After finding roughly three-fucking-zillion exoplanets, it appears that the Kepler telescope is no longer going to hunt for the little balls of hope out there in the cosmos. It was a good goddamn run. But it needs repairs to maintain its accuracy, and NASA says they probably wouldn’t take.
I’m just trolling you with puns now.
If there was any doubt (there shouldn’t have been) that Michael Bay’s Ninja Thing Alien Surfers reboot was going to suck, you can cast aside those foolish notions. Megan Fox has joined the enterprise, portraying a childhood crush of mine. She’ll be taking the role over, bringing to it freakishly large thumbs, and raging vapidity.
Now begins the dark age, when the football fiasco pop-culture zeitgeist begins to slumber until September. Without any weekly caloric-crushing, fantasy football fist-pumping, the average male wanders around lost. Not me. No way. Thanks to the courtesies extended by the various arts that I indulge in on a weekly basis. This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we gather to discuss these interests. Look at that fucking segue, and fondle me. As you do so, I’ll pat you gently and caress your soft face. We are in this together.
Welcome back, friends. The Starship Omega plummeting through the Cosmos has returned, swerving out of the way of an errant cosmic calamity. We’ve finally regained cruising altitude, and a flesh-bot of your desired gender/gender combination will be along to massage your pinkish naughties soon. My name is Caffeine Powered, and I’m the Custodian and Lead Seminal Slinger aboard this Galaxy Cruise. Right here about this time, as I am ripped to the gills on a cheap Theraflu knockoff and fighting a lengthy head cold, I’m going to pontificate on what I’m enjoying this week. And so are you! That’s the whole gimmick behind this nonsense, Monday Morning Commute. More Theraflu!
Thanksgiving! The week in which the Empire descends once more into gluttony and materialism. It has been so long without an excuse to devolve into primal man, consuming and farting! The fourth of July is so, so far away at this point. Let us not slide into complete debauchery this week. Let us be gracious. I’m thankful for you ladies and gentleman who frequent this establishment. You eat the appetizers, tip the doorman, and thankfully don’t let the others know that the abandoned warehouse down the street near the bowling alley has become my personal scat hovel.
God is good.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we share the various activities that are getting us through the week. A little bit of a curveball this time around though, what with the aforementioned holiday. So what are you mortals, deities, and demigods of the Netterwebs during this Thanksgiving week?
Holla back, youngin’.
I don’t think I can enjoy anything with Arnold in it, ever since I saw his balls that one day at the beach. Big, ripped, furious veins all over his scrotum, swirling like runes that foretold the fall of man. Plus, even if I could, it certainly wouldn’t be this movie.
Really? Really? You biting on this rumor? Hit the jump for details.
My friends, welcome to the show. It’s been quiet around here at the Omega Level. For that I apologize. The past month has been a full-ass sprint towards the Grad School finish line. Due to this, I’ve all but dropped off the face of the Earth. I haven’t seen that son of a bitch Patrick Bateman since NYCC, and God knows without me keeping him in check he’s probably been returning a lot of video tapes. A lot of high school color guards being terrorized by a trench coat-and-smirk marauder. I haven’t even read a fucking comic book since August, folks. August. My life is a whirlwind, with only brief jaunts to the movie theaters and Borderlands 2 giving me respite.
Soon though! Fucking Thursday, this 50-page beast will be turned in. Then I’ll be able to relax. A bit.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we diddle and jack it to the activities and loves that are getting us through this week. What are you degenerates digging at the moment? ATM? Ass to mouth?
You should see the might of the Force when it uncorks a fetish-fueled dump in some random Death Star bathroom stall. Then you will know the true power.