#December2016
OMEGA-CAST #20: Doctor Strange’s Socratic Flatulence
The latest descent into adolescent sophistry, scatalogical humor, and irredeemable buffoonery is upon you, folks. Gnash your teeth at The God That Forgot You and curse It for allowing us to continue our podcast.
This latest iteration covers a typical gamut of garbage.
Feauring such topics as “Eating only broccoli that women have farted on” and “Hipster Or Homeless? should be a game show.”
If that hasn’t sent you away, we also mock both Liberals and Trumpers, have half-hearted conversations about Doctor Strange and Arrival, and psychoanalyze Bateman’s childhood pants-shitting and subsequent life-long catastrophic psychological trauma.
We hope you’ll join us!
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Tuesday Evening Commute: I Hate It Here
It’s Election Night in America. In fact since I’m tardy writing this (I’m always tardy writing this, this semester!), I’ve had the distinct pleasure of turning off Early Results, closing my Twitter, and instead retreating here. To what has been so admirably dubbed my Space-Oasis, the Space-Ship Omega.
Weekend Open Bar: Perspective Is A Hell Of A Drug
It’s that time again, folks. Weekend Open Bar, folks. I’ll level with you: I’m tired. I’ll level with you: I have nary an ounce of creative juice to squeeze out of my mind-guts, and that’s if you’re being optimistic and crediting me with creativity on occasion. But. Hey. It’s that time again, folks. Weekend Open Bar, folks. Someone has got to turn on the neon lights. Someone has got to make sure the hearth is lit. Someone gotta hook up the draught. That’s me, that’s me, that’s me! None the less, outside of that fact, with that taken into consideration, I’m pretty fucking good.
A little fatigued, a little woozy, a little weary. But here! Here, dammit.
Tuesday Evening Commute: Born Of The Bomb
It’s Tuesday, Tuesday Evening. I’m writing what was supposed to be Monday, Monday Morning Commute. The clock ticks towards quarter of 6pm, Eastern Seaboard of the Empire Standard. I have approximately 23 minutes to file this, to fart it, to fecal-blast this shinformation onto your digital face. Before! Before my next obligation. I’ve been wearing the same dress pants for ten hours, I’m tired, my caffeine levels are precariously low, and I have so much goddamn wood to chop before I sleep.
But I’m happy, happy to generate this minuscule bubble of textual diarrhea. This minuscule raft in the shitty seas of oblivion that seem to constitute this year, this 2016 A.D. Come friends, come quickly. Ignore my purple-headed boner, I merely have to pee. Come friends, come quickly. Ignore the wild look in eyes, I’m merely between my past caffeine fix and my next.
Come friends, come quickly. Join me on this raft, cling to it with me. Nay, cling to it for me.
This is Tuesday Evening Commute. This is what I’m looking forward to this week. Please, I implore, I beseech, I cajole. Please, join me in the comments section. Let me know what you’re indulging in this week.
‘Doctor Strange’ TV Spot: Experience The Impossible
Here’s a new Doctor Strange TV spot. This one focuses on the mind-bending impossibility of the movie’s reality, which is a high-point of the movie according to reviews.
Monday Morning Commute: You Are Always Home
Monday Night, another Monday Night. Less hectic than most, more hectic than some. But I’m here, and so I type, and so as I type the sands of time drain. Both towards the moment of imminent slumber, and the moment of eternal slumber, the eradication of order on a cellular level for one Ian Omega. What’s weird? On this autumnal night, less hectic than most, more hectic than some? What’s weird is that I fear the former more than the latter. The former brings the siren screech of an alarm clock, the latter brings at worst Nada and at best Something Else.
All of this is neither here nor there, though, neither here nor there.
For this right here is Monday Morning Commute.
‘Doctor Strange’ Featurette: Open Your Mind (To The Villains)
Doctor Strange continues to inch closer. As, you know, everything does. Meat-sack rot, death, the slow entropic puttering of the Universe. But, hey! Maybe Doctor Strange will be a momentary reprieve from the soul-crushing reality of the latter aforementioned.
