Buy These Flippin Comics!!! (8/28/13) Drrrrrrty Pop!


Hey, kids!  So it’s Wednesday, and I assume we’ve all calmed down after flipping our collective shits from the pop-culture orgy/last-train-to-nowhere that is the VMAs.  I’m old, and pop music gets me all kinds of jaded, but the VMAs still managed to teach me a lesson:  America THRIVES on nostalgia, even nostalgia that isn’t even 20 years old (see the above pic).  I, myself, am currently gushing over an “event” book that, when boiled down to its essentials, is nothing more than a comic scientifically engineered to tickle my 12-year-old pickle.  Thanos is my Justin Timberlake.  N’Sync are my Infinity Gems.  Comic books, particularly superhero ones, are every bit as nostalgic and regressive as the boy-bands and teen vixens of pop music.  So while I scoff at the proles going batshit over 10 year old hooks sang by grown men with receding hair lines trying their damndest to recreate moves no thirtysomething should have to attempt (looking at you Fat One), I massage my own nostalgia-boner to pretty pictures of ageless Avengers saddling up for one last ride into the aether in a story not quite called Infinity Gauntlet 2:  The Soich For More Money, but may as well be.

Say my name!  “Hypocrite.”  You’re goddamned right.

So hit the jump and let’s get nostalgic, shall we?

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Dumb Celebrities keep getting named CREATIVE DIRECTORS for CRAPPY PRODUCTS. This time it is Justin Timberlake.


This must be the new thing. Celebrities who clearly have creative directors themselves are getting named as the “creative director” for really shitty products. This time it is J-Timberchucklehead being named the creative director of Budweiser Piss Swill Uranium or something.

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The Coen Brothers Offer Justin Timberlake Role In ‘Inside Llewyn Davis’

Will you flog me with shit-mallets if I tell you that I enjoy Justin Timberlake’s acting? I haven’t seen In Time, though I’m certain I’ll get something out of it. I enjoy him though. And I enjoy the Coen Brothers. A lot. So I reckon I’ll enjoy this combo.

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Monday Morning Commute: Then Our Sweatpants Boners Swung.

Monday evening in the Northeast section of the American Empire proper. Cold winds, comfortable clothes. Shut windows and caffeine in the veins. I’m relaxing. I’m also Caffeine Powered, my (literal) brother Rendar Frankenstein tagging me in for this iteration. I’m swinging over the top fucking rope, ready to drop sweet chin music upon all your unsuspecting asses. Gape for me baby, and allow my Love Heel to caress your Soul-Clit.

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