I’ve only see the first Expendables. Only the first, because it fucking sucked. And nothing has given me any indication other than the sequels were somehow worse. But fuck. If Hulk Hogan is riding into the next installment, I might have to see it.
Happy Fourth of July, folks. Nothing like fireworks, seared animal and simulated-animal flesh, and adult beverages to kick off this week’s edition of Weekend Open Bar. The column at the End of the Internet Universe. Where anything goes so long as it’s in the positive spirit of the Space-Ship. Get drunk, post embarrassing secrets. Stay sober, post what you’re up to over the course of the weekend. Throw GIFS at the comments section with reckless abandon.
Battles will be won. Victories will be celebrated. But we can’t let this momentary triumphs blind us to the grim reality — it never ends. Everything against which we fight will always come back, no matter how valiant our efforts. For as strong as we are, the enemies are immortal.
The Workload. The Stress. The Existential Crisis.
But it’s time that we cue up some new weapons. Tools with which we can wage our eternal struggle. This is the Monday Morning Commute, and I’m going to show you the entertainment that’s helping keep me alive. Your task? Hit up the comments section and show off your own wares.
Although it is oftentimes bogged down by its own insular squabbling on this planet, humankind has a fascinating propensity to be open-minded about the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere. The unbelievable vastness of the universe coupled with the strangeness of our potentially singular existence within it seems to make many hesitant to commit to the conviction that we are alone. Rather, it’s more understandable to long for others to be with us. After all, if there’s a whole lot of life here, then surely it can conceivably happen somewhere else. And while some believe that here and elsewhere have already mixed and intelligent life forms have visited from afar to our pale blue dot, most supporters hold that there’s a better chance that aliens exist just outside our celestial periphery and will continue to do so until a future time when, with the assistance of technological and even social advancements, we might at last meet. But even without the realistic prospects of such a superior tomorrow in our sight, there remains a genuine willingness to take the necessary steps to get there, to reach out in the hope that we can commence a cosmic dialogue with anyone or anything that might be receptive to a human how-do-you-do.
Hello friends. Welcome aboard the Mother-Ship. Adopt your seat of choice. Notice how the syntho-foam molds itself perfectly to your buttocks. And — And! — should you telepathically wish it, begins to invade said buttocks. Go ahead. We didn’t spend all the money on the syntho-foam for nothing. We ain’t judging.Once you’re settled, pull the visors over your retinas and ingest this forthcoming list. The list? A drug-fueled (specifically antihistamines) delineation of the things I’m enjoying this week. Correlate the list within your rotting, offensive organic dome-piece. Whilst, of course, writhing against the synto-foam’s pseudo-phallus. Then when you’re done, hit the comments section with your own list of enjoyments.
Hello friends and family aboard the Spaceship Omega. As we hail from the Empire Proper, the lot of us shall be celebrating the Fourth of July. You’re not from this Solar System? Confused as to how we rock our celebrations around these parts? It’s simple! All you have to do to join us is fill yourselves with chemical-soaked animal flesh. In-between teeth gnashing the bits, swallow healthy amounts of Amber Liquids. These suds shall assuage the indigestion. Not only that, but they shall elevate you to another plane. Careful, though. Should you consume too much Amber Liquid and Animal Flesh, you may theoretically pass out in the kiddie pool. With your pants down. Theoretically, you’ll wake up lobster pink. The children will notice your lack of pants, the parents will notice the vomit baked into your beard.
So even though it isn’t in league with the celebration, I also caution temperance.
What are you doing to do the rest of the week? Glad you asked. Here is Monday Morning Commute, the column where us populators of the OL-Satellite share what we are up to during a given seven-day stretch.
Hello, friends. This is Monday Morning Commute. Within these walls, we share the various functions and safety valves we’re utilizing to get us through the daily week. Not only that, it is a post used as a general “this is what’s up in my world” sort of bullshit community building exercise. I hope you’re all well.
It’s Christmas Eve, and you’d damn well better hope that you’ve been good this year.
Why is that? Well, I just got off the phone with Santa Claus. He’s doing well. He’s busy, of course, but things are goin’ his way. His stocks’re on the rise. He left that frumpy wife of his and snagged a lover more to his liking. And he’s decided to finally stop being so damn soft on those perennial residents of the Naughty List. Given what St. Nick has in store for this year’s crop of bad boys and girls, coal in the stocking is going to look like a walk in the park.
If you haven’t been good for goodness’ sake, Santa Claus is going to rock you with an atomic leg-drop.
There’s no way to know ahead of time whether you’ll be gettin’ a Furby or a beatdown from Santa. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning — either you’ll wake up to open presents in your pajamas, or you’ll wake up with missing teeth and cracked ribs. But why don’t we share some ways to pass the time until then? Hell, this is the Monday Morning Commute, the very spot where we meet to discuss the various ways we’ll be entertaining ourselves.
After all, it’s easy to get bested by the ennui-daemons and work-overlords. If we don’t take the time to enjoy ourselves, we’ll die as nothing more than the miserable, boring wretches that the Man wants us to be. So let’s rebel! Our bosses don’t own our souls, and Santa may break our backs, but he can’t break our spirits!
C’mon, let’s do this!
[face of a franchise presents two individuals that’ve fulfilled the same role. your task – choose the better of the two and defend your choice in the rancor pit that is the comments section]
Most us are nothing more than sacks of flesh feebly held together with some chicken-finger ligaments. We’re weak, cowardly, and directionless. The human condition, if you haven’t noticed, is not generally teeming with dignity. Consequently, we rely on those who manage to combine natural talent with hard work so as transcend the mundane. Whether into the realms of fiction or reality, we all venture forth in hopes of finding a hero.
So there’s really nothing more treacherous than when a hero turns his back on his admirers.
Unfortunately, there’re more than a few examples of our heroes failing us. No, these don’t include instances in which our champions fight on our behalves but fall short. Hell, dying for a cause might be the most heroic act of all. Instead, idols truly disappoint us when they disregard the joy and admiration we’ve afforded them, essentially spitting upon the very people who’ve forged the crowns adorning their heads.
So this begs the question – who is the most traitorous hero of all? Well, we’ve narrowed it down to two contenders: LeBron James and Hollywood Hogan.
[OCTOBERFEAST is the greatest celebration of the year, a revelry dedicated to pop-culture’s most nutritious Halloween detritus. Plastic screams and artificial sweeteners have never been more bountiful. In the old country, villagers refer to the extended party as Satan’s Snacktime]
It was during the 1984 OCTOBERFEAST that an elderly Chinese bro stumbled into the fairgrounds and changed the celebration forever. Inside the basket this Chinese sage carried with him was a creature called a Mogwai, which was bequeathed unto the OCTOBERFEAST itself. All that the man requested was that three simple rules be followed:
– Never expose it to bright light.
– Never get it wet.
– Never feed it after midnight.
Of course, the revelers were too hammered to understand the dude’s thick Sino-accent, and so the poor Mogwai ended up succumbing to light, water, and midnight snacks. Gremlins ran amok, and much fun was had!
It seemed as though it’d be a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, and we were confident that we’d never have to worry about Gremlin-invasions again.
Boy, were we wrong.
In1990, the OCTOBERFEAST was once again overrun by Gremlins! Only this time, the creatures were of an entirely new batch, capable of far more charming parodies and subtler urban-warfare tactics. This event, hilarious and terrifying as it was, is now referred to as Gremlins 2 by the history books.