It’s Thursday! That can only mean one thing! Uh. The resurrection of a column from bygone days. Views From The Space-Ship. In an effort to generate that wanky, let’s all piss together holding one another’s genitals-type inclusive vibe, I share sights and sounds from my virtual and real world. Then I ask you to do the same. It’s like Instagram, but not as cool. Or inhabited. Or frequented. Or even acknowledged. But fuck I’m busy lately, so here’s something about me. In picture form. Hope you share too.

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Here’s a “glimpse” at the new Mass Effect. But honestly it’s a whole goddamn pile of platitudes, empty rhetoric, “conceptual artwork” and happy horse shit. Someone give me a goddamn look at the actual game. Like, I’d take ten seconds of actually something over this minute+ of pretty much hot air.

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So after like four days or whatever (three years if you’re counting the time I spent in my Time Shed after this calamity), I’m not as distraught about Edgar Wright leaving Ant-Man. Actually. That’s probably a lie. But even as the wounds try to heal, more news continues to trickle out. When this story first broke, one of the surprising morsels was that the script rewrites were ordered by someone above MCU Czar Mind-Lord, Kevin Feige. But apparently! That ain’t true.

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Get it? Cause don’t like, bats, carry rabies? Who the fuck knows. I’m a fecalpheliac, not a scientist! Actually, I’m neither. I’m a tri-headed Sasquatch with IBS. Anyways, Fox has officially ordered Gotham. Which frankly I don’t care about. I’m hoping you may. To justify all this.

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A little Tuesday morning nonsense-zen.

Shake your meth-laced ass to this groovy remix. Culled from the last three seasons of Breaking Bad by YouTube user placeboing, it’s funky enough to make you momentarily forget how fucking dreadful the descent happened to be.

Check it out. Spoilers, BTW. Fucking obviously.

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I knew that my rotting teeth were good for something. Well, you know. Good for something other than generating the scent of a rotten hallway whenever I yawned. You see, these teeth are the answer. The answer to “how can we clone Caff?” Apparently.

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One of the lovely things about Tarantino around the release of one of his movies is that the auteur begins to spit about upcoming works. The Melty Faced One is now once again talking about his desire to make a 1930s gangster flick.

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Shit, man. If I was a millionaire, I wouldn’t be building arks. I would be…Well, I’d probably still be blogging and just worrying a lot less about the bills. Buying my friends like so many bags of Gummi Bears. Dutch millionaire Johann Huibers  doesn’t share my swagger. Dude is building his own Noah’s Ark.

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It smelled like grease and I could still feel the skin cells from the corpse I ripped off of coating the inner guts. I didn’t care. I had the pepperoni pizza sweatshirt. I had it. Finally. George would stop laughing now, because when Tina saw me in this son of a bitch her labia would self-lubricate so fast that chaos theory dictated a colossal tsunami in some country that didn’t matter. Shouldn’t matter. Probably didn’t have cable TV there, or McDonald’s, and if those aren’t the tent pole for modern civilization then I don’t know what are.