What the fuck is going on.
Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club sequel is happening. Love it or hate. It’s coming down the pipe, and all of us Ikea Boy Dick Lord haters can either smack of acceptance, or rage. After deep thought, fanboy stroking, and contemplation, I’m going to roll the dice. Palahniuk’s pitch seems interesting, and the talent around him is considerable.
I say goddamn, it’s been a busy week for me. But I’m back. How the fuck are you folks doing?
I am Caff-Pow’s rough fetishizing of Fight Club. The latest totem in my gooey satchel of Fight Club worship is a new installment of 8-Bit Cinema. The crew over at 8-Bit take Hollywood flicks and runs the movies through the digitizing wunderstation, transmuting them into old school gaming relics. Though through their own admittance they say this installment is more 16-Bit. Either way, a serious fucking throwback. It’s fantastic.
Hit the jump to check it out.
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! First, I’m goin’ to throw a bit of fiction your way — this week sees another entry in the ongoing adventures of Absalom Fabliaux. Then, I’ll guide you through some of the ways I’ll be entertaining myself through the workweek. Then, you pony up your own suggestions, making your presence known in the comments section.
Let’s do this!
I have absolutely no idea what to make of this. On one hand you have a sequel hatching perhaps unnecessarily to one of my sacred cows. I’ve already bemoaned its existence. Fuck! I had a stance. However. Now on the other hand you have my favorite author teaming up with one of my favorite comic writers.
Oh hey! It’s perhaps the quintessential scene from Fight Club without Tyler Durden. Right about shows you how delusion our boy Narrator was? Insanity? Guts? Insane-guts? Just check it out, fucker.
It’s been a week since I reappeared on the deck of the ship, smiling through the sludge I’d been wading in for far too long.
I was worried about the transition. Captain Pow had every right to be salty, seeing as I’d disappeared without any warning. Piloting this old war-bird with even the most seasoned of navigators can be a goddamn nightmare, so my absence certainly didn’t help.Whereas I’d anticipated being on the receiving end of a Big-Brother Bitch-Slap, he greeted me with open arms.
The stalwart captain welcoming his prodigal brother.
Since then, the pop-culture seas have been kind to me, revitalizing me after an extended absence. My sealegs are strong, helping me regain my strength through the wonder of muscle memory. And still, I’ve yet to completely return to form. I’m still suffering the residual effects of being lost in that Modern-Life Maelstrom.
Every other nite, my crewmates find me sleep-screaming about memos to read and projects to complete and bills to pay and other such nonsense that crushes spirits.
So how’m I going to overcome my infected blood? How do I enjoy the ride when I know the high Highs are always curbed by low Lows? Well, I’m goin’ to keep readin’ the maps and chartin’ the stars. I’m going to breathe deep the life-giving air found these glorious, treacherous, horrifyingly wondrous astral-seas. I’m goin’ to suck the pulp until its dried and withered and I choke to death on the juice, clutching my throat and smiling all the way.
And to do this, I’ll stay aboard Spaceship OL, doing everything I can to be the best goddamn navigator possible.
It’s digital show-and-tell for the maladjusted.
Let’s do this!
I was torn about covering this. I don’t really want to acknowledge that a sequel to Fight Club is happening. But it is. And as such, I feel I owe it to the peoples here (many Fight Club fans) a venue to discuss the news. So uh.
Yeah. Here it is!
Welcome, friends. Welcome to the Space-Ship Omega’s weekly column, Monday Morning Commute. Within these walls, I, the captain, and you all will share the various arts and farts that we’re interested in during a given week. The foci are generally said arts (and poots!) that are upcoming, but feel free to share past-dalliances that are on your dome-piece as well.
Time is of the something!