The first season of American Vandal gives you the old Mary Poppins treatment. Loops you in with a humorous satire of our pop culture’s obsession with true crime banality. Then gives you a fucking enjoyable one-two sucker punch of pathos, and an interesting commentary on high school and documentaries. When all is said and done, you’re left with a surprising amount to chew on, and a vague yearning for more of the series. Well, guess what. More is officially coming.

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Hello, salutations, and greetings, fellow Trash Lords. Scions of the Elder Garbage. It’s I, your fearless dumpster pile, Caffeine Powered. Coming to you from a shitty, broken down computer at the public university at which I theoretically work. I say theoretically since due to bureaucracy and the lack of an actual budget for the Fall Semester (seriously), I haven’t gotten paid since August. Eh, whatever, whatever.

I come to you here, because as I’ve commented upon in other posts, my goddamn personal computing machine is about to enter its own fourth week of in-action.

But, hey. I got time before class, so I figured I would throw some sort of line of communication into the EchoChamber.

For perhaps the first and only time, it’s Thursday Whatever The Fuck! My angered, frantic Thursday edition of Monday Morning Commute.

I miss ya’ll, I miss blogging for ya’ll (all three of you), so here’s what I’m up to this week. You know, when I’m not embracing a desiccated bank account and a general malaise.

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Netflix is putting out an eight-episode skewering of their own true crime proclivity, and it is centered on penis graffiti. Yup, that’s where we’re at, folks. And I love it.

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