I’ll never forget the night I fucked Miss Americana 1973.

We’d met earlier in the evening for some casual drinks. Sitting in the Holo-Lounge, we ran a huge tab and sparred with one another. We both pulled punches, knowing that the other was far too vulnerable to be dealt a true blow. She was as defenseless against my clever quips as I was against her cheekbones   and ass. Oh boy, was I defenseless when I was against her ass!

Anyways, banging a supermodel in a space station hotel suite is hardly an event worthy of a bedpost-notching. Hell, the name R. Frankenstein isn’t on three different brands of jetpack-vibrators because my stinky-little-peenie hasn’t gone off-planet. No, I’ll never forget my sexual encounter with Miss Americana 1973 because of what she gave me.

My first LSTD experience.

She had just climaxed, yanking out a clump of my hair and pouring a bottle of Pepsi on my belly (per my request) when I started to feel…off. At first I chalked up the tingling at the back of my head to either coital-bliss or an impending tumor. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling persisted. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling grew stronger. So I kept feebly thrusting. And the tingling turned into music.

And then the walls began melting and Roger Rabbit materialized so that he could tickle my ass and Miss Americana 1973 metamorphosed into a squid-creature that would’ve made even the likes of Lovecraft squirm and cry like a babby and then I began to cum but my dick shot out staples instead of ejaculate but I felt no pain only the wonder of producing steel from my sexual reproductive organ and I had to apologize to my squid-lover of the evening because I had shot staples all over his back but I made sure to clean them up with a rainbow.

When I awoke the next morning, Miss Americana 1973 was nowhere to be found. It seemed that I was completely alone in the suite. But then I closed my eyes and I saw that I had visitors – the spellbinding memories from the night before.

The remembrances of my first sexually-transmitted hallucinogenic experience.

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Hello to all of you – the heroes, bombshells, brats, nerds, Capitalist-hating-Commies, stuntmen, nurses, Commie-hating-Capitalists, post-modern Romantics – that visit Omega-Level? Thissere’s the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE, your spot for sharing the various means by which you’ll survive the workweek. Hit up the comments section and share what you’ll be reading, watching, playing, eating, or listening to this week.

It’s internet show-and-tell at its most dastardly.

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I am a sick man. I am a diseased man. While I wish I was the Man from Dostoyevsky’s Underground, I’m just a nerd. Afflicted with phlegm and nausea and a quivering of the bowels. So in all honesty, my friends, I’m pounding out this column quicker than Billy Batson can shazam the fuck outta Dodge. Gray and green and brown matter is flying all over my keyboard. I need the dull glow of Theraflu and the prone position.

Press Start!. Column that spouts off on top five things that caught my attention in gaming this week.

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Dock Ellis threw a no-hitter for the Pittsburgh Pirates on June 12, 1970. He later admitted that he had done so while on acid. Deadspin editor A.J. Daulerio tried to recreate the heroic and hallucinatory feat. Dropping some acid, he fired up the Xbox and gave it the old psychadelic trry.

Hit the jump to watch a video of his valiant efforts.

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