#June2017
‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 Trailer: Premiering July 30, bringing some nihilistic laughs to your summer
Holy shit: Rick and Morty‘s third season is dropping in a month. Holy shit: here’s a trailer for said season.
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‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 dropping “later this summer”
Rick and Morty‘s third season debuted this past Saturday, on April 1. The ultimate troll job. An incredible development that I deemed a joke due to the date, which turned out to be an incredible development. I feel I’m not alone in my initial reaction. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the premiere. ‘Cause you’re going to be waiting until “later this summer” for the rest of the show’s third season.
‘Rick and Morty’ Season 3 Officially Enters Production
Rick and Morty‘s third season has officially entered production! Yes! Fuck yes! Actually. Wait — I can’t be the only one — who thought it already had?
Monday Morning Commute: The Next Four To Eight
I’m fucking tired, man. Like — way tired. Like — eyelids half closed. But here I am! But here we are. This is Monday Morning Commute. The column where I share with you fellow rotting meat-sacks what I’m looking forward to each week. Furthermore, additionally, I then, with all my audacity, ask you to share what *you* anticipating across the next seven.
So! Without further ado, without further verbosity, without further self-indulgent blathering, let’s do this!
Tuesday Afternoon Commute: The March of the Monsters!
The March of the Monsters.
It will reach its first crescendo, as they slither into the symbolic house of power this week. Here they come! Ancient ones! With gnarled fangs protruding from ruptured sockets. Here they come! With blasphemous sores upon oozing phalanges! Gnashing and beying for the life-force of the wounded, the wearied. Here they come! Tentacles and ill-intent! Here they come! Smashing and ripping and devouring. Here they come! Blood in their eyes, death in their mouths! Here they come!
What can you do? Shelter-in-place! Here! At the Space-Ship Omega! In this here post! Monday Morning Commute! By way of Tuesday Afternoon. Where we share what we’re doing this week, what we’re looking forward to this week. You know, when we’re not preparing the survival kits, building the house-sized umbrellas to shield our domiciles from the shrapnel borne out of shorn blood-meat from conquered deities.
The March of the Monsters.
Monday Morning Commute: the guy in the moderately tall skyscraper
Oh what a day, what a lovely day. The terrifying, inevitable transition from cultural entropy into the feigned doubling-down of effort and self-disciplined. Yes, yes, friends. Comrades. Frequenters of Space-Ship Omega. It’s the beginning of a new year, the cessation of the end-of-year celebrations. Darkness looms. Deadlines loom.
Hark, hark, may the Ennui strike you more as a honeyed blanket of anaesthetization. And not, oh dear god, and not as the sort of bowels-liquefying anxiety that plunges you through your corpus, through your bed, through your plane of existence and onto the bottom of the bottomless chasm of existential dread.
Oh, you need a lifeline? Oh, you need something to help with this transition back into the wild world of labor extraction? Well, buddy. Well, pal. Well, comrade. I got you. I got you.
See, this here jam is the Monday Morning Commute jam. And here at this here jam I list the various things I’m using to get myself through a work week. The TV I’m watching to close my third-eye, the music I’m using to block out the droning clarion call of Listlessness. The video games I’m employ for the total deinvigorating oculuar-auditory shutdown I just may need.
That uh, pal, that uh. Got a bit dark. But fuck it, fuck it with gumption and assertiveness.
We get can make it through this reentry together.
Weekend Open Bar: It’s Always Sunny On Space-Ship Omega
It’s the Weekend Open Bar.
Here on the Space-Ship Omega.
Round and round and round the Sun we go. Harboring ill memories, favorable moments, abject disproofs of karma, and transformative moments of kindness. In the grand scheme of things, we, the Sun, these burps and blips don’t matter one lick. In the grand scheme of things, these random scatterings of electrical impulses, of poor choices, of wise decisions, of moments of passion and anger, they’re all we fucking got.
