‘The Foundation’ adaptation casts Jared Harris and Lee Pace in lead roles! Too bad Goyer is involved, and it’s on fucking Apple TV
The Foundation is some of my favorite science-fiction. Jared Harris and Lee Pace fucking rule. This casting is fantastic! That said, man. It’s hard to be stoked about a series on Apple TV, with David S. Goyer as showrunner. Fuck.
The cool: The Foundation series is being made into a TV show. The potentially not cool: It’s being done through yet another streaming service, this time’s Apple’s. The definitely not cool: David fucking Goyer is involved. Verdict? Uncertain.
I…haven’t done a Desktop Thursdays since April? Sweet, Christ! Sweet, Christmas! Time melts, evaporates, races, fades, but most infuriatingly: continues. Whelp, here we are! Returned! By Christ, By Cthulhu, By Your Gods and Mine! So, let’s do this, comrades, enemies, bitter but sexually charged rivals! Let’s share our world(s!) Our real worlds! Our virtual! Anything, everything, yadda yadda, et cetera.
I’m fucking tired, man. Like — way tired. Like — eyelids half closed. But here I am! But here we are. This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I share with you fellow rotting meat-sacks what I’m looking forward to each week. Furthermore, additionally, I then, with all my audacity, ask you to share what *you* anticipating across the next seven.
So! Without further ado, without further verbosity, without further self-indulgent blathering, let’s do this!
The March of the Monsters.
It will reach its first crescendo, as they slither into the symbolic house of power this week. Here they come! Ancient ones! With gnarled fangs protruding from ruptured sockets. Here they come! With blasphemous sores upon oozing phalanges! Gnashing and beying for the life-force of the wounded, the wearied. Here they come! Tentacles and ill-intent! Here they come! Smashing and ripping and devouring. Here they come! Blood in their eyes, death in their mouths! Here they come!
What can you do? Shelter-in-place! Here! At the Space-Ship Omega! In this here post! Monday Morning Commute! By way of Tuesday Afternoon. Where we share what we’re doing this week, what we’re looking forward to this week. You know, when we’re not preparing the survival kits, building the house-sized umbrellas to shield our domiciles from the shrapnel borne out of shorn blood-meat from conquered deities.
The March of the Monsters.
Welcome to Monday Morning Commute, scum-lords. It’s a fairly nondescript week for me. Nothing really coming up. Maybe seeing a flick with the BetterHalf. Listening to TheMusic. Spending time in VideoGameWorld. Some weeks the world pops, with a litany of excitement awaiting me. Some weeks the world drags, offering up nothing special in the way of respite from the grind.
It’s the freakin’ weekend, baby! It’s Weekend Open Bar, baby! At least for me. Hitting a bit early, too. Goddamn first significant snow storm of the year is currently rampaging its way through the guts of Massachusetts’ coast, and yet! And yet! My fucking university didn’t cancel class. All the schools-universities-establishments-basement latex fuck dungeons are closed for the day! But not mine. Not even though it’s a fucking commuter school. So I called an audible and canceled my class, myself.
Ain’t no way I’m taking my 2007 Civic with its bald ass tires and death-wish (it has told me after three years of me sneezing on it, farting in, and vaguely rubbing my penis in traffic while driving in it, that it longs for oblivion) onto these terrible roads.
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.
This is, as always, Weekend Open Bar. The objective is, as always, to create a holistic HorrorDump at the Internet where like-minded folk can gather. Once gathered we will, as always, shoot the shit about what we’re doing this weekend. You know, flap our flabby lips. Pointedly pontificate about nothing–something. Everything and anything goes, as always, so long as its in a positive spirit.
Hello SlimeLords, you slithering salacious rot-souls. Clamber into my compartment aboard the Space-Ship Omega and lend me your ocular-meat. I’m going to describe to you the various things I’m looking forward to this week. What is on my mind. What is on your mind! I have telepathy! And caffeine! And telepathy! And a hearty desire to regal your loved ones with falsified tales from your unfortified mouths! Telepathy!