Broad City has gotten a fourth and fifth season before the third has even aired. As a big fan of the series, I’m fucking thrilled with this development. That’s it, just thrilled. Crying, shaking my fists thankfully at Sol, even as It burns my eyeballs and eradicates my vision. That thrilled.

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Ilana Glazer and Abbi Jacobson are making a movie. The gnarly fucking Broad City duo writing a movie would be dope unto itself. But throw in Paul Feig and we have ourselves a fucking party.

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Hannibal Burress is snagging his own Comedy Central show. ‘Cause he’s fucking awesome. Pro: we get to watch a Hannibal Burress show. Con: maybe this means Lincoln won’t be on Broad City anymore?

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Listen to the rogues that you come across.

These scoundrels are going to tell you things that make you uncomfortable. Hell, they might just tell you that your way of life is wrong, that it’s contributing to greater evils. When you give them an open ear, they’ll fill it with all sorts of detritus. Stuff that’s bound to upset your sensibilities. Ideas that make you want to vomit. Maybe they’ll ask you to chew on the notion that everything you believe is a lie. They’ll be vulgar and angry and a bit discomfiting.

And you need to listen to them.

`Cause right or wrong, if we don’t entertain roguish ideas then we have no right to accept the easy ones. Sure, some of the time the doomsayers and fringe-dwelling miscreants are wrong. But we can’t know that for sure unless we give `em a chance. And every now and then, when the blue moon turns blood red, the rogues are right. And when this is the case, they’re usually showing us that Daddy Society’s been belting the most hapless, defenseless of his children.

Listen to the rogues.

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Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to highlight some of the pop-culture junk I’ll be snackin’ on over the course of the week. Then, you hit up the comments and share your own recipes for entertainment-treats. It’s show-and-tell amongst the crew and passengers of Spaceship OL.

LIFT OFF!

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So it appears that Rendar didn’t do MMC this week! It’s okay. I love him. Bro-Love. Born out of a mutually shared origin story plucked from the depths of our Dad’s testicles. Grown deep in our Mom’s womb. Fostered by a shared diet of Soda, Video Games, Comic Books, and Rust In Peace listenings. This is a lightning warfare edition of MMC – typed (more) frantically (than usual) in-between duties on campus. ICYDK: This is the column where we share what we’re digging during a given week. Let’s dance.

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