This movie looks to be out of its fucking mind. Like, the visuals alone will carry the flick to glory if it can deliver even a semblance of a fucking coherent plot.
It’s the Weekend, folks. Now this can mean many things! Maybe it means you work. Maybe it means you don’t. Maybe you’re getting drunk! Maybe you’re surfing the Omniverse in a home-built Slipstream Time-Space Shuttle. Who the fuck knows, it’s a wild world.
But whatever you’re doing, know one thing. This is Weekend Open Bar. Where we can all come together no matter what we’re doing to share in the madness of the weekend. Proclamations of Love, Condemnations of Marvel, Wild Animated Gifs of Chris Evans or Eva Green. It’s all welcome here.
This is going to be the jam.
Every once in a while, I stumble across a snippet of madness that speaks to the deep psychological chasms within me. The most latest find comes courtesy of our own Faux Bot. Behold the Blanka Boyz teaser trailer. Shrouded in mystery with its actual conceit a secret, I know not what this feature program-YouTube hallucination shall ultimately sport. What is clear to me however, is that whatever shall be birthed onto the slithering pipes of the Tubes shall rearrange our carnal knowledge (you don’t have it?) of the Faux forever. The Blanka Boyz are coming, and none of us can stop ourselves from getting wet.
Using this map acquired through subterfuge (web browsing? WTF is that?), I intend on finding the top secret hideout of the Illuminati Trilateral Commission Group. You know, the one on the Moon where they plan all sorts of shit. Putting Prozac into our water. Convincing the mouthbreathers of the world that Big Bang Theory is funny. Canceling Rubicon. The truly nefarious acts. Once I find them, in a comfortable gravity pocket, then I begin building my rocket ship.
Truth be told, I have spent more time searching for the header image for this column than I will end up spending writing it. Whatever. The really juicy nougats come from the give and take inside the comments section, right? My part is to serve as but the catalyst for the gals and guys of OL to begin their weekly wanking. I settled on an image by my good friend Brian Galiano. A couple years back, homeboy drummed up countless works (well, you could count them, but I’m lazy) to accompany Rendar’s novella DEFEAT. If you’ve never read the son of a bitch, start here. Anyways, this is Monday Morning Commute. The column where we elaborate on the distractions coating existence just enough on a given week to give us through the malaise.
Hello friends. Welcome to the jamboree. Lately the status quo on Spaceship Omega has been a blinking red sign that reads “busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.” Rendar has gotten himself embroiled in a class-action lawsuit against McDonald’s. Something about dipping his testicles in hot coffee that wasn’t hot enough, didn’t leave scars large enough, I’m not sure. He pulled down his pants and I turned away when I began to see the boils and then I started screaming.
I’ve been chugging along, writing my thesis for my Master’s Program. All along the oblivion known as the “Real World” has been staring me in the eyes, rubbing its belly and chuckling manically. We are going to have to tussle very, very soon. Throw thirty+ hours of tutoring on top of that, and whelp…let’s just say the Spaceship has been on auto-pilot. None the less! With all this busyness, we could all use some escape.
This is Monday Morning Commute, the column where we spout off the various arts and crafts keeping us from stabbing ourselves during the grind of the 9-5. The following are my jams.