Monday Morning Commute: Cough Medicine Suicide!
Welcome back, friends. The Starship Omega plummeting through the Cosmos has returned, swerving out of the way of an errant cosmic calamity. We’ve finally regained cruising altitude, and a flesh-bot of your desired gender/gender combination will be along to massage your pinkish naughties soon. My name is Caffeine Powered, and I’m the Custodian and Lead Seminal Slinger aboard this Galaxy Cruise. Right here about this time, as I am ripped to the gills on a cheap Theraflu knockoff and fighting a lengthy head cold, I’m going to pontificate on what I’m enjoying this week. And so are you! That’s the whole gimmick behind this nonsense, Monday Morning Commute. More Theraflu!
Finally caught up on: Prophet
In all seriousness, I spend the weekend visiting my girlfriend’s family out in the sticks of central New York state. Now while I generally regard NYC proper as a place that should be perma-blasted into a sterile and soulless state, central NY is a bit more interesting. People mate with their cows. Teeth are a tradable commodity. Confederate flags are awesome. Naw, I’m just kidding. It’s a decent enough time, but there isn’t much to do. I carpe’d the fucking time I had and caught up on Propeht. Dios mio, man! Ever so slightly you can feel the fibrous muscles of the series contracting into some new, equally dope pose. I’m loving the addition of a team to compliment Old Man John on his quest to take down the Earth Empire. Loving it!
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Wanting to see: Zero Dark Thirty
The cool thing to do right now is to debate whether or not Zero Dark Thirty is torture porn. However, right now this debate is only reserved for the blessed few who have gained access to early screenings. Unenlightened proles such as myself must stand behind the red rope and watch the bloated titans throw polemics at one another. Torture porn? Honest interpretation of the events? I have no idea. Won’t have an opinion until after I see it, and even then I imagine I’mma go ahead and puff on my bubble pipe for a while. You know, ruminating on the concept.
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Seriously, fuck you: The NHL Lockout
For the love of Pete, someone either resurrect Nana or pull the plug on the life-support. I can’t go on living in this limbo.
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I lament the shit out of: my raw ass nose
My nose has been running for the better part of five days now. This lovely happening has left the outer rim of my viciously enormous French schnooze a painfully pink hue. Lovely little slabs of flesh hang off the nostrils, daring to be pulled like deli tickets. Thankfully for my girlfriend, this has left me breathing out of my mouth. I imagine nothing is nicer than a hot, sludgy cauldron of snoring sickness wheezing in your face while you’re trying to sleep. I’m going to need a place to crash soon folks. Can’t imagine she is going to tolerate me much longer.
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My eternal love: Borderlands 2
Pandora and I hang out not too frequently, but when we do it is fucking magic. I got to rip through some of my second Borderlands 2 playthrough last week with The Dude and it was the most fun I had in a while. Gearbox has slithered their tendrils right into the Loot Grind Sockets that had been drying out ever since Diablo 3 left me wanting. Give me an occasional gratification, and I’m yours to toy with. Oh baby. Not to mention the entire fucking enterprise is so much more manic and enjoyable when you’re rolling deep with a posse. It feels like same the game, albiet on steroids. Steroids that make your butt leak happy fluids, that you then slather all over your face before leaving to go buy a roast beef sandwich. And when the counter guy refuses to serve you because you’re covered in petroleum jelly and soft (at best) feces, you begin screaming about “Goddamn Barry Obammer” and his “socialist jihad.”
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So uh, what are you folks up this week?
