Monday Morning Commute: multiple phantasms.

In 1992 Dave Mustaine welcomed us to tomorrow. To be fair, this presentiment was most likely the product of combining hours of guitar-slingin’ with label deadlines and, of course, heroin. But the man wasn’t wrong. By the end of the 1990s, the world would be altered irrevocably, requiring us to adapt or perish.

A new Allegory of the Cave called The Matrix bullet-timed its way into our collective consciousness, reminding us that its of the utmost importance to wonder about the very nature of reality.   The Internet skulked into our homes, providin’ us with unprecedented access to democracy and porn and free/stolen/whatever music. And then Star Wars fucking died.

Again, Uncle Davey had tried to warn us.

Look around. Grandpa’s got a Bluetooth in his head, the teens use Twitter to goad one another into suicide, and SkyNet has invented a self-driving car in the hopes of obliterating human agency. So how do we survive the hustle in bustle of the post-cybernetic revolution?

We talk about the shit that makes us happy! Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I show you how I’ll be entertaining myself into the weekend. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share the wares you’ll be using. It’s really just show-and-tell with typing, but aren’t we all pretty much children these days anyways.

Let’s rock.

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Monday Morning Commute: Wednesday. Goddamn.

Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, OL’s celebration of escaping workweek ennui with comics and movies and video juegos and other such godsends. As can be inferred from the name, this feature is posted on the first day of the week. Usually. Sometimes, when work is too overwhelming and the pile on my desk is more difficult to navigate, the MMC drops on Tuesday.

And then there’s weeks like this one.

I could blather on and on about my work woes, computer problems, and persistent bone-pains, but I think I’d rather show off some of the bits of entertainment that’re going to keep me from washing my wrists with a razor. Life’s great, so let’s deliver stress a fun-time uppercut to the ballbag!

Let’s go!

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DEFEAT. 003 – Rattlehead

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar – a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy]

When he thought about it logically, in the practical terms that really make the Earth go `round, Riff knew that there’s no way she’d get with him. She was too smart for him. Too hot for him. Too popular for him. Too old for him. “But I’ll be damned,” he thought, “if Ms. Lang isn’t the finest piece of ass in town.”

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Uncle Dave’s Stories!

Uncle Dave

Dave Mustaine has got to have a million amazing stories. Unfortunately, he’s got a new best friend that discourages the glorification of senseless mayhem. Not that I’m a fan of it either, but it makes for a good stories. And since Dave Mustaine is one of metal’s most influential figures, a former junkie, a karate kid (see above), and a shit-talker, he’s got to have a few narrative aces up his sleeve.

Luckily, the Internet has all sorts of gems hidden in its crevices. Check out this interview of Dave Mustaine from the early 1990’s.   Highlights include his explanation of the cryogenic chambers from the Hangar 18 video and his referring to a brothel as butt-city.

Also, it’s pretty obvious that he’s hopped up on goofballs.


Dave Mustaine

[Werewolf Trilogy – Part II]

OCTOBERFEAST is in the midst of an unrelenting assault, driving home the idea that vampires need to take the backseat to werewolves. As detailed previously, werewolves are the ultimate monsters, the worst monthly visitor one could allow into the home (ok, maybe the second worst). In any case, the werewolf is the manifestation of humanity at its most primal –  the fulfillment of base desires through rockin’ violence and sex.

However, there is a caveat to be issued. While the werewolf dominates other monstrosities with ease, he can be defeated. In fact, his very undoing  may be traced to a member of his own species, a culprit whose cunning is only matched by its nefarious nature.

Of course, the creature I’m writing about is the infamous She-Wolf.

To the best of my knowledge, the She-Wolf is essentially the female equivalent of the werewolf (with a much cooler sounding name than Werewoman, Wolfwoman or even SheWereWolfMadam). However, the She-Wolf is actually more powerful than any werewolf because she possesses better attributes, such as breasts and a vagina.

See, wolfmen are just like real men in the regards that they’re fucking morons. As a result, even wolfmen are more apt to think with their penises than their brains when in the company of a procreative mate. I’ve seen it a million times — a werewolf will be on his way home from terrorizing the village and he’ll run into a She-Wolf who “just happens” to be wearing a weird outfit that shows off her buttcheeks.

“Oh, hey there Mr. Muscles!”


“Yeah you. I’m supposed to run into that house and eat the grandma. But I’m afraid that I’ll break a were-nail. Do you think you could do it for me? I mean, I hate to ask but you look so strong…”

“Woof-woof-OF COURSE!!!”

It’s disgusting, using sex appeal to get one’s way. On the other hand, I do admire the craftiness of the She-Wolf. And so does Dave Mustaine, singer/songwriter and former junkie. Mustaine dedicated a track on Megadeth’s Cryptic Writings album to lady-lycanthrope.

The 1997 She-Wolf serves as a warning:

The mother of all that is evil.
Her lips are poisonous venom.
Wicked temptress knows how to please.
The priestess roars, “Get down on your knees.”

The rite of the praying mantis.
Kiss the bones of the enchantress.
Spellbound searching through the night.
A howling man surrenders the fight.

One look in her lusting eyes,
Savage fear in you will rise.
Teeth of terror sinking in –
The bite of the she-wolf!

My desires of flesh obey me.
The lioness will enslave me.
Another heart beat than my own,
The sound of claws on cobblestone, I’m stoned.

Beware what stalks you in the night!
Beware the she-wolf and her bite!
Her mystic lips tell only lies!
Her hidden will to kill in disguise!

So there you have it — undeniable evidence that even werewolves, the most severe of OCTOBERFEAST threats, are toppled by the She-Wolf.

From Woodstock 1999 (you know, the terrible one in which shit caught on fire):