Fincher, Affleck, and Gillian Flynn remaking ‘Strangers On A Train’

Ben Affleguysz

Ben Affleck, David Fincher, and Gillian Flynn are remaking Strangers On A Train. That’s right. The whole posse from that Gone Baby Girl Girl Gonehood flick teaming up once again.

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Weekend Open Bar: dodge bullets & deny limitations


Your Flesh Sac will whisper wearingly to you, if you let it. Letting you know that your knees are giving, your rib cage is creaking, and your heart is just sort of fucking tired. Your Flesh Sac will point out the fleeting Liminal Burp that is all your life. Do not listen. Do not believe its lies. It is the only way to sally forth into the resplendent Gloom of Oblivion that awaits us all with your head held high.

(Unless someone decapitates you and raids the Gates of Eternity with your Head on a Pike. There is also that way.)

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Weekend Open Bar: Gone Girl Baby Girl Gone Gone


Can I get a fuck yeah?! It’s Friday! Which means it’s time for many, many things. Provided you are one of us proles blessed (and it is more and more becoming a genuine blessing) with having the weekend off. Drinking! TV binging. Maybe some sexy-sex? Reading, gaming. All sorts of shit! And this is Weekend Open Bar! Where we come together. Pop a soda-beer-bottle-of-wine-whiskey, whatever. Share in the revelry of the next two days.

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Monday Morning Commute: A Boner Made From Love


Monday. Morning. Commute. Welcome to its Insides. The Place where we share what we’re up to during the current work week. It’s rife with strife, gloom, and malaise. JUST KIDDING. Let’s party! Fuck the Frowns, Embrace the Clowns?! Do I mean this?! I don’t know! Am I pumped up on Diet Dew and a False Sense of Excitement?! You fucking bet!

This is what I’m up to this week. Happily.

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David Fincher directing entire first season of HBO show, ‘Utopia’

David Fincher.

This week is the week of David Fincher! Between Gone Baby Girl Gone Gone coming to theaters and him chatting up his meeting with Star Wars brass, everyone is talking about him. Not content to dominate the news cycle with the aforementioned bits, Fincher has revealed he’s directing an entire season of Utopia for HBO.

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‘Gone Girl’ TV Spot: I Better Learn My Wife’s Blood Type

Gone Girl.

I’m pretty sure in this TV spot for Gone Girl, the fact that Batman doesn’t know his wife’s blood type is used against him. Like, to prove he’s a murderer or something? Anyways, I’m pretty excited for this movie.

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Monday Morning Commute: Special Delivery

Special Delivery

It hadn’t been my intention to light the mailman on fire.

I’d just wanted to give him a good scare. A shake-up. A reminder that I’m entitled to nothing less than the respect granted to all employers. `Cause love `em or hate `em, it’s the employers that give us the money for bill-payin’. Don’t believe me? Well, get caught screwin’ your boss’ husband and see how long you can keep payin’ for cable television and discount lapdances and beer and horny-videos and everything else worth livin’ for.

But seriously, I never thought the mailman’d actually go up in flames.

The way I sees it, I’m the mailman’s employer. Why’s that? Well, the mailman’s paycheck comes from taxes. And since I pay taxes most years, it’s my money that becomes his money. Sine qua pro bono. As his employer, it frustrates me to no damn end to see him royally bangin’ the job up the `ole keister. Parcel-delivery is one of the foundations of our friggin democracy! Without it we ain’t more than savages! There’s no excuse for the job bein’ done haphazardly!

And there’s no ignorin’ the fact that the mailman’s been stealin’ my goddamn TV Guides!

So yesterday, I waited by my mailbox. As the mailman approached I asked if he had my TV Guide. When he told me it must’ve been lost in the shuffle, I politely informed him that he was going to lose all of his “filth-riddle ass hairs.” Seizing his moment of confusion, I pushed him into my bushes, sending letters and packages all over the sidewalk. I quickly pulled down the back of his state-issued shorts and covered his buttcheeks with hairspray. As he screamed and squirmed and protested, I kept sprayin’, followin’ the cannister’s instructions to “apply thoroughly.” As I lit the match, I told him that I believed in poetic justice and his theft of my TV Guides had really been chappin’ my ass.

It hadn’t been my intention to light the mailman on fire. But I can’t say I regret it. Where’s my TV Guide?


Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m going to list the activities that’ll keep me entertained throughout the week. Your task is to hit up the comments section and share your own suggestions for fun-havin’!

Rock! Roll! Lose control!

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