[pic : source]

Spring is coming! As I type this laying on the snow-covered mud-filled backyard of mine, entirely in the nude, I can feel it coming. And it fucking better! Because I fell down my ice-covered god damn stairs on Saturday night. Right in front of my fucking girlfriend. And I could almost hear her thoughts, “I am seriously considering combining genetic material with this lumbering asshole?” So fuck the snow! Despite feeling my lower extremities freezing as I type this on my iPhone in said snow bank, I can almost hear the birds. And flying saucers. I think I may be experiencing brain death. Shit.

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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Found this over at Kotaku thanks to a friend. This was a a status that was legitimately considered for Fallout 2. Amazing.

Via Kotaku

Yeah … we can see why that was cut from the game and replaced instead with the “Hated” reputation icon. Just in case it’s not clear to you that Vault Boy’s kicking mom in the womb, that gown helpfully indicates baby’s on board. I don’t think you’ll go to hell for laughing at this – but you will if you imagine it accompanied by a Looney Tunes kettle drum sound, like I did.

“Childkiller” was not a frivolous or even a desirable thing in Fallout 2. You got the status if you killed a kid, even accidentally, and for some characters it wasn’t obvious the game considered them children. Even without offensive art this capability was too controversial for consoles, so in Fallout 3 you couldn’t even attack a child character.

Sometimes even I am amazed by something’s offensive qualities. Well done.

There’s a shit load of scans of Fallout: New Vegas over at All Games Beta. The only thing is that it’s from a German magazine. I don’t speak German, but it looks as ugly in print as it sounds ugly while spoken.

I’m not really sold on Germany. All I know it for is really insane watersports and crazy bukkake. But they’ve provided me with these Fallout: New Vegas pictures. So bravo, guys! Now if you could just work on a language that doesn’t sound like Satan barfing up a porcupine. Word.

Head over to All Games Beta for all the pictures.

Krang from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles is the fucking man. Why, you ask? I ask you, why the fuck do you even have to ask! Have I said “ask” enough yet?

Let’s see. He’s a talking brain. A talking brain. He’s a talking brain with arms. And he’s a talking brain that controls a robot body. The robot body that wears sunglasses, despite not having to see, and violent red underwear. Who the fuck thought this shit up? It’s fucking brilliant. Just how much coke were people in the 1980’s on? Someone really sat there, and was like,

I have an idea! Let’s make a talking brain, with fucking arms! FUNNEL ME MORE DRUGS. And then, then, then…HE’LL USE A ROBOT BODY THAT HAS FUCKING SICK SUNGLASSES ON. MY NOSE BURNS I SEE GOD.

Well done, sir.

I’m drunk.

It’s not even 7PM and my brain is buzzing as I drown it in poison. Is this healthy? No. Should most people do this? No. But then again, most people don’t spend eight hours hopelessly trying to make a positive impression on the future generation of America. Goddamn, being a high school teacher is depressing. It wouldn’t be half as bad if I didn’t truly believe that the vast majority students I’m trying to reach are too beyond repair, already suckered into the myopic structure of feed/fuck/entertain/distract me now, I don’t give a shit about later. Ah well.

Tonight, I’m drinking Brooklyn Local 1. I picked up this beer for a few reasons. Firstly, I have a profound respect for the brewery’s other products. Secondly, this motherfucker came in a big bottle, providing one pint & 9.4 fluid ounces of goodness to my gullet. And lastly, I was (of course) taken in by the label’s advertising of 9% ABV. Through and through, Brooklyn Local 1 seemed like a good choice.

And as far as my Friday night is concerned, it has been. Truthfully, I’m at a loss for words. I don’t know how to really describe the beverage’s flavor. It’s a bit hoppy. It’s a bit dry. It’s drinkable and refreshing. Overall, it just tastes like a good beer. Nothing exceptional to take note of, but nothing terrible to decry either.

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Once the first dinosaurs are cloned, it seems only logical that we will begin racing them. For money and the exhilaration that comes from the threat of mortal peril.

Here’s the truth, one of my favorite activities in Mass Effect 2 is trying to get into the pants of Yeoman Chambers. She’s the adorable little brunette deckhand who is always telling me when I have messages at my terminal. As well, she always seems to find a reason to be slightly bent over her own computer, inviting the inevitable stare at her bum.

It’s nice.

Nice.

Through one and a half playthroughs of the game, I ain’t had sex with no one. Eerily, this game echoes the majority of my real life. When I first stepped aboard the Normany, I was DTF, man. Down. To. Fuck. I was macking on everyone like I was going to die tomorrow. I was dropping all sorts of sexy cavalier poems in the hopes of getting everyone to see just how fleeting this beautiful life was. We ain’t got time for jibber-jabber, we gotta fuck! I’m poetical, fuck!

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

Carpe diem? I need to carpe that ass!

I think I overplayed my hand, though. I rolled up aboard the Normandy, and I was practically dry-humping the FTL console. Krogans, quarians, men, women, tentacles, it didn’t matter. I wanted that shit. And for that, I will pay the ultimate consequence; Kelly Chambers, obviously of a high quality of virtue and not to be a pawn, won’t talk to me no moh’.

MOTHERFRAKER.

Now? Now I’m stuck probably hate-fucking Jacob. Yeah, I’m playing as a chick, what of it? I’m typical, man. I’m just a dude, who secretly wishes he was a lesbian. I’m like, you know, the other zillion fanboys out there. Jacob’s a nice guy and all, but he really doesn’t do anything for me. Maybe because he looks like Kanye West, or maybe because he’s a void of emotion. Listen, Jacob. I know I hit the town like a fucking gangbuster, and I was practically salivating at the crotch bulge of your super-space-suit, but fuck man, I need to snuggle with whoever I’m tappin’. I know if I settle down with you for some fluid-sloshing, you’re just going to be back in the armory in like ten minutes.

I AM NOT AN OBJECT. Well, I might be, but that’s not all I am.

I’m not going to be complete until I finally consummate my thang with Yeoman Chambers. I don’t care how many playthroughs it takes. I’ll reform. I’ll stop trying to get Thane to meet me in the women’s restroom. Honest. I promise. Because you’re special, Kelly. The rest of those humans, aliens, and artificial lifeforms I’ve been trying to fuck? They’ve just been there to try and take you off my mind.

Xoxo.

[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]

Sometimes impulse purchases work out for the best. Other times, they don’t. This week, I’d like to share a story in which tossing down four bucks for an unfamiliar product ended up being a good idea.

A damn good idea.

Just like every Wednesday, I walked into the comic book store looking forward to snagging all sorts of goofy shit. Again, I know how ludicrous these books can be, but anticipating their release helps get me through the week. Reading them, on the other hand, helps me forget about the week altogether. Clearly, it’s a marriage made in Escapist Heaven. So it goes without saying, I picked up all of my favorite books that feature body builders with super powers, mind-numbing exposition and overly-sexualized women.

In addition to this mindrot, I also snagged Choker #1. Originally slated for release two weeks ago, the first issue of this six-part series comes out swinging. What we find out in this first issue is that over-the-hill private investigator Johnny Jackson is finally being offered a chance to regain his position on the city’s police force. Of course, this means he must appease the insidious chief of police by tracking down Hunt Cassidy, the man he locked up years ago.

Does this seem like another Crime Story Paint by Numbers? Sure. But Choker pulls it off, setting the story in the quasi-dystopian Shotgun City. Perhaps taking a page out of Spider Jerusalem’s playbook, Jackson has these kind words to say about his city:

Jesus. This place stinks worse than my office.

Devo-fucking-lution, how we’ve embrace you.

We’re living in one big melting pot of futility and folly, and somehow it continues to flourish.

There’s not a thing I can do about it.

Not anymore.

Mutiny has ravaged the ship and we’re slowly sinking. Not even the sharks will want to eat us.

Maybe I’m a sucker for a pessimistic, pissed-at-the-world detective. Maybe I think it’s an archetype I’ll always fall for. Maybe I just wish I could be one myself (a detective that is).

Definitely.

And while writer Ben McCool’s script certainly places Choker within the world of interesting narrative, it’s artist Ben Templesmith that cannon-launches it onto Mount Bad Ass Comic Book. This guy has done a ton of sick shit, such as 30 Days of Night and Warren Ellis’ (unfortunately delayed) Fell. However, I really think that Templesmith is upping the ante with his new series, and the readers are going to reap all the benefits.

Thus far, the artwork of Choker is nothing short of inspiring. Templesmith’s neat & tidy approach to panel layout keeps the story moving without the necessity of pausing to ask What the fuck is going on? With that being said, the contents of these panels are quite atmospheric in nature, creating a dark world that always seems to be clouded over. Templesmith then creates a balance, as he paints Shotgun City with vibrant neon colors. As a result, he generates a sharp urban contrast between progression and regression that harkens back to Bladerunner.

Choker #1 has proven to be the best four-dollar investment I have blindly made this week (and yes, I’ve made a few). Even without any text, this book would be worth your cash money. In a way, the fact that the story McCool has begun to unveil is actually rad, well that’s just icing on the cake.

Oh shit! Super Mario-Guy is droppin’ on Uranus with a squishy Yoshi grunt this May! Kapow! I’m stoked.

Via Destructoid:

Mario Galaxy 2, the long-awaited sequel to Mario Galaxy, is hitting North America on May 23.

Shazam!

I really dug the original Super Mario Galaxy. It’s a testament to the delicious allure of gameplay, and studly plumbers whose mustaches I would like to caress. Who cares if it was on the Wii, which is like the 32x of Nintendo consoles. It’s like two Gamecubes duct-taped together and asked to over-perform, with a superfluous masturbatory peripheral.

Better yet, Galaxy 2 is bringing back Yoshi, who was sadly absent from the original. What is Mario, if he doesn’t have his indentured dinosaur servant? Nothing! I mean, who else is he going to cruelly ride, demand to suck up everything around him, and throw into pits? He was lost!

I’m ready to get up on this pig this May.

[Variant Covers is a column every Tuesday that breaks down the various titles coming out that week in the world of blind assassins and zombies.]

I know, I’m fucking late with Variant Covers. This disappoints all of the three people who read my comic book coverage on the site. And for that, I apologize. I get down on my knees with the most sincere of apologies, and I beg you to forgive me.

To rock a cliche, truth be told, I haven’t really been reading many comic books lately. And truth be told, having to write every week about them really isn’t that fun sometimes. It’s amazing that sometimes, under certain circumstances, two things you love a real fucking lot – comic books, and writing, can combine to create a sense of misery.

So I decided to change it up this week. Throw a curveball. It’s my website, what the fuck! Instead of talking about the comics that I care about this week, I’m going to wax nostalgic on something relating to them.

Blackest Night #7

Blackest Night is coming out this week, and I’m sort of stoked about it. All the Captain Planet members are combining to romp some ass on Necron, Lord of the Wunderkind Zombie Deth. Yeah, totally, man!

I’ve never been one for DC events, yeah I know, fuck me. I was far too young to enjoy Crisis On Infinite Earths, so the one that really go to me when I was a kid was Superman Dies. I think everyone my age was sucked into the hysteria surrounding the non-death of Clark Kent.

I distinctly remember sitting in line before class one day in the school yard, and staring with insane jealously as some kid’s wrapped copy of it. There was a bloody Superman emblem on it, and I was like, holy fuck, I need that shit.

It’s one of the things that got me into comic books. I as at the perfect age to be swept up in the omfg, Superman is DED?! bullshit that they were hoping for. As well, I was also way too young to actually realize he was just going to come back to life.

I spent so many hours debating, just who the fuck would be the new Superman! There was no way it could be that dickhead Steel; he was utterly unimpressive even to me at that age. I always had my money on the rotting, fucked-up Cyborg Superman. He creeped me the fuck out, and I think that’s why I liked him so much.

Eventually it was Black Suit and Ponytail Clark Kent that rolled back up onto the scene. At that point it became clear to me that there was nothing more bad ass than Superman wearing a black leotard, and having some righteous hair. He probably spent his siesta rocking out to the Black Album and Rust in Piece while taking ballet lessons.

Just a guess.

Also dropping is a new issue of Batman and Robin, which I refuse to be excited about this point, and the latest Flash: Rebirth, and guess what! Wally West will always be the Flash to me, suck it, you old fucks!

Amazing Spider-Man #622

I don’t know what’s going on with Spider-Man these days. I really don’t. Spider-Man’s never really been my thing, though I have been sucked into him on various occasions. If Superman Dies was totally my DC thang back in the day, then I mean, how the fuck can I not give props to the Clone Saga?

The same shit that really chaps my ass on my bitter days in the now was the sort of storyline that got my heart all aflutter back in the day. Maybe I need to take a xanax and just stop hating. I couldn’t fucking get enough of the Clone Saga! Ben Reilly?! Peter Parker with blond hair? It was insanity!

And as a kid, I really dug it back then. It was so far out there, and it really got my imagination spooled-up. These days I’m probably too calloused, too jaded. Everything that occurs has to be me with a “Well, yeah, but they’ll return” or a “It isn’t going to last anyways.”

Jaded

Dickhead

Bullshit.

Back when I was little, I was far more capable of enjoying the ride. But that really applies to everything in my life. I’ll be god damned if I’m not thinking of the four articles I have to write for OL, the fifteen things in my past I really don’t want to think about but can’t get over, the reading I have to do for school, the shit I have to take, et cetera.

The immediate and undiluted enjoyment of my childhood has taken a back, back seat. Back of the bus with that guy who is drinking out of the paperbag and wearing a Starter Jacket from 1990s with the Tampa Bay Lightning on it.

I need to take lessons from my younger self, and just fucking relax.

Also coming out this week is Fantastic Four #576. Unlike those who grew up worshiping F4 because of Jack Kirby, my claim t remembrance is when Jim Lee rocked them in Heroes Reborn. Listen, it was just the zeitgeist of the times, I was a product of that generation. I know it probably sucked to anyone with   fistful of pubes, but to my young mind, it was magic.

If you’re still looking for more, there’s a zillion X-Titles coming out. All of them, I’m sure, incomprehensible. All of them, I’m sure, selling much better than more deserving titles. Because like me of fifteen years ago, kids are buying up anything with an X; and maybe just for today, I’m cool with it, and I understand.