#Slop Culture
Monday Morning Commute: Turn Off the Goddamn Oven!
“I shouldn’t’ve done this. She’s not safe by herself. We gotta go back.”
“Dammit Greg, we haven’t had a date-nite in thirteen weeks.”
“You’ve been keeping track?”
“Of course I’ve been keeping track. Date-nite is a sacred event, a testament to the wonder that is our relationship. There’s compromise – you choose the movie, I choose the restaurant. There’s chivalry – you hold every door and pay for everything, even when I protest. And there’s sex – we always end the evening by rolling around in bed, expressing our physical attraction by playing with each other’s ballsacks. We need this.”
Greg paused. He wanted to feel okay about leaving his mom at home, but he couldn’t. Dale saw this, and continued making his argument.
“Listen, your mother’s going to be fine. She’s just old, and sometimes that means she gets a little confused-”
“A little confused? Yesterday I poured myself a glass of a milk and she said that she never knew Martians could handle Earth-dairy.”
“I’m sure she was just joking around.”
“Oh yeah? Then why did she part the curtains, point out the window, and exclaim, ‘Looks like, we’ll be touching down on Ganymede in no time! Quick! Put on your spacesuit! If the admiral catches you out of it, he’ll stick you with kitchen-duty!’?”
Dale knew his boyfriend had a point. But couldn’t give up. Selfishly, he wanted dinner and a movie, followed by sex. More altruistically, he honestly didn’t think Greg’s mother was in any jeopardy.
“Greg, if I thought there a serious risk that Rhonda would hurt herself, I wouldn’t be in the car with you right now. But she’s fine — you put her to bed and watched her fall asleep. You know where she’s going to be when we get back? In bed, sleeping! Probably dreaming about traveling the solar system in a rocketship, but in bed nonetheless. We’ll check in to see her peacefully sleeping, sneak into the kitchen for a piece of that rum cake you spent all afternoon baking, and then hit the bedroom.”
Dale kissed Greg on the cheek, and all was well. Greg had been mollified. Date-nite was still ready for lift-off.
And then the panic-gazelles stampeded across the Great Plains of Greg’s face.
“Oh shit! Oh shit! Oh shit!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Fuck, we have to go back right now! Dale, turn the fucking car around!”
“Greg, calm down! What’s wrong?”
“I’m so stupid! I was so fucking caught up in putting Mom to bed that I forgot take the cake out! I forget to turn off the goddamn oven! D’ya know how much alcohol I put in that cake? The fucking house is going explode!”
[][][]
Rhonda Bilkes crossed the threshold, excited for the mission at hand. She’d been to Ganymede to Mars and even Pluto. But never had she been tasked with surveying the Sun.
Oh, she could already feel the wonderful solar heat penetrating her spacesuit!
—-
Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute!
This is the spot I drop a whole bunch of nonsense, and then show off the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself during the course of the workweek. Hey man, don’t blame me! I’m a hack-writer and I’ve got duties to fulfill! Anyways, your job is to hit up the comments section and share the methods of life-improvement you’ll be employing.
It’s show-and-tell for pop-culture addicts, basement-dwelling-nerds, aspiring artists, and all others who count themselves amongst the OL faithful.
Let’s rock!
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Video: ‘AVENGERS’ spoof by Jeremy Renner on SNL is amusing. Yeah, amusing.
Here’s that sketch from SNL on Saturday featuring Renner and the cast spoofing the Avengers. You’ve probably already seen it. If you haven’t, if you’re that one guy or gal, enjoy.
BURGER KING getting all-you-can-eat in Japan. Limited time awesome.
Oh glory be to the toilets in Japan. With Burger King over there dropping a limited time all-you-can-eat buffet, the stupendous dumps erupting out of groaning and fatigued buttholes are going to be fantastic. I mean, right? Don’t frown. You know that it’s true.
OMEGA-`LECTION DAY!
Oh snap! Looks like OMEGA-`LECTION DAY is upon us! I can’t believe we’ve made it to another one, but since we’re here we might as well celebrate! Hit the jump to check out all of our totally legitimate coverage!
WEEKEND OPEN BAR: who’s your president?
[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.]
Presidents suck.
Maybe there’s something in the White House water. Or maybe it’s the fact that it takes an elevated level of egotism and self-righteousness and disregard for human life to serve as Commander-in-Chief. But the fact of the matter is that any individual who’s ever been President of the United States of America has sucked.
JFK. Reagan. Lincoln. Washington. FDR. Hayes. Clinton. Fillmore. Boneheads, the lot of `em!
Tuesday is Election Day, and as such the people of the United States will head to the polls to decide which miscreant is going to have a place in the Oval Office. There’ll be television coverage and petty spats between friends who don’t understand why they’re voting for their respective candidates and it’ll be the abysmal illusion it always is. Don’t resist, just revel.
With that being said, let’s take the time to engage in a much more important discussion. Something that matters to us. A topic that has actually affected our daily lives.
WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE FICTIONAL PRESIDENT?
Monday Morning Commute: Frankenstorm’s Monster
Hello there! If you’re reading this it means that Frankenstorm hasn’t totally rocked you. Not yet, anyways. Or, if you took the proper precautions as I did, you’re safe in a bunker, leisurely tapping away on a hard-shelled laptop produced in 1995 and powered by a Soviet-surplus generator.
Mother Nature is a powerful woman of antiquity, but I’m a crafty miscreant in the digital age.
Anyways, welcome to the Monday Morning Commute, the weekly meeting at which we confess our darkest entertainment secrets. Can’t tell your boyfriend about that comic book you bought? Come to the MMC! None of your coworkers will appreciate the Japanese import you just got in the mail? Come to the MMC! Pretty sure your wife doesn’t give two buttery squirrel shits about the fact that you’re going to beat Super Mario Bros. 3 without the use of a single warp or whistle? Come to the MMC!
I’m going to get things started. But then it’s up to you to share what you’ll be doing this week. C’mon, it’s electronic show and tell!
Hugh Jackman as Wolverine rocking Gangnam Style with PSY? Okay.
Here is your evening’s moment of slop culture fecaltainment convergence.
1 gallon jug of McDonald’s BBQ SAUCE sells for nearly $10,000. Slop culture ++
I don’t know about you, but I ain’t spending $10,000 on much. Maybe a dinosaur egg. Maybe Bo Jackson’s artificial hip. Definitely not 1990s barbecue sauce from McDonald’s.
WEEKEND OPEN BAR: childhood memories
[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.]
Hullo there, chums!
It’s the weekend again, and as such we all need to take some time to enjoy ourselves. Pop open bottles of beer! Blast some tunes! Squeeze some ass! Sure, we all have obligations that need attendin’ – voyages to the supermarket, respect-payings at the in-laws’, survival-games at karate class you signed up for because the lady-sensei has an incredible rack and you’re hopin’ she’ll beat the ever-livin’ shit out of you! But you have to enjoy these days, too!
`Cause what’s the point of havin’ a life if you aren’t goin’ to enjoy livin’ it?
This weekend, I want us all to take the time to think about just how wonderfully foolish we’ve been. Hell, actin’ like an idiot from time to time is a symptom of the perception-granting disease known as human existence. And it’s an important one too, `cause it enables us to learn from our mistakes. Since we’re all guilty of being momentary schmohawks, we might as well call ourselves out on it.
At best, it’ll help us become more actualized human beings. At worst, we’ll get some laughs.
To gain entrance into this weekend’s OPEN BAR, you need to share an embarrassing story from your childhood.
Did you barge into the bathroom to find your Uncle Rojo disinfecting his nether-regions? Care to retell how you asked your mom’s barren friend why she didn’t have any children? What about the time that you told your older sister’s boyfriend that he was hunkier than Hulk Hogan?
Allow me to start the tab at this OPEN BAR.
