has fucking shown up in LAX save for my boyfriend. I need to see him. We’ve seen fucking Artz, Charlie’s dumb brother, Boone. What the fuck is this dog shit. Last night we got Charlotte. But no mullet-rocking fucking physicist? Who is so adorable in his quirkiness? Kiss my ass, LAX. I want to put up some fucking Scorpions, sit around with Faraday, and have temporal abnormalities affect my perceptions of reality and give me nosebleeds and crap. It’s hogwash.

Also, I can’t help but feel that it’s almost too convenient that everyone is showing up. They’re all concentrated in Los Angeles? It really makes me wonder if this isn’t some bubble reality that all of the people involved on the Island are somehow transported to.

Everyone, save for my boy.

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[source]

[Variant Covers is a column every Tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world where The Sentry can rip dudes in half even though he’s totally emo.]

Siege #3

The sun is finally shining, spring is arriving, and I’m excited for the next issue of Siege. Yeah man, I’ve been drinking the Siege Kool-Aid since the first issue. It’s such a refreshing spectacle. For starters, it’s short as fuck. This isn’t some prolonged storyline running over eight-issues and nineteen spin-offs. It’s four issues. Four. As well, there ain’t much going on besides people slugging the shit out of one another. Oh sure there’s minor developments and some inspirational speeches by Steve Rogers and others.

But for the most part? Just demigods swinging hateful knuckles at one another.

Last month, the fucking Sentry ripped Ares in half. It was one of the more memorable splash pages in recent memory. Guts and blood and rage vomited across two gorgeously drawn panels. Righteous. The Sentry is more than a blatant Superman rip-off, the dude is a schizophrenic mess with the powers of a God. He’s like Old Testament God, when Our Lord and Savior was totally emo and was like “Thou ain’t listening to me and shit, eat a flood!” They probably hang out.

So this month I’m begging for the throwdown between Thor and Mr. Bobby Reynolds. Listen, I had misgivings about Sentry being able to rip the God of War in half, but so help me if he’s able to take out the God of Thunder. That’s ludicrous. The first time I digested The Sentry splitting Ares like a shitty pizza, I was like, no way. One dude is a God, the other is just some byronic douchebag. So yeah, Marvel. I know you want to pump up The Sentry, but Mjolnir and The Mighty Viking better reign supreme.

Choker #2

The debut issue of Choker was a vulgar, insane, bloody detective story set in some depressingly shitty dystopian future. It should go without saying that I fucking loved it. The first issue laid the groundwork comfortably within the confines of familiar noir tropes. You have the beaten detective taking on a job promising some sort of salvation, that you just know is going to end poorly. What makes it so enjoyable is the odd world that Ben McCool and Ben Templesmith have envisioned. It’s dark as fuck, there’s lots of swearing, and apparently there’s vampires. Or something. The first issue set the stage, and I’m curious to see where they’re going this week with it.

I can’t recommend the title enough, if only because it’s a welcome alternative to my steady diet of capes and tights. Ian, you say, read some totally alternative indie comic book about a dude talking to his goldfish! Now that’s literature in graphic novel form!

No thanks.

I like my titles to be placed firmly in the fantastical, whether it be with mutants, or detectives up to their arms in shit in some dark future. I mean Jesus Christ, this title is set in Shotgun City. Am I simpleton? ‘Cause this shit seems awesome to me.

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