Science fiction authors love makin’ up swear words.  Frak.  Frag.  Frell.  Ruttin’.  Hawkeye’s Clint Barton likes to say “futz” or “futzing,” my personal favorite.  All very creative ways of dropping the holiest of curses and squeaking past the censors, or an easy way of adding flavor to a world without using descriptors.  The little critter pictured above, Rocket Racoon, even has one:  Flark.  And, oh boy, does he use it.  All the flarking time.  In fact, despite being a cute, anthropomorphic mammal, he really is a foul-mouthed, violent little fucker.  Luckily for us, he’s bringing those tendencies to a brand new ongoing book this week!  So step inside and lets talk some futzing comics, shall we?

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As the American Gods turns! Yeah, lame topic sentence. Lazy, lazy. Just add “Subject X!” to the “as the world turns” cliche and unleash on groaning public souls. Anyways, whatever. There’s a new development in people developing American Gods for the screen BIG or SMALL. This latest possibility involves Starz. Or as I call it, the Station that Ruined Torchwood. I’m optimistic though, cause Bryan Fuller is helming it. And dude is talented.

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Yeah, I’ll admit it. When I read the headline yesterday that there were new Batman titles coming, I sort of rolled my eyes. Being derisive from the jump doesn’t pay, folks. Because one of these fucking comics is being written by Becky fucking Cloonan, and there is a collection of talent throughout both titles. Consider me persuaded.

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Dude Huge is back. The Czar of Hardcore Dorkey Masquerading As Really Cool Bro Nation is returning to the arena. That arena being gaming. And I couldn’t be happier. The world is Less without the Guiding Hand of phalliodestruction blitzkrieg joystick manipulation.

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Bruh! Bruh! Bruh! Reignite the Torches and burn away the Darkest Timeline. We hath been delivered.

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It seems fitting that NASA is testing a Flying Saucer in hope it can help us get to Mars. Those fucking Illuminati-Martians have been rolling up on yokels in the middle of the night for half a century, abducting them to work on their terraforming projects. So when we finally take the fight to them, it makes sense we will be doing it in a vehicle not unlike their own.

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Comrades, you mustn’t ever forget that we’re in the midst of an endless war.

Battles will be won. Victories will be celebrated. But we can’t let this momentary triumphs blind us to the grim reality — it never ends. Everything against which we fight will always come back, no matter how valiant our efforts. For as strong as we are, the enemies are immortal.

The Workload. The Stress. The Existential Crisis.

But it’s time that we cue up some new weapons. Tools with which we can wage our eternal struggle. This is the Monday Morning Commute, and I’m going to show you the entertainment that’s helping keep me alive. Your task? Hit up the comments section and show off your own wares.

Let’s go.

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Yeehaw! It’s my favorite fucking column here on the Space-Ship Omega. Weekend Open Bar! The goddamn proverbial Royal Rumble around these parts. The obnoxious table of twenty at the Tavern. Here at Open Bar, anything goes. It’s the Weekend Long Column where I encourage you all to congregate. Use the comments section to opine about the NBA Draft. To declare your love for omnisexual Martians with Mommy issues. To post gifs of Honey Boo Boo. To share what you’re planning on sticking into your gut this weekend. Be it beer, pizza, or both (ideally). It doesn’t fucking matter, so long as it is in good spirits.

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I really enjoyed Pacific Rim. I never thought the movie would receive a genuine sequel, instead having a new installment banished to Endless Wind Cycle of Speculation. Well – I’m wrong again

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Another day. Another Guardians of the Galaxy teaser that has me sweating. Talking in tongues. Praying to the Lords of Pop-Slop-Culture this movie is everything it seems to be.

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