I was going to do my taxes tonight. I was, I swear. For the last few weeks I’ve been looking the small stack of W-2 forms on my desk and just shaking my head. “Later,” I’d tell myself, smiling like a child who has no clue where the last cookie went. And Friday, March 5^th, was supposed to be the day that the taxes get did. You know, so that the government can keep on doing all sorts of great stuff.

But it’s 10PM and it doesn’t look like the Taxman’s come to town. And I’m not laying my money down. In fact, I’m doing what most Americans do when they’re avoiding paying taxes — drinking fine malt liquor.

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I can’t even begin to wrap my dome around the idea that Final Fantasy XIII is coming out here on the mainland of the Empire on Tuesday. Tuesday. It’s really fucking real! No tricksies! I imagine if not already, sometime soon, copies of this son of a bitch will begin arriving in Gamestops and other retailers. Sitting there in the backroom, wait to be unwrapped and inserted by sweaty fanboys like myself.

Sometimes you wait for something for so long; like me sweating to lose my virginity, and when it finally happens, you’re like, no, seriously? It almost seems surreal. I don’t think I’m going to register that I’m actually playing Final Fantasy XIII until I emerge from my basement dungeon on Tuesday, ten hours into my first playthrough.

I told myself I was only sort-of excited about the game after all the reports of Tunnel Horror began to come out, but I can’t help it. I’m fucking stoked. Really stoked. My cardboard cut-out of Lightning has been sitting in the corner of my room, and I can’t help but glance at her and crack a smile. Even if she’s been bad.

I haven’t kissed her in a while because she told me that Rinoa was hotter than Yuna, and that really pissed me off. But maybe if she behaves herself, I’ll go give her a little smooch. Until then, I have begun smashing furiously (get your mind out of the gutter) on my keyboard, conjuring up my initial fanfiction where Lightning and Wakka team up to fight Sephiroth, of course! You’re only cool if you fight Sephiroth.

Tuesday!

Conveniently, my Spring Break begins on Tuesday. I have class Tuesday night, and I know I’m just going to be doodling totally awesome and realistic versions of Snow being all naked-chested and fighting dragons and stuff and little word balloons that say stuff like, this is pretty fucking easy, but it would be even easier if Ian was oiling my chest! And then I’ll be in the picture just like, nodding my head and winking. Meanwhile, my Women’s Voices teacher will be all like, Oh Women Were So Crafty Because They Wrote Plays and it will just drone on and on and on, and I’ll be counting the time until I can sit next to Cardboard Lightning on my futon and start playing again.

Tuesday!

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I imagine it’s like, sixteen inches and covered in warts, sores, and probably has a flat-top too.

[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]

Looking ahead to the Wednesday releases, I assumed that First Wave #1 was going to earn the honor of OL’s pick-of-the-week. Set outside of the standard DC continuity, this title takes place in some ambiguous past, a pre-retro time of gumshoes and vigilantes. Without being bogged down by a litany of mandated superheroes and superteams, writer Brian Azzarello gets to showcase the more human qualities of Doc Savage, the Spirit and the Batman. Three bad asses who genuinely enjoy effing ess up.

And if this weren’t enough to induce pleasure-overload in the fanboy population, the series is being drawn by Rags Morales. This is the dude who did the pencils for Identity Crisis, one of the most personal and emotionally redolent superhero series I’ve ever read. He’s a great artist, but has recently done one book after another that I couldn’t care less about. Until now, that is.

First Wave #1 is an excellent comic book and I strongly suggest you snag a copy. Unless, of course, you don’t like a solid mystery story, artwork that convinces you to spend a few minutes on each page, great characterization, or good shit in general. If you’re willing to buy two comic books this week, make sure that this is one of them.

But if you’re only going to pick up one comic book this week, there is no better choice than Ultimate Avengers #5.

In case you don’t have a clue what any of this means, let me bring you up to speed. Ultimate Avengers is Mark Millar’s latest foray into Marvel Comics’ Ultimate universe, essentially updating and reimagining the Avengers. This series sees Nick Fury and Hawkeye initiating Project Avengers in an attempt to institute order after some near-apocalyptic catastrophe. With so many heroes dead or out of commission, readers are treated to some interesting twists on fan-favorite characters such as Tony Stark’s supercilious sibling Gregory and a genetically manufactured Nerd Hulk. It’s sick.

But perhaps the best wrench being thrown in the gears of Marvel continuity is Mark Millar’s approach to the Red Skull. In the Ultimate universe, Red Skull is the illegitimate son of Steve Rogers. Raised by a pack of government goons while Steve was stuck in suspended animation, Junior went totally bananas and decided that killing was a hobby he’d enjoy. Combining the physical prowess of his papa with an insatiable thirst for blood, this Red Skull is a (more than) formidable threat.

So, naturally, Steve Rogers wants to be the man to take him down. And this manhunt is what the book is all about…but insane. Basically, take whatever you’re imagining this book to be and force-feed it a six pack of Mountain Dew.

Ultimate Avengers #5 is just out of control. While Millar has used creator-owned properties to do whatever he damn well pleases, I think this comic might prove that he has been given total free reign. Pencilled by the fantastic Carlos Pacheco, this issue has some scenes so brutal that I was honestly shocked to find them in a mainstream comic. For instance, the first panel treats the reader to infanticide. And then, two pages later, an entire splash-page is dedicated to the assassination of JFK. Oh, and who could forget those panels that show the aftermath of forced cannibalism?

Reading these descriptions back to myself, I realize that this comic might seem gratuitously violent. But, really, it isn’t. Ok, that’s a lie — it is. Hell, peppered in between all of the aforementioned images are full-blown fight scenes. With that being said, the visual vulgarity of Ultimate Avengers #5 is irresistibly entertaining. Any time that I said exclaimed Holy shit! it was always closely trailed by that’s awesome!

I cannot understate the prowess of Mark Millar. This guy is firing on all cylinders, creating comics that are not only entertaining in the same way as action movies, but also filled with fresh perspectives that reinvigorate time-worn characters. It’s not just explosions, boobs & butts, and fight scenes — the madness is always anchored by a novel idea or two. And, more important, authentic sentiment.

I make no qualms about shelling out four bucks for a Millar book and neither should you. This week, the team of Millar/Pacheco/Vines have officially reached the Omega Level

What the fuck is this shit?! I came across it today at my local 7-Eleven. I was heading for some sort of caffeinated beverage to get my synapses lubricated. Because, let me tell you something, my nickname on this site isn’t lying. I’m truly caffeine powered. Not like giggles and haha. I’m a fucking addict. If you spend more than three hours with me, you’ll see me polish off something like thirty ounces of caffeinated bliss. My friend Tom came over a couple of weeks ago to watch LOST, and he was like, you know what’s amazing? You’ve drank three Diet Mountain Dews since I was here.

And I was like, you know how we do.

I can’t even begin to experience higher brain function until I’ve serviced Lord Caffeine. Ridin’ the dragon.

So yeah, I saw this shit today at 7-Eleven, and I was like, what the fuck? I looked all around it, demanding an explanation. Pepsi Max Cease Fire. It’s Pepsi Max with a hint of lime. But instead of calling it something like Pepsi Max Delicious Lime, they had to make it sound masculine. CEASE FIRE. Also, it’s some sort of crossover with a Doritos brand Pepsi Co. is introducing or some shit. I was intrigued though. I mean, when you pound as much caffeine as I do, you’re looking for something new.

I pounded it and went about my day, and wasn’t reminded of it until Pepsibones and I went to get comic books. It was sitting there on my car floor, abused and alone and left for dead after I had sucked all the life out of it. I explained it to him, and he was like, how did it taste?

And I didn’t even know. It was at that moment, and I told him this, that I realized my tongue only tastes two things anymore: Caffeine Filled, and Not Caffeinated. Anything other sensations are beautiful subtleties that I lost to the demon I’m possessed by a long, long time ago.

Unless it’s the Purple Poison. Then we’re talkin.

Here’s the thing about this season of LOST. A lot of people are worried that the writers don’t have enough time to wrap everything up. I disrespectfully disagree. I think that they have too much fucking time on their hands. And instead of a tightly-knit prolonged orgasm of a season, we’re getting a lot of tip-teasing. Yeah, tip-teasing. There’s a lot of foot-dragging and every episode is backloaded towards the last ten minutes or so. This episode was no different, though I dug the fuck out of it.

Let’s start with the big picture. MiB is clearly being used to some extent, as a doppleganger for the Devil. El Diablo! Repent, or the Smoke Monster will eat you! Or at least, he’ll drag you. He does a lot of dragging. How does he actually kill these people? Just gun them into air, and let gravity do the rest? I’m not hatin’, that’s an awful way to go.

More specifically, last night he reminded me a lot of Milton’s Lucifer from Paradise Lost. Last night, Sayid is given a sword by Dogen and told to go meet MiB in the forest and stab his ass, and he gives him the specific instruction to not let MiB speak to him.

The whole thing wafts of allusions to the snake in the Garden of Eden. Sayid marches through the forest to meet with MiB. He walks through this Eden, because let’s face it, the Island possesses some seriously fucking impressive attributes, and meets up with Smokey. And just like Lucifer, Smokey is a shape-shifter. Naw, not a snake, but an equally impressive black cloud. And just like Lucifer, Smokey’s most powerful quality is his velvet-tongue. Lucifer is all like, yo, dude, eat that fucking apple. But he doesn’t do it by force, he does it by pouring honey into the ears of those around them.

Promising them things.

Just like MiB.

The MiB is arranging some sort of super-squad of douchebags from Oceanic 815 and homeless-looking people. And for all the aspersions he casts on Jacob for being manipulative, he’s just as much. MiB has gone from Sawyer to Sayid to everyone on the Island, and told them of this grand deception that have played a part in – you don’t have to stay here!, your choices were cast for you!, let us all go, now that Jacob is gone!

Throughout the entire time on the Island, he has conspired to kill Jacob. And he has done it all through intermediaries and violence. The fact that he even wears the form of Locke is a testament to his guile and persuasion. His velvet-tongue, his temptations and promises, like the Devil, get people to do his bidding.

Sayid, you can have your babe back!

Claire, you can have your kid back!

Promises, promises, promises.

In LA X, Sayid still wants to bang the hell out of Nadia. Unfortunately, she’s married to his brother. She’s married to him because Sayid was all emo and pushed her away in LA X. And when she’s like, dude, you’re still sweating me, why didn’t you get with this? Our kids would have been way cuter, have you seen my daughter? Her fucking eyebrows look like caterpillars, Sayid has the most disgusting response ever.

Because I don’t…deserve you.

Holy fucking groan! Did he just really say that? Jesus Christ. I turned to my friend Dave, who then barfed onto my crotch. After wiping up the vomit, he asked me, who is writing this? And I told him the Wachowski Brothers. But that was a lie. This season is aggravating, because they’re swinging these mallets instead of making their points. You don’t have to have someone say the words destiny to make your point, nor do you have to make Sayid outright say he doesn’t deserve her?

On the Island, Sayid succumbs to the succor of MiB’s sayings. He sets about killing Dogen and Lennon, which somehow, and I have no idea how, allows for Smokey to infiltrate the Temple of Doom. Really, a random Japanese guy who was a business man was the only thing keeping them out of there? I have to tip my cap to the writers for their handling of Sayid, because I didn’t see it coming. I always assumed that Sayid would be a virtuous dude. Apparently he’s destined to cause misery. OMFG.

The other miserable moment in this episode came when Dogen was telling Sayid about his life. Listen, writers. It’s the final season. We’ve never met this guy before. All he’s been since he was introduced is some contrived mysterious guy, whose entire personality is centered around floating half-baked sentences around to conjure up mystic bullshit. We don’t care about his kid, his dumb baseball, or that he’s an alcoholic.

And furthermore, we’re not going to care when Dogen dies! We barely know the guy! And not only that, what we do know of him, sucks! Thank God he’s fucking dead.

And what exactly was the purpose of the Temple? Does anyone know? It was clumsily introduced at the beginning of the season, and then what? They just sat there for five episodes, everyone in it dies, and now they’re leaving it. Pointless. A waste of time.

On LA X, Sayid once again kills Keamy. Jesus Christ, how creepy is Keamy? And the question about Free Will versus Choice is again raised. It’s erroneous to think that the shit poppin’ off on LA X is destiny. Hurley, Jack, and Locke are all living much nicer livers; albeit quiet and boring and mundane and a waste of my time. But Sayid? Sayid is back to killing again. Keamy, again. Some lives have changed, some are the same.

A strong theory is that LA X is some sort of dreamworld or reality conjured up by Jacob or MiB that gives the people of the Island the life they deserved. Coming at the beginning of this season, the writers kept dropping the word consequence. Consequence. Consequence, consequence, consequence. So perhaps Sayid is being punished in LA X for the fact that he just laid the boom down on everyone in the main reality.

Who knows?

It’s interesting though.

The last ten minutes of the episode were insane, and had me screaming at the top of my lungs. If you watch the show with me, you know I’m not not kidding. MiB busts into the Temple, and starts droppin’ heads. But even more bad ass? Ilana, Ben, and Lapidus roll up! When they showed up, I was like, OH FUCK, THE JUSTICE LEAGUE IS HERE! Lapidus is obviously Superman, Ilana being the Amazonian beauty   she is stands in for Wonder Woman, and Ben is Batman. Just like our boy Wayne, he’s got a million ways out of everything. They were like a supergroup ready to lay the smack down on Smokey. Or at least save whoever wanted to come with them.

Some shit is up with Ilana, and I’m glad they’re not done with her character. When Jacob visited her in The Incident, he spoke to her as though she knew who he was, so she’s got some inside knowledge. Maybe she subscribes to Deities Weekly, and has been writing scholarly articles or some shit. I have no idea. She’s special.

At the end of the episode, the battle lines are drawn. MiB has conjured himself up a legitimate fucking posse. And they roll out in slow-motion, which every single posse should do at one point. I’m not certain where they’re going, but they are rocking out en masse, and they intend on leaving the Island. MiB has promised them all riches and excess freedom. Save for the fact that he’s done it down the barrel of a gun. Come with me and be free, or die. On the other side? There’s Jacob and his crew! Save for uh, the fact that Jacob is dead.

The obvious confrontation is between the philosophies of Jacob and MiB. Do either of them really offer Free Will? I’m not really sure. MiB has propelled people through Force, which fits nicely into people’s comparisons to him with Hobbes. And yeah, Smokey sure looks like a Leviathan, doesn’t he? And Jacob presents with them choices or opportunities. Like our philosopher Locke, not the crippled one, he believes in the human spirit. He doesn’t offer a direct hand, and it is his distanced approach that MiB has exploited as lack of caring, disregard, apathy, cruelness.

In the end, maybe they’re both just exploiting everyone on the Island in some deistic chess match. They are all pieces in a debate over the virtues of humanity. Is Jacob really offering free choice, if he goes to visit these people? Or, as MiB says, does that affect their entire lives, leading them there? And conversely, MiB isn’t offering anyone freedom or choice. In fact, he’s exploiting the very faults he enumerates in the Incident, their greed, their destruction, their consumption, to achieve his release. Who the fuck knows.

This was really long, I’m sorry. I’ll see you next week.

[ source ]

Came across these today. Super fucking gorgeous. Makes me wish I didn’t have bigfoot feet. Seriously, you know what you can buy for size 15 feet? Fucking nothing. Maybe some decent skateboarding sneakers, but nothing along the lines of hawt Star Wars or Bioshock sneakers. Someone buy these and wear them for me. I’ll stand in the corner while you do sick freestyle walking air kicks and shit and touch myself.

One of the things I dug the fuck out of in Knights of the Old Republic was the fact that the more of a motherfucker you were, the more it showed on your physical appearance. It made sense, since back then it was thought that the Dark Side rotted you the fuck out and made you look like a god damn leper. Mind you, this was before George Lucas was all like:

Oh hey guise, guess wut! You know how you thought that the Dark Side was responsible for Palpatine’s look? Psych! It’s actually lame ass lightning reflection caused by Jules from Pulp Fiction! I fucking shit on your established canon! Muwahahaha, and also, guess what! Boba Fett is an annoying little shit, and also a clone. I’m high on meth! I’m a mole-looking douchebag!

Anyways.

So, I was pretty stoked that Bioware brought back the whole “the more of a douchebag you are, the worse you look” thing for Mass Effect 2. The rationale is all, well, you see, Shepard was dead, and they didn’t have time to finish resurrecting her. (Or him.) So uh, the worse you are, the more your fissures crack and your bionics show.

Huh?

Wut?

It doesn’t matter.

On my second playthrough, I pledged to be the biggest piece of shit bad ass the galaxy had ever seen. No man, I ain’t healing you with my medigel! That shit is precious! Yes, assassin I caught in a warehouse, I am stomach-punching you out a fucking window! I’m Shepard! I seen some shit!

And it’s pretty cool. I mean, look at me. I’m a fucking demon. No wonder that’s why no one will sleep with me. Even though I’m like, hey, I saved the galaxy, I saved your ass, now let me tap it. Who doesn’t like seeing physical representations of their behavior? It’s neat, and been echoed in a ton of games like Fable and the such.

So I’m glad that they brought it back, so I can look like the possessed demon rapist that I am in this playthrough. Beware the red eyes of Shepard, if she’s looking at your butt, gender or species be damned, she’s snagging it!

[Variant Covers is a column every Tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world of pulp pimp-slaps and man clad of iron.]

First Wave #1

Rejoice, my legion of fellow fanboys and girls. This week we’re getting Brian Azzarello and Rags Morales’ love child First Wave. This shit has been on my radar since last year, when they first announced it. Azzarello and Morales are rocking out in their own DC Universe filled with pulp goodness. There ain’t no Superman, there ain’t no super powers. But there’s Batman carrying a shitload of guns, the Spirit, and Doc Savage. Who according to Azzarello via CBR “is top of the food chain. He’s the Superman.”

Sold.

I’m a total whore for Elseworld titles, and noir schlock, so I’m sold. I’m always down with the concept of Elseworld titles, since the author gets to pretty much do whatever the fuck he wants. They aren’t bound by the typical editorial constraints, “God dammit, you need to have Hal Jordan fighting some Black Lantern..uh..the Black Lantern Pa Kent or some shit in this title, or your tits are mine!” Just a couple of dudes getting to flesh out their own universe. Maybe it’ll suck, maybe it’ll be enjoyable, maybe it’ll be a certain shade of gray.

But I gotta get behind it. I spend so much time grousing about the idea that all stories these days are hindered by editorial-driven Super Events, I’d be a total douchebag to not support something veering off in a different direction.

Green Hornet #1

You can almost feel the Earth shuddering as all the Kevin Smith fanboys shuffle out of their houses and do their master’s bidding as they go and buy this pile of shit. Back in 1999, I would have been beyond pumped for this title. I was sixteen, and I thought Kevin Smith was the greatest thing ever. I also jerked off to pictures of Pamela Anderson’s face photoshopped onto porn stars that I downloaded from AOL chat rooms. Things have changed.

Back then, Smith was ripping it up on Daredevil for the newly-created Marvel Knights line. Dude was teamed up with some guy named Joe Quesada. Back then he was just a great penciller, or the guy who created Ash. And it was a hell of a run, and something that sold me on Daredevil. Listen, I was too young to experience Frank Miller, and I’ve gone back and read it. Chill out. But it was Silent Bob’s tale that got me into the character in the first place.

These days?

These days, Kevin Smith is getting kicked off of airplanes, directing shit like Cop Out, and writing shit slop Zack and Miri Make A Porno, which should have been titled, “I Want to Be Judd Apatow.” Quesada? Quesada is the Marvel Czar.

It really doesn’t matter how good this title is, it’s going to sell. Smith has legions of followers who would buy used pairs of his underwear if they were for sale, or tattoo Snoochie Boochies to their dumb foreheads if commanded. I ain’t totally hating, the guy has penned some of my favorite movies ever. It’s just that he hasn’t done anything since I graduated from high school back in 2001 that I dug the fuck out of, but whatever.

Invincible Iron Man #24

I know I’ve been riding the jock of the Fraction/Larroca run on Invincible Iron Man for a while now, and for that, I apologize. Tomorrow bestows on my salivating ass (can an ass salivate?) the last issue in the Stark: Disassembled story, and I’m pretty amplified over it. Our bro Stark has spent the last eight months or so melting down his mind and drooling all over himself in a hospital bed like Terri Schiavo. But would you believe that just before the second Iron Man movie comes out, he’s going to be back and spit-shined and ready to drink a lot and have sex with beautiful women?

What a coincidence!

I dig the story arc though, and the rest of the Marvel Universe structured around it. They’re rocking out with the whole We’re Getting the Band Back Together! vibe; as Steve Rogers, Tony Stark and our Thor finally put aside their differences and decide to slay ass together. When I realized that Bendis blew up the Avengers seven years ago, I felt old as fuck. I was like, “Man, seven years ago I was typing blog entries in my Mom’s basement…I still am.” Whatever though, feel the wrath of my greasy, fluid-crunchy keyboard!

The dope thing about the storyline is that Fraction manages to craft a storyline that not only adheres to the general direction of the Marvel Universe, but the dude also creates a pretty bizarre storyline. Half of the Stark: Disassembled storyline has been some trippy metaphysical journey through Tony’s mind. For a big title like Invincible to spend half their issues with Stark digging up oranges and being hunted by weird mechanical monsters in his mind is dope.

Also? The art is gorgeous.

Also coming out for Marvel is Ultimate Avengers #5, where I’m sure Mark Millar will blow tons of shit up, while Steve Rogers fights his son, the Red Skull. You read that shit right. Oh, Ultimate universe. And there’s fourteen Deadpool titles dropping, including Prelude to Deadpool Corps #1, featuring Rob fucking Liefeld. Don’t be hatin’, you know that gets your attention. Slap on your Youngblood t-shirt covered in salsa and sweat, and rock the fuck out.

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Wife Does Triple Penetration.

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