Karl Urban in talks to join ‘Judge Dredd’ TV show. No, seriously, don’t tease us like this
Karl Urban is in talks to join the Judge Dredd TV show, with the actor cautioning that it’s just that — talks. His joining the show is dependent on it, you know, not sounding like it completely sucks. So, c’mon WizardsBehindTheShow, bathe your pitch in quality.
‘Assassin’s Creed’ anime coming courtesy of ‘Castlevania’ producer Adi Shankar
Assassin’s Creed is getting an anime. Now, now! Before you bark and gnash, bark and gnash. Let me tell you. It’s being produced by the same man who had a hand in Netflix’s Castlevania series, as well as cult favorite Dredd.
Judge Dredd getting live-action TV show, and okay cool I guess
Judge Dredd is getting his own fucking live-action TV show. I’d be excited, but it just sounds like a procedural show that’s wasting a dope fucking character. Who knows. Maybe it’ll rule.
Karl Urban: ‘Dredd’ Sequel conversation happening with Netflix
Can you survive this sweet temptation of Hope? Can you? I’m so fucking jaded that I don’t believe we will ever see a Dredd sequel. Be it a movie, or a streaming series. But man. Just imagine.
Karl Urban up for ‘Dredd’ Netflix or Amazon series
We are never, ever getting a Dredd whatever, right? But we can dream, right? And Karl Urban will promote those dreams, that bastard.
‘Dredd’ returning this month as online miniseries. Wut.
Where there’s a fucking dedicated producer, there’s a way. Dredd producer Adi Shankar has revealed that he’s bringing the series back. Maybe not as the fucking sequel we want (yet). But at the very least as an online mini-series. For free.
Monday Morning Commute: moonbeam death-child
He’d read all about Transcender’s journey to Saturn, and the havoc that was wreaked upon that that hotel. It upset his constitution to think that the System’s savior, the genetically-perfected designed to fend off nether-threats, could be derailed so easily. And by such trifles, nonetheless. Alcohol. Women. Drug-beams. All of the vices that, according to many, had done in Earth in the first place.
To the moonbeam death-child, Transcender Yonder had lost his way. Which may have been true. But as seven-year old, there ain’t no way he could understand Transcender’s appreciate of fine pussy and bourbon.
Headphones clamped on tight, the moonbeam death-child tried to tune out his negative thoughts. Rather than dwell on the various ways he’d like to torture Earth’s mightiest drunkard – testicle-electrocution, force-fed glass sandwiches, and atomic bombings at the top of the list – he made his peace with the omniverse. Heck, three songs in, the moonbeam death-child laughed at the thought that people didn’t always realize that music aligns the brainwaves to the same frequencies that neutrinos use to slip between dimensions.
So relaxed by the music was the child that he fell into a deep slumber. So relaxed was this slumber that he didn’t notice the blanket being draped over his listless frame. And so gentle was the draping that he smiled the hearty grin of the runt who’s looked after by the alpha male.
Transcender Yonder was finally home, and was glad to see that his moonbeam death-child, whether or not he’d admit it, didn’t hate him.
Thanks for checking out the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I ramble about the make-believe and the real-believe alike, sharing with you the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself throughout the workweek. After you peep my means of destroying ennui, hit up the comments section and share yours. C’mon, you know how it is – work sucks, life rules, let’s party until we’re dead!
Are you ready to rock?