Monday Morning Commute: IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN!
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.
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Jesus Christ Jesus Christ Jesus Christ I’m finally playing BioShock Infinite.
It’s been nearly six years since Ken Levine whipped out his narrative hog and rubbed it all over my tongue. It was a pleasure. Yes, yes, yes, yes, Levine critiqued the Free Markets! And the gentleman also allowed us to fuck shit up with telekinesis and shotguns! Goddamn if that wasn’t gratifying. And now, finally!, we’re going to see the second Levine-powered helping of the franchise. Reviews and impressions (including our own Budrickton’s) have been effusive, blathering about how magical it is to take the trip to Columbia. I’m sprung.
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It’s been like infinity years, but I’m finally rereading Fahrenheit 451.
I just recently featured Bradbury’s Illustrated Man, and I have turned my hungry gaping hole to the rest of his bibliography. By my reckoning, there ain’t any better time for me to one again enter the world of Books Burning and Guy Montag. I have a probably with the novel sort of ripping off 1984 and that flick Equilibrium, but I figure if Bradbury can use both of those inspirations well enough then it’ll all work out. There isn’t anything wrong with being inspired. I mean, did you see how much Scanners ripped off The Matrix? And those are both dope movies!
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Nothing says Easter like infinite deaths and sex courtesy of the Thrones premiere.
What the fuck do I need to say? It’s Game of Thrones. Though having read the third book, I’m more excited to see the MEGA-TON bomb that the season finale is going to unleash on the Internets. Oh boy, it is going to be colossal. Anyways, I’ll have to bide my time. It’ll be an enjoyable wait, as I am more than excited for Peter Dinky and the rest of the cast whisk me off to Westeros once more.
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Okay maybe Coheed‘s latest album doesn’t suck completely.
Rendar’s been riding the new Coheed album’s tip for the past month or so. Since whenever it came out. I have been hesitant to give the album a listen, since I’ve found frontman Claudio Sanchez’ descent into self-obsessed peddler of nonsense to be brutal to swallow. Sure the guy has always been a bit of a pretentious prick, but the overwrought science-fiction bullshit that has snaked its way throughout all of its albums has only increased with each new release. So yeah, I just wanted to give the album the finger and go on my way. However, I’ve been spinning it a bit since catching it in Rendar’s car this past weekend. Whatever. Fuck it. Why bother cutting my nose to spite my face? I’ll listen to the album. Then after I’m done, I’ll spam C&C boards with all-caps ravings. I’ll inform the acolytes who spend all their time decoding the various storylines about how it is all one overarching plot that is centered on Claudio fucking your wallet and not calling it the next day.
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That’s me, folks. What are you up to?