#Slop Culture
THE GANG OMEGA’S PICKS OF 2012: Rendar Frankenstein’s Rumination Frenzy!!
It’s with a tearful eye and a hyper-extended thumbs-up that I bid farewell to 2012.
The last twelve months have been some of the finest of my entire life. And I’m not exaggerating. Unlike those saccharine slobs who always clamor about the present hour being their finest and the preceding moments nothing more than the bliss-steps to their existence plateaus, I have no illusions about the fact that I’ve chalked up some miserable years. I’ve anguished through entire calendars, burnin’ `em up with fuel of the most incendiary sort.
Self-doubt! Resentment! Apathy! Vitriol! Cynicism! Sally forth towards the mire!
But 2012 was a whole different beast. Sure, there definitely some moments when my nostrils were assailed by the wispy vapors of the aforementioned propellants. But repugnance was ultimately cast aside, overpowered by the surfeit of wonder! It’s almost as though entertainment and art and love formed a giant sword-wieldin’, monster-destroyin’ mech, and I got to pilot the son-of-a-bitch!
If only!
Anyways, it looks as though every crew member of Spaceship OL is delivering their year-end highlights, so I’m going to join the party. But since I’ve garnered a reputation as being the erratic, currently-undiagnosed-but-we’re-working-on-it, hack-writin’ resident of the crew, I’m going to switch things up a bit. Each of my highlights will be paired with an Ultra-Dimensional Portal! By clicking on any UDP, a hole will be punched in space-time, and your consciousness will be projected astrally.
Got it? Okay, here’s one last look at 2012!
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Monday Morning Commute: the disco ball spins away another year!
Step right up, folks! This is the end of 2012!
What an adventurous year it’s been. There’ve been thrills and chills, screams and dreams, and hoots to boot! In case you missed any of the excitement, the OL Squadron has been doing flybys of all of the year’s highlights. And if you haven’t taken the time to personally enjoy 2012, well, you’ve got one last crack at it. New Year’s Eve, the night of champagne sparkles and ethanol-gropings and cocktail shrimp catastrophes.
It’s the stuff of beauty.
Anyways, today is also Monday, and as such I present the Monday Morning Commute! During regularly-scheduled programming, this is the spot where I show you various ways I’ll be enjoying myself over the course of the week. However, with today being New Year’s, I’m going to run you through some of the bits of entertainment I’ll be chomping on in celebration of 2013’s arrival. If you’re really rowdy enough, hit up the comments section and show the OL faithful what you’ll be using for party lubricant.
C’mon, you pack of auld lang sinners!
Nic Cage x ‘THE HOBBIT’ = You’re welcome.
Shout out to community member and friend Jilly for bringing this to my attention. One hyper-manic actor to rule them all.
Monday Morning Commute: Santa’s atomic leg-drop.
It’s Christmas Eve, and you’d damn well better hope that you’ve been good this year.
Why is that? Well, I just got off the phone with Santa Claus. He’s doing well. He’s busy, of course, but things are goin’ his way. His stocks’re on the rise. He left that frumpy wife of his and snagged a lover more to his liking. And he’s decided to finally stop being so damn soft on those perennial residents of the Naughty List. Given what St. Nick has in store for this year’s crop of bad boys and girls, coal in the stocking is going to look like a walk in the park.
If you haven’t been good for goodness’ sake, Santa Claus is going to rock you with an atomic leg-drop.
There’s no way to know ahead of time whether you’ll be gettin’ a Furby or a beatdown from Santa. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning — either you’ll wake up to open presents in your pajamas, or you’ll wake up with missing teeth and cracked ribs. But why don’t we share some ways to pass the time until then? Hell, this is the Monday Morning Commute, the very spot where we meet to discuss the various ways we’ll be entertaining ourselves.
After all, it’s easy to get bested by the ennui-daemons and work-overlords. If we don’t take the time to enjoy ourselves, we’ll die as nothing more than the miserable, boring wretches that the Man wants us to be. So let’s rebel! Our bosses don’t own our souls, and Santa may break our backs, but he can’t break our spirits!
C’mon, let’s do this!
WEEKEND OPEN BAR: we are post-apocalyptic.
[WEEKEND OPEN BAR: The one-stop ramble-about-anything weekend post at OL. Comment on the topic at hand. Tell us how drunk you are. Describe a comic you bought. This is your chance to bring the party.]
We are post-apocalyptic.
The Mayan Doomsday has come and gone, and we’re all still here. Don’t give me any guff about the prophecy actually being a misunderstanding of white colonials or a co-opting at the hands of New Age dolts or the exploitation of profiteers. Last night was the end of the world and we did our best to survive.
My woman and I braced for the end by eating sushi, drinking, and watching movies.
And it would’ve been a find end. But here I am, still breathin’ and shit-talkin’ on the afternoon after the Last Night on Earth. Looking out the bay window of my third floor apartment, there’re no zombies to stave off, asteroid fragments to avoid, or swirling plague winds to justify wearing my hazmat suit. The robots haven’t raped our dogs and the aliens’re finding a better species to share omnidimensional enlightenment with. The bogeymen that knocked on our doors last night have already hopped back on the bus to return to Doomsville.
The Mayan idiot-scholars were wrong. Roland Emmerich was wrong. Hell, even the X-Files was wrong.
We’ve all survived an apocalypse. Not the first, and certainly not the last. And it feels great! But it’d be a goddamn shame to let this conflagration of hope dwindle down to the last embers. Let’s make the most of it, let’s take this sense of opportunity – even if we don’t really deserve it – and do something with it.
What’re you going to do now that you’ve survived the apocalypse?
Video: Samuel L. Jackson and Anne Hathaway debate whose movie is more f**king sad.
The latest Funny or Die jam has Samuel L. Jackson and Anne Hathaway debating which one of their Christmas-release movies is more sad. Just watch it.
‘GAME OF THRONES’ is getting an official beer. Inebiration is coming! (Or some dumb pun.)
It isn’t as cool as getting shattered with Robert Baratheon, but soon we fans of Game of Thrones will be able to drink official beer. It tastes like incest and subterfuge!
Woman uses her breasts to smuggle cocaine. Enterprising ++
If I have learned anything from Breaking Bad, it is that drug smuggling is the mother of invention. While not nearly as cool as using an entire chicken restaurant to smuggle drugs, this enterprising lass used something quite interesting. Her bub-bub cavities.
MUSTACHE TRANSPLANTS are a thing, and becoming more popular. Ridiculous ++
Everybody want the mustaches. Movember may be over, but that doesn’t mean you can’t grow a stache. Or try to grow one. And if you can’t? Get that bad boy grafted onto your upper lip. Don’t make any excuses, bro.
Life-sized CHOCOLATE BABY HEADS will sate the cannibal fatty.
I don’t know about you folks, but the only thing I crave on a more consistent basis than the delicious soft skulls of a newborn baby (this is getting dark quickly) is chocolate. Due to this, I usually use a bottle of Hershey’s syrup as a personal applicator. I don’t have to any longer though, it appears. Life-sized chocolate baby heads? Gnarly.
