Thursday, January 10, 2008

Good Shit Friday: Black Adam

Sometimes, you gotta stop hearing all that bullshit. Your options may be limited to ignoring all that bullshit, or perhaps turning it down a tad. One can simply let that bullshit slide, but let's be honest with ourselves.

You may have to turn off that bullshit.

I've been buying quite a few shitty comics, and putting some comics I hate on pull simply for the purpose of insulting them and letting people know what's up. It's nowhere near the level of dedication AJ and Bale have put into this little endeavor, but I'm trying to get started.

That said, it can't be all about the crap here. I feel we'd be doing you a disservice by only showing the worst. So here's something I think you'll agree is fantastic, and I hope you'll put your comics dollar towards it:



Black Adam Lightning

If you have no prior knowledge of Black Adam aside from 52, this book is perfect. I had no fucking clue what was up with the Marvel Family, his association with the Suicide Squad or the JSA.

I still adore it.

Teth Adam is a man who has been fucked. Hard.

Imagine, if you will...having it all. Until the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse that were manufactured by mad scientists on a Mad Scientist Island kill your family. One of them gets loose and runs of, so you flip the fuck out and kill an entire goddamned country.

Somewhere along the line you lose your awesome power to kill everything and you now live in hiding because you're the biggest killer fuckin' ever.

His motivation in the mini-series isn't redemption. He simply wants to resurrect his dead wife and live out his days with her.

To do so he will have to be the biggest asshole known to man.

Peter J. Tomasi and Doug Mahnke weave this manly tale of revenge wonderfully. I wish Marvel had fifteen of these dudes cloned and primed to write every mainstream title.

The story begins with Teth laying shit out for you, (the JSA bits are lost on me) and promptly jumps to the here and now.

Before Teth can start his brutal quest, he must become unrecognizable to a world that wants his head on a pike. Plastic surgery isn't an option, so he opts to get beaten in the fucking face for two whole fucking days.



Oh God. So many awesome moments in this mini-series.

For example, when Teth leaves the Lazarus Pits after unsuccessfully trying to bring back Isis.


Click to Enlarge

Wait a second, motherfucker! You leave my dead wife's bones out of this shit or I'll be forced to RAAAAAGGGGHHHH!!!!!!


Click to Enlarge

You'd think after an opening this strong DC wouldn've stopped it after the first two issues for kicking so much ass. But no! Six issues of this!

Buy this now or I will never respect you at all.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Super-hero-ing Hoes

Whenever I get into conversation involving comic book characters with the various folks I talk to, at some point one person in the chat blurts out:


Elaboration, via urban dictionary:

when you ejaculate on a girls back then put a blanket on her so when she stands up the blanket sticks therefore making her look like she has a cape

Clever, Souja Boy. Clever.

Anyhow, they'll bring up a horrific battery of questions they feel is only properly answered by me.


How would one Oa that ho?

Well, I'll not fuck about. Here's a comprehensive list I've compiled after so many impromptu queries:


The Thing

Batman That Ho: This entails jizzing into your hand, swirling it around in your palm some, reaching back with said hand and pitching it into your partner's mouth.

You then instruct your partner to spit it back into your hand to repeat the process, much like the Batarang's returning motion.

Guy Gardner That Ho: Put a paper bag over your partner's face, tape a picture of your face on that bag and fuck your partner in the ass in front of a mirror.

Martian Manhunter That Ho: Fuck your partner with a Swiss Army Knife.

Storm That Ho: Disassemble the safety mechanism in your clothes dryer that stops the spin when you open it.

Throw a bunch of bottle caps in the dryer. Turn it on for 20 minutes on Extra Dry. Fuck your partner doggy-style, head first within the dryer.

Man-Bat That Ho: Duct tape lengths of styrofoam to your arms and dive from a considerable height with your partner's orifice as your target. Upon entry, scream BATMAN and bite your partner in the throat.

Dr. Light That Ho: Rape.


Captain America That Ho: Fuck your partner, then immediately apologize for having intercourse outside of wedlock.

Deadpool That Ho: Burn Ryan Reynolds with sulfuric acid and fuck him in the ass.

Spider Woman That Ho: Fuck your partner, steal his/her social security number and sell it to Russians.

Fantastic Four That Ho: Tie your partner to a chair, obscure your partner's vision, and cover your partner in gasoline. Dip your hand in wet cement, ball it into a fist and let it dry.

When it is dry, set your partner on fire and fist fuck as much as needed with stone hand.

Now stop fucking asking.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Tales from the Convention Floor

I don't know if any of my "esteemed" colleagues are as well traveled as I am, so I will not assume that they also have convention floor tales to beguile and bemuse you all with, but hey, if they have them, they can post them.

For the record, even after all of this, I will still go to conventions all the time. Just for your entertainment.

I am a masochist. I have a morbid curiosity that leads me to dark dens rested deep in the underbelly of every subculture and niche society has to offer. Bizarre pornography. Cock fights. The seediest, scummiest places you can imagine. I've been there. All of these things have a siren's song that I cannot ignore. Yet, the one thing that is more embarrassing than all of these fascinations, the one thing that actually can get my goat if brought up is this: I love me some comic books.

Well, not really, but it was such a good opening I had to use it. Seriously, when's the last time you got to say "get my goat"?

Sometimes it's downright depressing being a comic-book fan. First of all, when asked what I've been reading lately, the faces you get when you say Justice League of America make you feel as if you'd be better off saying the nutritional facts on the back of Count Chocula. Secondly, most other fans are just so batshit loco and vehemently aggressive about their favorite characters that being associated with them makes you feel like less of a human being for enjoying the adventures of Batman. But the worst part is the conventions. Oh god, the conventions. This is the story of one such convention. This is Wizard World: Philadelphia.

Now, one does not go to any event of rabid fandom without expecting to be at least a little bit mortified by those who take things far too seriously. That way lies madness. Beforehand, you must try to mentally prepare yourself for the abominations to both God and aesthetics that will surely roam the convention floor. You will try, but surely fail. There is no preparation

You think you've seen the worst scum to be scraped from the bottom of the barrel of nerdiness? My friend, you aint seen nothing. Don't believe me? Go to any fan convention you can find. I will visit you in the asylum.

This is not to say I view myself as a debonair and dastardly handsome young lad, but fuck, there are some things human eyes were not meant to view. If only it had the same effect as opening the Ark of the Covenant, because surely you will want to die after witnessing such horrors.

For starters, the line to get inside was being led by a very unattractive, very overweight man in drag. He was dressed up as a girl from Pokemon. Said girl wears a cut off shirt. So, as the line moved forward, I was pulled towards a sweaty sack of hairy man-fat reminiscent of the Death Star luring in the Millennium Falcon. I didn't want to walk towards it, but I had no choice. I had to meet some comic creators and Lou Ferrigno.

Having successfully navigated the abominable guardian of the line, it was time to take my place on the convention floor; it was as if stepping into another world. Inside the hall was...staggering. The pale, the pimpled, the scrawny, and those who could no longer walk under their own power mingled into an orgy of the socially retarded. My friend, you couldn't walk more than 3 feet without cringing. Just overhearing conversations on which comic book character's "jugs" were indeed the most perky, no less than three times, is mind-numbing, to say the least. (Psylocke won, by the way)And, that's not even taking into account the costumes.

The costumes were awful. Most of them were half-assed. A five-minute make-up job does not The Joker make. I have never seen so many cardboard robots that were not in television specials about kids who were too poor to afford costumes, but learned the spirit of family somehow at the end of it all.

Now, I am not adverse to people dressing up in costume -- if it looks good. No, my aversion is to sloppy costumes not meant for your weight. Now, I am fat myself, so I cannot scold those whose favorite thing is too many pancakes, but man I don't walk around showing my sweet man cleavage to the unwashed masses. I cover my shame. These people did not.

I could harp endlessly on the platoon of Stormtroopers who almost shook the convention room floor as they walked. I could go on about the 400 pound (I asked) Scarecrow. But the worst offender, by far, was a 500+ pound gelatinous mass of obscured gender sporting a hair lip and out-of-control mutton chops at least 30-years-old dressed as the Batman character Harley Quinn.

For those not in the know, Harley is a bombshell character in a skintight red costume. Where this, and I struggle to use the word, person, found the sheer amount of fabric to create this costume is a mystery lost to the cosmos. it, and it would not leave me alone.

Yes, I spent the majority of my time at a comic book convention avoiding a sea cow in spandex. I go to a booth to get my picture taken with Lou Ferrigno (who was charging twenty bucks for a Polaroid, so I quickly dismissed that notion), and turn around to see it just smiling at me. I meet one of my favorite writers, Brian Michael Bendis, and tell him how rad he is, only to be greeted by muttonchops.

This game of cat and mouse continued for about 2 hours until I finally snapped. I ask what the hell it's doing following me around so much. I am not attracted to, and at this point, its feelings are the last thing on my mind. I find out, it, indeed, is female, and she just wanted to tell me I have a nice shirt. For two hours. Working up the courage to tell me I have a nice shirt.

I almost would have been touched. This was a moment of human frailty right here. This creature was reaching out to me. Then, she tried to kiss me for some bizarre reason, and no one wants to see a hair lip that close. Apparently, acknowledging her existence is what really got her engine running.

Speaking of running, that was my cue to exit. I'd only been there three hours, but just the sheer overwhelming depression this haven of inept nerds desperately clinging to their funny books and Thor's Mjolnir replicas as some sort of pass out of real social interaction spewed forth like a poisonous gas and choked the air of the entire convention center.

Now, I know some of you. Your interest has been piqued. You are masochists, like myself. You must see these creatures first hand, like some sort of safari. Well, while the idea of a nerd safari is sound in theory, and you have much less of a chance of being mauled by a lion, don't. Just don't. If you value your sanity, please, for the love of god, download 2 Girls 1 Cup. Look up beasttube. The internet is enough. You do not want to see these people in person. There is not enough soap in the world to untarnish my poor eyes after what I saw in only three hours.

And, if you want to ignore my warnings, if you think you are more mentally sound than me, if you think I am exaggerating, feel free to try and prove me wrong. Though, when you stand in the shower for days upon end because one of them touched you, don't turn to me for sympathy.

Monday, December 31, 2007

The Assassins

Oh lawdy, it's my first post! And I'm gonna use it to tell you about Assassins.


Wrong again.

Ah, there we go. Assassins is a comic from the wonderful experiment that was the Amalgam Comics brand. DC and Marvel thought "Well, people love Batman, and people love Wolverine. Why don't we just mix them together?!" and a splendid combination on par with Bacon and Asbestos was born.

Amalgam spawned hordes of characters such as the menacing Dark Claw, the horrifying Bat-Thing, the brutal Thorion and Lobo the fucking Duck. Alas, I digress, for today I'm focusing on Assassins. I promise I will cover more Amalgam stories in future posts.

The issue opens up with Dare(The combination of Daredevil and Deathstroke) and Catsai (The combination of Catwoman and Elektra) slaughtering the poor combination of Deadshot and Bullseye, Deadeye in his only appearance in an Amalgam comic ever. Which is a shame because I fucking love me some Deadshot. First I would like to bring to your attention Catsai's costuming choice.

Her actual costume is, well shitty, but it's the 90's so you gotta roll with the punches. However, what in Satan's unholy asshole is she wearing over it? Is it a forcefield? Is it some sort of magic ectoplasm? Is it Amalgamated D.K.? Regardless, it's pretty retarded, which is par for the course in this book.

This is also the first time you've seen a scan I had to do. My scanner is awful, so suck it up, read it and go blind in the process.

That's our villain, boys and girls. The combination of the Riddler and Wilson Fisk aka Kingpin. And yes, he does call himself The Big Question, which is easily one of the best/worst names in comic history. He's luring our vaguely lesbianic duo up Arkham Tower, which was built on the remains of Arkham Asylum. Now, New Gotham City has the most ruthless city government ever apparently, because instead of moving the inmates to a new Asylum they just locked them the fuck up in the tower. Yes, they essentially created a 100+ story deathtrap for anyone who wanders in. I would absolutely love to sit in on that meeting. "So, Mr. Dent, your request for the Arkham Asylum's destruction and the construction of Arkham Tower were passed. What do you want to do with the inmates? We have buses ready to transport them. Nah, fuck that nonsense, let's just lock 'em up. What? Yeah, let's just lock throw them in the tower, lock the doors and let god sort it out. Worked for Australia."

(This is where we lose our key Australian demographic.)

The Wonder Twins fight the combination of Kraven the Hunter and er..Cheetah, I guess? I don't even know. He throws some knives at them which The omnipotent narrator calls Hunga-Munga Blades. Which Wikipedia says is an actual weapon. The more you know.

Now we run into one Jimmy Urich who is a OH SWEET MARY MOTHER OF GOD

Who the hell let that beast out of the house that morning? Furthermore, who wears a bowtie with anything other than a tuxedo ever? Yes, I know that's Jimmy's thing however, he's grown out of it and look where he is now, in a disastrous company-wide crossover. Good on ya, Jimmy! (PLEASE COME BACK AUSSIES WE NEED YOU) Also, how the fuck is he a news anchor? Aren't they generally, y'know, all pretty like? If my local news starred Bow-tied gingers I would watch it even less than I already do.


Our girls stab there way through hordes of unnamed crazies until we get the shocking revelation that Dare's horns and powers were provided by Fisk!

He has a riddle for every situation. Every single damn one. Yes, even that one.

The gals have a run-in with an Amalgamation of Cable and Vigilante, I think, because you can't have a 90's comic without some Cable. They finally get to Mr. Fisk, who reveals that he hired them to kill him, because either they kill him and he dies fighting, not Strangefate's puppet, or he kills them and gets his rep back. Unless people think that Strangefate just planned it all you fucking idiot. Catsai channels Ackbar and discovers it's a trap, and Dare charges the shiny fat man.

Whoops. Bad call, hornhead. She gets her horns ripped out and they leak some kind of yellow goo. I can only assume that she stored this goo in her horns for later use when she was banging dudes. The result would be one freaked the fuck out dude and one amused Dare. She seemingly dies from her wounds and Catsai is nowhere to be seen. Then one of her cats sets a bomb and injures Fisk.

Let me repeat that.

One of her cats sets a damn explosive charge with it's cute widdle paws and blows him the fuck up. He survives, but is then stabbed and left hanging by his feet outside his window for Mr. Jimmy Ohgodkillit to find and put on the front page.

Now for my favorite part of the issue, the letter page.

Y'see, Amalgam's schtick was that it was a fake company that we were supposed to believe had been around as long as Marvel and DC have today. Meaning they had to have fanmail, but alas, they had no fans. Thus the writers had to write letters to themselves by fake fans about fake issues and fake stories. This amuses me to no end. The crowning achievement is in an issue of Dark Claw that I have lying around here somewhere that I'll show you eventually.

Thus concludes my first post. Good Night, and G'day.




Thursday, December 27, 2007

Spider-Man: Death By D.K.

Let's face the facts, mis amigos. The 90's and mainstream comic books were quite possibly the worst pairing off since the oft (and best) forgotten love affair between myself and the country of Liechtenstein. And, coming straight from the adorable little slice of Spider-Man's history known as the clone saga, I give you:




Oh snap, Spidey's about to get curb stomped by a turtle made of sperm!? Will his triumphant return be cut shortly? Will Ben Reilly prove to be a viable alternative to Peter Parker as The Spectacular Spider-Man? Will I ever find a good reason for owning this bilious tome of only the blackest bile?

The answer to these questions is no. Oh god, it's a resounding no.

Yes, Spidey, the story we are about to delve into is indeed ill, and there will be pain. That Spider-Sense sure is paying off!

The story of this issue is of the sub-Captain Planet caliber. Apparently, 90's Marvel was not quite content enough with vomiting forth some of the most asinine storylines that insulted every aspect of story-telling in their sheer audacity to exist, they had to tell us all about pollution!

Now, I don't know about you, but I don't watch documentaries that aren't about failure or serial killers, so I did not see An Inconvenient Truth. However, if Al Gore instead put out Spider-Man vs. Global Warming: A Battle No One Can Win, I'd have seen that shit no less than 105 times, and have learned quite a bit. However, Al Gore was not behind this abomination of an issue. No siree, it was some guy called Todd Dezago, who co-created Young Justice. I think of him as taking the Rob Liefield role in the Rob Liefield/Fabian Niecieza co-creation of Deadpool. What I'm saying here is, if this guy is good, he sure aint showing it here

Basically, some environmentally unsound chemical plant head named Sanders kills DK and his brother, only instead of dying, DK becomes a muck monster and swears revenge against Sanders and also Spider-Man is there, too for some reason.

Sanders originally looks like a character actor playing a 1920's gangster. You can tell he's evil because he has the most lines on him. Somehow between this point and when D.K. decides to go a murderin', he loses a shitton of weight. Then again, with art like this:

consistency is the least of your worries. Seriously what the fuck happened to anatomy and his second leg?

Now, D.K himself has some pretty awesome powers. He can dissolve anything with his super pollution. This indeed is useful and makes it so Spider-Man doesn't kick his ass even once in the span of the entire issue, and renders him relatively useless. Then again, it was Ben Reilly Spider-Man, so calling him useless is par for the course.

However, D.K's true power is to create phrases with no meaning forever adding this saying to my repertoire:

I know what you're thinking. We're all thinking it. What the fuck does that even mean? I am no expert on the intricacies of the muck man lingo, but I think it means "time to get a new writer." Pretty sure about that one.

Now, good ol' Ben doesn't want to get outshined by the clearly radical quips of one Mr. D.K on his first outing as The Spectacular Spider-Man, so, when confronting the monster a second time, he lets loose with a most spectacular zinger of his own:

Oh shit. D.K. just got served by the wittiest of witty lines. Surely he has been put in his place.

Honestly, I wish I could go more in depth with this issue, but really, nothing happens. In the end D.K. is defeated by his conscience after Spidey gives him a "don't do the whole revenge deal, it really isn't kosher" talk. This talk is on like the second to last page. I guess good ol' Toddy couldn't think of a better way to end this abortion of an issue, so he went with the whole preaching thing.

As an added Bonus, Venom and The Ultraverse:

Venom, Venom, everywhere indeed

How I miss you, 90's.

Sunday, December 23, 2007

What it is, how it do?

What's up, son? You're all gonna be squirting like Belladonna soon.

Except I'm not gonna jam a baseball bat up your ass.

Check back soon.