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?
There is a They Live billboard in Times Square, featuring Trump, that Orange Fuck himself. It’s up thanks to crowdfunding, which is doubly amazing.
They Live. One of my favorite movies of all time. As well, perhaps more applicable and prescient than ever. Does it need a sequel? Nah, dude. Would I see one if it ever emerged? Of course, dude.
Was at the movies when my phone began blowing up from fellow wrestling fanatics, letting me know one of our heroes has passed away. Fucking Roddy Piper. Between wrestling, They Live, and his Always Sunny appearances, the good sir managed to pry his way into my heart through multiple pop culture avenues.
What’s your favorite memory of Piper? Share videos! Share images! Just share.
It’s the Weekend! That can only mean one thing! Exerting a feigned since of self-autonomy through consumption and reproduction! The Man can’t hold us down! Not as long as we eat shitty food, buy shitty baubles, and consume shitty entertainment they engineer to distract us! Ha! Fuck you, The Man! And as a final, fleeting mechanism for self-actualization, we will gather here in the Weekend Open Bar.
There is a grand awakening coming! Millions upon millions of my fellow Lies Assassins and Truth Warriors are beginning to realize the uncomfortable truth. These brave folks are slowly coming to grips with the undeniable fact that our country is not our own. Democracy is a farce. For we are controlled by the Lizard People.
Sup fuckers. Don your war crest. Paint your face with the blood of those who have fallen before you staves, swords, axes. This is getting real. The following week is filled with enough revelry to burst my little heart. Were I a coward. But I am not such thing. My arteries are thickened from excessive, caffeine-fueled pumping. The next seven days are a gauntlet of awesome that justify this meager little column. Nay, these seven days justify my generally effusive demeanor. This is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, the column where we pontificate on the various little objects filling our hurt-holes. The arts, farts, funny books, and video games we are using as a salve to soothe the general burn of existence.
OCTOBER 7th, Reptilians
“I would not enter in my list of friends, who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail that crawls at evening in the public path, but he has the humanity, forewarned, will tread aside, and let the reptile live.”
Hello once again friends, welcome back to fear central. Today’s fear comes from the world of conspiracy theories. If you don’t know about the Reptilian Agenda, you sir (or madam) are behind the times. They’re here, and they have plans.
The Reptilian Agenda is the brain child of a man by the name of David Icke. In short, it involves reptilian shape shifters that live in an underground city and control world events. Sound like a load of shit? Well maybe you need to take a closer look at human history.
By artist Fro, the greatest mash-up of Super Mario and Rowdy Roddy Piper. Ever.
Hit the jump to check it out.
No more than fifteen minutes ago, I came to the startling realization that my wireless connection was conking out. With the mission of delivering the Monday Morning Commute, there was only one choice. A grim, terrifying, dangerous choice.
Sneak into Caffeine Powered’s subterranean lair. Hack into his data-relay system. Deliver the lode. Get the fugg out.
So without further adieu, I present my weekly dose of beautiful brain damage. After checking out what entertainment I’ll be exploring, hit up the comments and share your own prospective travel plans.
Wondering/Where’s Randy Savage?