Ain’t no damn time to be on time anymore!

Yeah, you’re lookin’ at the third late MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE in a row. Why’s that, you ask? Well, could be because I’m so goddamn busy. Y’know how it is in this modern condition! Papers to file! Dogs to sic on mailmen! Fistfights to have in grocery store dairy aisles!

Things to do!

But even though I’m chronically tardy, I’m still tryin’ to resist! Tryin’ to brace myself against the crashing waves of responsibility. And that’s why I keep comin’ back to the MMC! I need ideas, folks! Suggestions that’ll keep my head up while I suffer the slings and arrows of the outrageous 9-5 life.

Help me find fun things to do!

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I say fucking god dammit! All a man wants to do is find the gorgeous, gorgeous covers to the Days of Future Past by John Byrne. But I don’t get that! Oh no! Instead I’m ocular-fucked by a cavalcade of heinous renditions of Quicksilver and shit. Jesus Lord save me. A thousand plagues of locust upon the House Singer! Upon the House Fox!

Hit the jump to glimpse into the Singer darkness.

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This is about that time I found out that I had a hairy asshole. I remember it like it was seventeen years ago, which is to say I remember very little about it. It was a balmy summer night (I’m making this up), I was in an AOL chat room trying to cyber with anyone who would let a precocious fourteen year-old with a trigger-scrotum digitally ejaculate on them. Gender, age, ethnicity, religion, political creed, didn’t matter. 

(I’m making up about only 40% of this now.)

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Saddle up, my caballeros, buccaneers, brigands, and thieves.  It’s Wednesday, the day the nation’s geeks, the true geeks mind you – not those Box Office Geeks who say they liked Superman when they were a kid as they stand outside waiting for the Sunday matinee of Man of Steel – ahem – the day the dyed-in-the-wool geeks come out en masse, raiding the local comic shops for the newest bounty.  There was a time, young readers, when not knowing what to expect from the LCS was just a given fact.  Thanks to the wondrous gift of technology, we are blessed with foresight.  We can know the unknown.  I’m here to break down some of the best and brightest booty to get your grubby mitts on, so sit down, buckle in, and push that little red button in the center console that says “BTFC.”  Let’s talk comics, people.

For a full list of comics dropping this week, check HERE.

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I feel like Jared Leto.

And I don’t mean the Jared Leto from last nite’s Academy Awards. No, that one was all about having beautiful long-ass hair. And usin’ his victory speech to pay tribute to his Mahma. And bein’ all dappered out, white tuxedo beamin’ contrasts off his spray-tan.

I don’t feel like that Jared Leto.

And hell, I don’t feel like 30 Seconds to Mars Jared Leto, neither. Y’know that one, right? Yeah, exactly, the Jared Leto that somehow learned to play guitar and be all frontman-like while figuing out how to live his so-called life. What’s that? Yeah, this Jared Leto is also known as Ride a Bicycle in the Middle of Goddamn Street Without a Helmet Jared Leto.

Nope, I ain’t that sort of Jared Leto.

Today, I feel like good `ole fashioned Fight Club Jared Leto. The Jared Leto who, for a moment, is really happy that he’s pretty and blonde and surrounded by some peers. This Jared Leto is all, “Check it, I can fight too, dudes! First rule is — oh wait, can’t say it! Ha! Get it?! Kawaii!” Everything is pretty sweet.

And then he runs into Edward Norton.

Quite frankly, I’m feeling the grind of the workweek and life responsibilities and my own mortality and the fact that it’s been goddamn months since I’ve sat down with a stack of comic books. Allow me to wax philosophic. Wax misanthropic. Wax bitter tonic.

Wax Jared Leto.

But alas! Right here’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE! I’m goin’  to show you some of the buoys I’ll be hopin’ to cling to as I avoid getting washed out into the deepest depths of the Bullshit Sea! Then, you hit up the comments and share your own ideas! Let’s do this!

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The Oscars were on last night! Wee! You know that show, where the famous people decide which other famous people are the most famously deserving of that Golden Totem. Apparently people won things, and there was this really awesome selfie or something.

Okayokayokayokay, enough snark. “We get it, Caff-Pow. You’re contemptuous. We get it.” I’ll stop. This isn’t about me!

Rather it’s about Tom Nelson, who with a wonderful eighteen out of twenty-four correct Oscar predictions has won the first annual OL Oscars Pick’Em Majestic. That’s what I’m calling it. Working title. For his dominant forecast, Nelson has laid claim to a wonderful trophy and dammit if he wants a t-shirt he can have one of those too.

Hit the jump for the the actual winners, the scoring breakdown, and one last chance to talk trash.

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Have you ever watched the Oscars and said to yourself, “Gee, if only I had a chance to win my own trophy like those happy Oscar winners. That would really spice up my life—or at least make watching this protracted awards show a little bit more interesting.” Honestly, I don’t even know why I asked: I know you’ve thought this because I have thought the same thing and we Omega-Levellers think alike. It’s just how we roll; it’s what makes us us. Up until now, we have had no outlet to realize this dream, no real chance to shine in the spotlight. But then The Dude, always the innovator in our midst, came up with a brilliant idea to rectify this sorry state of affairs, one so simple and perfect and right for us: We should have our own Omega-Level Oscar award! And now that the Oscars air this Sunday, it’s time to unveil the competition for the inaugural (yes, I’m just going to assume there will be many, many more after this) Best Oscar-Picker award! Hit the jump if you want a piece of some OL Oscar glory.

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New podcast up in your fucking gutsss. With a special fucking guest: Pepsibones Krueger! *Phazer sound, Phazer sound, Phazer sound* Back from his stint in the OMNIVERSE. With The Bones in Tow, the Gang Omega relocated to my compartment of the Space-Ship for this edition, and what occurred is truly the tale of two podcasts. Off the bat we vomit chunks of broken-brain about True Detective, artistic integrity, Her, how much Bateman loves to feel inspired, Ms. Marvel #1 and other bullshit. Then the booze kicks in, and what follows is generally just Pepsibones and me babbling drunkenly about Avengers,  Star Wars, and Jeremy Renner’s amazing vascularity. So it’s pretty fucking awesome.

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BOOM!  Hotsauce here.  Another Wednesday, another slapdash post by yours truly giving you the 411 on today’s best funnybooks.  This week brings a whole slew of shiz to my pull-list, and I hope your comic bounty is as fruitful as mine so we can reconnoiter in the comment section and share the love.

A full list of the comics released this week can be found HERE.

So hit the jump and let’s talk about sea monsters, fantastic fourways, space cowboys, and the brotherhood of avenging archers!

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Whoops! Late on the Monday Morning Commute tip. Didn’t realize it was going to be floating in flux this week. Then it occurred to me that Rendarbones Frankenpepsi is currently en route across the vast distance of the Empire in some sort of silver tube that is intent on dying God’s will. So provided that he doesn’t crash into the side of a Mountain (death is only a transition, he’d be reborn in Earth^42, so don’t cry), he’ll be back next week. However for now you’re dealing with my hurried, blast beat-esque rundown of what I’m enjoying this week. That’s what we do around here. In Monday Morning Commute.

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