John Carpenter said he ain’t completely done with directing, provided this fucking pandemic ever ends. Which is fucking fantastic news to me, dudes. Like. Even bad John Carpenter in the world is better than no John Carpenter, right?
You know. I almost didn’t want to post about Blumhouse rebooting The Thing with John Carpenter. For to post about it, is to make it real. But here we fucking are! Logically, I know nothing can take anything away from Carpenter’s The Thing. It’s one of my favorite movies of all time, and it will stay that way. Illogically? Man, I just fucking hate this.
Goddamn, if I don’t feel like MacReady these days. Like, my body may very well lay in bed for eight hours every night. Maybe more! But, fuck me sideways. Whatever I’m engaging in certainly isn’t restful sleep. Probably getting in some good core workouts though, whilst I slumber. Motherfucking tossing! Motherfucking turning! Just fucking tired, man. And while I can wear my faithful baseball cap to cover my bedhead, I can’t hide these bags under my eyes from coworkers and students.
Eh, fuck it! It’s a pandemic. If bags under my eyes are the greatest of my physical concerns, I’ll jot myself down as blessed.
Anyways, this is Monday Morning Commute! You know the motherfucking drill! I’ll share what I’m partaking in, to distract and titillate myself. Then, you’ll join me in the comments. Sharing your own distractions, distinctions, and diatribes.
Welcome to Monday Morning Commute, my friends. I’m going to spare you my usual Fusillade of Verbosity for the week. ‘Cause honestly I have a bit of a headache, and the SpiritsVapors are burning out in my synapses quicker than I anticipated. Don’t snort them, Caff. The GraveBits are tired. You will metabolize them too quickly. You know better! You know better. And I do. But when you’re tired, and you got a bit of the sludge-blood, what else can you do?
You can lay down.
I am no great leader of men. I am not good at planning, or issuing commands. For many that may be difficult to admit, but I find leaning into your strengths and acknowledging your weaknesses is the best route. I am no great leader of men, but I’m certainly quite adept at being their right hand man. I think this is one of the reasons I get along with my wife, Sam. She is an Alpha-Human, designed to implement designs. Bend reality to her will. And I’m there to. You know. Make her laugh at the end of a long day of being professional and powerful and whatever. I can’t budget, I can’t conceive of running conferences like her. But when she’s hungry I can get her a bagel. Listen, it’s not the most glamorous life. But when you’ve caught the tail of a brilliant, gorgeous comet, you play to your strengths.
They didn’t know they were already dead. Carl and Martina had been chosen to pilot the last space-ship on Mars onto the Asteroid. They were supposed to till the Helium to power the rest of the Martians home to Europa.
They didn’t they were already dead. Some fatal flaw within the wiring, some poor-man’s rigging of This or That combustible chemical dispenser was waiting for that first thrust post-orbit to vaporize Carl. To vaporize Martina. To vaporize their hopes of getting everyone home.
They didn’t know they were already dead. As the Martians stared at the faint silver glimmer that was their doomed space-ship taking flight, puncturing the skin of the atmosphere to leave for the Asteroid, they felt hope for the first time since they could remember. The entire planet cobbled together the materials for the space-ship. The entire planet’s intellect poured into reimagining a type of vessel not used for decades. The entire planet’s hopes, literally, ham-handedly symbolically, invested into the space-ship.
They didn’t know they were already dead.
Hiding it post-jump in case you’re like “Nah nah nah waiting until the movie fam.”
I don’t know Josh Gad. Don’t know him! I’m sure he is a lovely guy. Or an awful guy. He’s probably a guy. Whatever quality of human Gad is, the animated fleshling (aren’t we all?) is apparently the number one choice to play The Thing in the new Fantastic Four flick.
Oh come off it. You know when you were a teenager, with your hormones giving you boners in Geometry class and your jacking off to .gifs you downloaded in AOL Chatrooms that you loved the speculation regarding the Thing’s cock. It was hilarious to you in Mallrats when the question was raised to Stan Lee.
Well, now old Stan has finally answered the question. Yes, the Thing’s cock is orange. Oh yeah, and he also talks about Reeds’ super hog.