Wednesday, May 2, 2012
OH NO, MS. SPRAIN. I HAVE WEASEL DICKS! A review of GROSS, GRANDPA! #2
Words simply cannot describe the obscene masterpiece that is the GROSS, GRANDPA series, and somehow, by some miracle of Satan, Osama bin Laden, and Carrot Top combined, the second issue is more over-the-top, batshit crazy than the first.
It’s barely worth mentioning the story that’s just there to act as a structure to hold up the genital madness held within these two covers, but here’s an attempt. In the first issue, Miah Guy fell out of the sky outside a treehouse where Bones and his two female roommates live. They try to help him until Ms. Sprain and her dick-snip crabs show up, attacking them all with her prehensile tits and flopping labia.
Issue two picks up with Miah Guy remembering everything, including the fact that he has two dicks that shoot out cum bullets. This leads to an aerial battle the likes of which you have never, in all of your life, seen. Guaranteed. Miah Guy’s two dicks elongate, and his scrotum enlarges. The two combine to form a giant helicopter made from his genitals, which he flies in. Yes. You read that right.
This doesn’t stop Ms. Sprain, who converts her vagina into a rocket, a Turbo-Queef, if you will. Suffice it to say, not even Clint Eastwood in FIREFOX saw an air battle like this.
There’s more, including a couple of young girls who, upon contact with water, grow enormously fat (at least until they take their diuretics). Throw in a bunch of guys who like to shower naked together (and insist that their group nudity isn’t gay), a bout of racist roleplaying, and the return of Bones, the man whose hands are bandaged because they grew too many bones after a cereal mishap, and you get the flavor of the sheer lunacy of this book.
The Grandpa from the title? We get to meet him briefly (he’s actually an aged Miah Guy) when his grandchildren are trying to bury him before he’s dead. You see, the dick-copters and turbo-queefs were in a story he was telling them at his own graveside. And now, he’s trying to save himself by telling them the story of how he’d met their grandmother (perhaps one of the diuretic twins?).
This story is just so off-the-wall, one has to wonder where the fuck it came from. Josh Filer, who writes and illustrates the book, is the perpetrator of this . . . this . . . there are no words to describe this book. The adjectives so far in this piece just don’t seem to cover it.
The artwork is the perfect compliment to the story. Filer’s style is just so ugly all of these insane images seem right at home. The only flaw is the lettering. It has the perfect frantic appearance, but sometimes it’s so jumbled it takes a moment to figure out what he’s trying to say.
On the back of this book, Filer has three blurbs, all from Nate Willkomm, an “asshole from my fictional writing class,” and all of them are just talking shit about GROSS, GRANDPA!. “I lack the capacity to comment in words my revulsion,” he says. “If I was not required to read this I would burn it right now.” If you are weak of stomach and mind, heed these words carefully. This book is most definitely not for everyone. You need a wicked, ugly, nasty sense of humor to enjoy this.
At the same time, you will never read anything like this book in your entire life. The Marquis de Sade would have been aghast at GROSS, GRANDPA!. So . . . you know . . . buy it immediately!
GROSS, GRANDPA! #2
Written and illustrated by Josh Filer