MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE: Blackmail the Universe
Bask in the glory of Dave Mustaine’s melting face. It runs down his skull, slowly dripping onto his kevvy metal t-shirt. Despairingly, he rips the t-shirt off before it stains his perpetual undergarment. He forever wears a “Kill Em All!” tee that he stole back in 1983. Every night before he goes to bed, he rubs its fabric between his fingers. Praying to both Alex Jones and Whatever God He Believes In That Year, he utters one phrase over and over. “Please call me, Jimmy Hetfield. Please call me.” The sheer repetition of the hours-long nightly prayer dims into a dull drone, people throughout his underground bunker (the End is Coming) wishing that either Hetfield would call him, or he would go to sleep. They care not which, and they can’t express either. You see, throughout the compound Davey’s prayer is blared through loudspeakers on every wall. These same loudspeakers are live microphones. The peons must follow their Saviour (or employer, okay) in his prayers. Over and over again, they pray. Hoping to channel their extended energy in a way that has never, ever worked. The answering of a prayer through sheer mass of plea.
Uh, what? Anyways, this is MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE. Where we talk about the arts we’re enjoying this week. Guys and gals, let us party.
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Reading: The Illustrated Man. Ray Bradbury.
After weeks of badgering Rendar to find his fucking copy so he could lend it to me, I came across a copy by the same good lad. Yesterday, he hooked me up with The Illustrated Man for my birthday. I cannot wait to delve into this son of a bitch.
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Need to: Get back on my grind.
Fucking holidays. I must have gained ten pounds in the past six weeks. Shame, too. I was in pretty decent shape right before the Holiday Gauntlet. Not only that, but being out of work until the 28th of this month has me sitting around in the apartment. Staring at the yummy yummies that could make my belly smile. I need to return to the gym. It shall once again know my name!
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Listening: Ex Lives. Every Time I Die.
I didn’t really give ETID’s latest a fair spin last year when it dropped. I knew in a vague and abstract way that I enjoyed it. When I listened to it, it would honey my ears with razor blades. Yet despite this indistinct love, I stopped spinning it. Don’t fret though, motherfuckers! I’m back in the game. I’m coupling this with my desire to run fast. Hopefully the two of them should propel me into comfy jeans wearing time.
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Watching: Zero Dark Thirty.
Look at the above image. My ass, December! It’s January 7, and the son of a bitch film is finally opening up this weekend. The Mrs. and I will head to the theaters on Friday, bracing ourselves for the most glorious of Freedom Loving-Torture Porn! I’m just trolling. There isn’t any certain idea in my brain-plates (they grind when you think, smell the sulphur) as to what I will think. There is curiosity, though. That has to count for something.
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What are you guy and gals enjoying this week?