Well, it’s official, motherfuckers. Blade Runner is the past. Instead of being a clarion call about the direction we were heading, it’s now officially yet another warning wasted. But, hey! What the fuck can you do. I suppose continue sallying forth towards our inevitable destruction. Or at the least, towards Blade Runner 2049. An equally foreboding portent.
But, the good news! You don’t have to do it alone. As long as the Space-Ship Omega is humming through the digital cosmos, you have a hearth to call your own. As, every weekend, we gather around said hearth. For the Open Bar!
Within these walls, around this hearth, we share what we’re up to during a given weekend. And, I hope you’ll join me! What the fuck is happening this weekend in your life? Are you playing some Fallen Order? Stressfully picking up accouterments for Thanksgiving dinner? Diligently scouring Black Friday ads for where you’re going to inevitably punch a grandma in the tits over a TV?
Guy Ritchie rules. The Man From UNCLE was hilarious, stylish, fun. That apparently only Pluto and I saw, but fuck if we weren’t dying laughing in our seats. I’m in for this movie, I’m in for any movie Ritchie makes. And I’m dragging Eddie along with me.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. This ain’t Monday Morning Commute. It’s Tuesday Morning Commute, and I’m barely goddamn sorry! Nothing like hitting the workweek hard to remind you of your own entropic plummet towards oblivion. Days like yesterday remind me of one of my favorite passages from Palahniuk’s Survivor, “Time is running out. There isn’t the kind of energy you used to have. You start to slow down. You start to give in” (263). Maybe five years ago, I have a busy day of work, I come home. Churn out thirteen articles for the next two days, jack off three times, eat dinner, jack off three more times, and play seven hours of Mass Effect.
These days? I come home, kiss my wife on the head, throw my backpack to the ground, put on sweatpants, and watch Jeopardy.
Cliff Chiang produced a gorgeous poster back in the day. Before Star Wars Lived Again. Now said poster is being employed around STAR WARS FILMING CENTRAL HUB to remind motherfuckers to stop leaking EVERY GODDAMN THING.
Why, I was just spitting about this novel yesterday. 5th Wave is yet another (though I would argue exceptionally well-written) girl-tackles-the-Dystopia novel rocking the book shelves at the moment. But with aliens! And with the current craze for this particular genre, it makes a good amount of sense that it shall be receiving a film adaptation.
I like this.
A special edition of the OMEGA-CAST, straight from the floor of Boston Comic Con. Riff Simian captures a raging Tomahawk regarding a complaint about our “Fuck Lucas” t-shirt. The beautiful Bride of Frankenstein checks in. Our momentary brush with Rich from Toucher and Rich. Rendar Frankenstein talks cosplay. Caffeine Powered’s significantly better half talking about his obsession with cocks and lightning bolts. Bazinga! shirts. Budrickton’s descent from Toronto into our funny sounding land. And other assorted bullshit and madness.
Now that Patrick Bateman and Rendar Frankenstein have returned from squatchin’ in the Great White North, the Three Omega Idiots decide to tackle the San Diego Comic Convention Thing. Plus! Taking gnarly dumps, maybe two functioning microphones, how much better Thor is than The Flash, and cheap plugs of shitty t-shirts.
Grant Morrison has an interesting quote regarding what people will miss should they eschew reading comic books in favor of only watching funny book movies. It’s intriguing, because I have lately been wrestling with my own contempt for the printed formula while simultaneously jacking it to the cinematic flavor. What would I be missing if I got off the comic book Ferris Wheel?
Remember how last week I was all excited for life? This week is the glorious inversion of such a feeling. A viscous ladling of ennui is rattling around my belly, daring me to frown. There isn’t so much a reason for me to be sad, rather I’m just like “oh hey, I exist.” Eh, what can you do. Some weeks are more thrilling than others. So I turn to you, dare readers, in this newest of Monday Morning Commutes. Tell me what you’re enjoying this week. Inspire me. I beseech thee. And thee. And thee.
Hit the jump for my tepid chocies for the next seven days.