GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #44: WHY DO WE DO IT?

Do you realize how strange the act of asking for an autograph really is? It's fucking crazy. I've been on both sides of this one. I've asked a lot of people for autographs, and I've been asked many times for my own autograph. I still can't wrap my head around it, even though I've been meeting writers, actors, etc. who I've respected for a long time.


There's a part of it, I think, which exists to prove to other people that you did, indeed, meet this person. Hey, I hung out with James Marsters or Reggie Banister and his band, and here is my proof! But at the same time, it doesn't matter to other people, because an autograph can be forged. It only matters to the person who gets the autograph.


There are those who get things signed just so they can sell it on eBay or Amazon or whatever. I'm not here to talk about them. I'm really curious as to why we get these autographs for OURSELVES. I've been doing it for so long, I don't even know why I do it. It feels like the right thing to do, I guess.


But it goes deeper than that. When I attended Wizard World Chicago, one of the autographs I wanted the most was from Karl Urban. I wanted him to sign my copy of DREDD, because he is easily the best Judge Dredd we can ever get. But . . . well, I got a lot of good people. Michael Jai White, John Carpenter, Joel Hodgson, J. August Richards and so many more. I really wanted Urban, and I really wanted Elvira. Elvira's line was soooooo fucking long it would have taken two hours to get to her. Urban, on the other hand, had a scheduled signing. I showed up at that specific time, but apparently, he'd given up and wasn't signing shit. It bothered me. I really wanted to get him.


Why did I want that so badly? His autograph doesn't change the movie one single iota. I'm going to enjoy it whether or not it has his signature on it. Why was this so important to me? It bothered me for the rest of the day, and if I'm being honest, it still kind of bothers me. I don't want it to bother me, but it does.


I got Leinil Yu. I almost didn't, but I have Jon Lennon to thank for that. If he hadn't directed me, I probably would have left without finding him. I didn't expect to get Norman Reedus or William Shatner or Stan Lee or Bruce Campbell or anyone like that because they charge too fucking much. (I did get Rooker, though, because he kicks ass. HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER is a great debut movie, and it still has an incredible effect today. As an aside, I told him that I'd never been disappointed by him in a movie. Ever. And he said, "Well, there's always the first time." And that surprised me, because he's such a confident alpha-male that I wouldn't have expected such a self-deprecating response from him. It just goes to show you that even the toughest of actors still feel that nagging self-doubt.)


I'm getting off-topic, though. I want every book and movie and CD that I own to be signed, but I don't understand why. Is there anyone else out there who can explain this for me? I'm in the dark. On the opposite side, I'm happy to sign anything that I've done. Yet at the same time, I don't understand why my fans want that, either. Why do we do any of this? This question is directed toward both my fellow autograph hounds and my fellow authors who sign our own books to fans. Anyone?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #43: WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO, ER I MEAN CHICAGO COMIC CON, OR WHATEVER

A long time ago, in this very galaxy, I used to write comic book reviews for the Elmhurst College LEADER. I was the first of my kind, apparently. No one in any other college wrote comic book reviews (at least in Illinois), and I won an honorary mention for my efforts at a state-run journalism contest (run in conjunction with the Chicago TRIBUNE).


I don't want to get all weird and suck my own dick or anything, but I never really considered myself a reviewer in those days. I wrote about books I wanted people to read, because they were fucking awesome. I very rarely wrote a negative review. It comes from my history of wanting the best comic book reading experience possible.


I never planned on becoming a comic book convention attendee, but it happened all because I wrote a critical letter to Brian Pulido, the guy who created Evil Ernie and Lady Death, among other great Chaos! characters. I thought Evil Ernie's books had lost the plot, and I wrote a ten page letter explaining all the cool shit the series had done, and all the terrible things that were ruining the story at the time. A severely edited version was printed in one of the EE books, and I was named Fiend of the Month. Shockingly enough, Brian listened to me. He came back to writing the character he created, and he put EE back on his path. He also called me up at home and talked to me about the experience. I couldn't believe it. I actually spoke to one of the three guys who got me back into reading comics. It was an amazing experience.


Even more amazing: he invited me out to Wizard World Chicago that year, my very first comic book convention. I didn't know what to expect, but after walking around the place for a day, I got the hang of it very quickly. I also got to meet another of the three guys, Garth Ennis, for the first time. In fact, I got to meet a couple of guys who were doing a great indie book at the time, one of the first of its kind that I'd found by myself. The book was called BATTLE POPE, and the guys were Robert Kirkman and Tony Moore, before the rest of the world knew who they were. I can't tell you how awesome that first con was.


The next year, I knew what to expect. I knew which creators would be there, so I loaded up on my comics and brought a bunch of them to be signed. Every con since, my backpack has been full of books I wanted to get autographs on.


For the first time since that first year, my backpack is very, very light. That's because the emphasis has been taken off of comic books and has been placed on pop culture figures. I like guys like Stan Lee, Bruce Campbell, William Shatner and the rest, but my main reason to go to these things is to meet the people who create my favorite comics.


This year, there were only two big name comics guys I wanted to meet: Rafael Albuquerque, who co-created AMERICAN VAMPIRE, and Leinil Yu, who did a couple of books with Mark Millar. (I also want to get my WEAPON BROWN omnibus signed by Jason Yungbluth, but I've met him before. These other two guys? I haven't.) Then, Albuquerque had to step down. For the first time since the first time, I have almost no comic books to bring with me. Just Yu's two series for Millar, and I don't even know if I'll be able to get to him.


I have a few other things I want to get pop culture icons to sign, but it depresses the hell out of me that comic books have taken such a backseat at the con that got me started all those years ago. To those who have read my con coverage in the past, you might recall that I thought last year I'd give up on WWC and just stick to C2E2, which is a far superior show. Yet . . . I find it hard to quit the one that started me on this path. Besides, I have friends at WWC that I don't usually get to see the rest of the year.


Fuck.


To those who remember, I'm still SWORN TO THE BLACK.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #42: DWINDLING, YET BUSY

Wow. I talk deeply about depression, and I get everyone's attention. I switch gears to cheer everyone up a bit, and everyone abandons me. OK, fair enough. Two posts ago, I wrote about a duck crossing the highway. The last post was about me killing a fly, and I suppose that's about as entertaining as watching paint fuck and flies dry. I tried to give it some oomph, but I guess no one gave a shit.


It's weird how vast the drop-off was. Maybe it's just the constant saturation of these blogs. I am, after all, up to #42. That's a lot to read every night, I guess. If I had such low numbers on any other regular post, I would probably cancel it. This one? I think I'll soldier on. It's more of a writing exercise for me, anyway. If it entertains someone out there, then double points for me.


After I got my required word count out of my head tonight, I spent a lot of time gearing up for things. Wizard World Chicago is this weekend. I'll be there Friday, and it's going to be a hell of a day for me. After the show, I'm doing the Forced Viewing podcast (hopefully), after which I'm going to (hopefully) hang out with some Artists Alley friends. I don't know how I'm going to live through it all. Plus, that's the day THE COCAINE! BROS. returns. I intend to have the new post up by noon that day, so keep an eye out for it.


I am really fucking busy these days. You'd think my insomnia would have shriveled and died. No such luck.

GENERAL ARMSTRONG MUST DIE! A review of SIOUX FALLS #1

To those familiar with Z.M. Thomas’s work, you might be expecting a healthy wallop of humor to go with the starkness of the cover you see above. Yet this new book is something different. In SIOUX FALLS, he plays it pretty straight. This time out, he’s here to tell a grim story of vengeance. Remember how in the ‘Seventies, we used to get movies about the hero who gets severely wounded and left for dead by the bad guy, only to heal and come back for revenge?

Meet Kota. He is a Dakota living in District 32, aka Sioux Falls. For ten years, he has been haunted by the brutal murder of his parents and brother, and tonight he is finally going to get his vengeance. He takes a few drinks, hides his gun and heads down to the bar where the notorious General George Armstrong hangs out. He has one goal in his life: kill Gen. Armstrong, the murderer of his family. He doesn’t even plan on escaping the bar, just so long as he gets to see the life fade from Armstrong’s eyes.

Naturally, things don’t work out for Kota, and he winds up just like a ‘Seventies hero with a bullet in his guts, left to die out in the middle of nowhere. Except . . . you know he’s not going to die out there. No, he can’t let Gen. Armstrong get away with this. This is only the first issue of the book. Judging from the tone, there is plenty of blood and revenge in store for us.

Thomas is doing something very different here, although it is no less researched than his other, more humorous projects. In asides, he offers translations and historical notes. He’s not fucking around here. This is his story about the systematic racism that has nearly destroyed Native Americans. You see, this is about more than just a revenge story. This is about a great wrong that was done to an entire people by our very own government, and it’s a wrong that is still being done to this very day. It’s not necessarily as violent as it once was, but go to a reservation sometime. Take a look around. You will see people who are broken and isolated and all but forgotten.

If that’s not enough to convince you, take a look at the wonderful artwork. It is perfect for this kind of story: grim, dark and rough. Take a look at Gen. Armstrong. Look familiar? Kids today probably don’t know what the rest of Custer’s name was . . .

Hell, one look at the cover should convince you that reading this book is the right thing to do. We’re only 26 pages in. Could you imagine what else Thomas has waiting in the wings for us?

Do yourself a favor. If you’re at Wizard World Chicago this weekend, look him up and buy it in person. If you’re not, then go here and get your fix right now.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: TALK!

This is probably the most unexpected find in Artists Alley in a long time.  TALK! is meta-fiction at its finest.  This book is self aware, and the characters know they are in a comic book.  By all rights, this should be the most boring book EVER WRITTEN.  The main story is about a guy telling a friend about a comic book he wants to write.  That’s it.  Ah, but add the self-awareness, and this turns into a work of genius.  The layouts are amazing and unlike anything you’ve ever seen before.  And then there is the occasional ACTION-PACKED PAGE!!  This book shows what comics are really capable of.  Buy this mindfuck as soon as possible.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: WAYWARD

You won’t find a creepier horror book in Artists Alley than this one.  A group of wayward youths are sent to the Simon Corporation only to be confronted by some very frightening disgruntled spirits.  To say anything more than that would be criminal.  This is the kind of story you need to discover for yourself, to feel the dread just seep over your entire being.  The ending of the final issue is awesome beyond belief.  You should pick these books up right away.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: BACHELOR PAD MAGAZINE

“Booze, Babes, and Burly-Q,” proclaims the top of every issue of BACHELOR PAD MAGAZINE.  How the fuck could I pass this up?  It comes off as the younger, hornier brother of MODERN DRUNKARD MAGAZINE.  Sure, this is a girlie mag, but all the pictures are very tasteful.  They’re not nudes, they’re burlesque.  Not only that, but they have articles about how to make great cocktails, in addition to where you can experience good, booze-soaked noir films.  There are advice columns and interviews with legendary burlesque dancers and, of course, fiction about leggy dames and the drunkards who love them.  To top it all off, they seem to have an obsession with the fez.  If you see them at a convention, be sure to pick up the Red Fez and Smoking Jacket collection.  It’s a bit pricey, but it’s fun.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: MISERERI NOBIS

The title is Latin for “have mercy on us,” and I can think of nothing better to call this book.  Misery and despair are what fuels this one, and it is so beautifully, heart-breakingly done, it’s truly a wonder to behold.  The blurb on the back says, “This is a story of loss, pain, fear, loneliness, shame, and hope.”  I’ll be damned if I can find the part about hope, though.  This will depress the shit out of you . . . but in a good way.  This is a satisfying tale, and in some parts, it might remind you of ERASERHEAD.  I’ve said before that writer and illustrator Mat Festa isn’t the greatest when it comes to illustrating people, but when it comes to otherworldly things, no one is better.  There are some masterful, dreamy sequences in this one.  Do not miss it!

(PS:  I know I'm behind on this one.  It's just that for the life of me, I can't remember ever seeing this one at his table before.)

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: YI SOON SHIN

This is probably the most educational books you’ll pick up in Artists Alley.  It’s the story of a Korean general named Yi Soon Shin, and how he stood up to the Japanese in the 16^th Century.  It’s full of factual information about a guy you’ve probably never heard of before.  The first issue is kind of a struggle to get through, but after that, the historical quality falls away, and it almost becomes a DEADWOOD-ish version of what happened back then.  It’s an interesting story, if you’re interested in the past.  If you liked CRECY by Warren Ellis, you might like this.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: THE (PICK YOUR OWN) ADVENTURES OF ROILY GEMSTONE

I have Leo Perez to thank for this one.  I don’t know how I missed it when I was at the convention.  If I had seen something that warned me that “this book may cause diarrhea and wet dreams (at the same time),” I would have certainly picked it up.  Not only that, but it’s a parody of CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURES.  I mean, come on.  It’s an autobiography.  You can’t have a “pick your own adventure” autobiography.  This book is pure genius!  Some of the choices you have are incredibly awesome.  Check this one out:

“If Roily first opens the letter from his long lost dad, go to section 7.  If Roily first opens the Publisher’s Clearinghouse junk mail letter, go to section 25.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you.  This second plot is worthless, shitty, and goes nowhere!”

Or how about this one?

“If you want to read a lot more bullshit, go to section 27.  If you want to quickly end this meaningless story, go to section 35.”

Sometimes, the choice is whether or not Roily should take a shit, or if he should try to get laid.  But no matter what you choose, you will come to dread section 8.  Because surprise!  This book NEVER ENDS!  It just loops over and over again.  This is incredible!  You need to check this one out as soon as possible.  Best of all, Roily actually has songs online!  Check it out here.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: CAPTAIN ARTICHOKE #1

“He has the mind of a man . . . and the heart of an artichoke.”  OK, this book looks pretty silly on the cover, but when you open up to the first page, things are pretty intense.  When we first meet Captain Artichoke, he’s covered with blood and surrounded by hookers.  That’s actually pretty cool.  Ryan Patrick and John Hoban do an excellent job of telling this origin story with just the right measurement of humor and action.  This guy should have been a Troma superhero.  Great stuff.

WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 ARTISTS ALLEY: CHEESELORD COMICS

CheeseLord Comics have a few nifty little chapbooks available for this convention season.  Jon Michael Lennon has two, and Leo Perez has one.  They’re all only a dollar, so why not get them all?  Check these out:

KID TOUCHERS AND MORE . . .:  Yes, Lennon has taken mug shots from the sex crimes registry and he has illustrated them for your reading pleasure.  Keep an eye out for the guy charged with sodomy and aggravated urination on a minor . . . .

SUICIDE TASTES LIKE ASS!:  Lennon has been having some problems with the ladies lately, and it’s rapidly driving him crazy.  This is a sketchbook of crazy shit he did just to exorcise these women from his heart.  He goes to a lot of dark places with this one.  It contains his most vile work.  It will change your life.  Just check out the btw #YOLO one, and you’ll never be the same.  (On a side note, Lennon made up shirts for this convention.  One of them is the btw #YOLO one.  As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to have it immediately.  Apparently, he didn’t have high hopes for selling this one, so he only made up three of them.  One for him.  I bought the second.  There’s still one left.  He thinks he’s never going to sell it.  I hope one of you proves him wrong.  It is easily the most offensive shirt I have, and I have a shirt that says, THOUSANDS OF MY POTENTIAL CHILDREN DIED ON YOUR DAUGHTERS FACE LAST NIGHT.)

EL TORO DORADO #0:  Perez has a new superhero for us, and his name is El Toro Dorado.  A throwback to El Santo, the Golden Bull’s legend starts here.  Not only does he kick Hitler’s ass, he takes down Anne Frank, too!  Take a look at some of the sketches in the back.  If they’re any indication of what’s to come, shit is about to get fucking crazy very soon.  Look at Abraham Lincoln, for Christ’s sake!  And what about Hammer and Sickle?  Good times are coming at CheeseLord Comics.

A NOTE ON WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2013 COVERAGE

As most of you know by now, Wizard World turned down my press pass for 2013.  This enraged me quite a bit, and as a result, I said that I wouldn't be covering that stupid fucking convention this year.  However, I realize that this might hinder the people in Artists Alley, and they don't deserve to be shit on like that.  So here's my compromise:  there will be no coverage, and there will be no formal reviews.  However, if I picked up a book in Artists Alley that I really enjoyed, I'll plug it here.  Cool?


I'm going to try one last time for a press pass for C2E2 next year.  If they don't give it to me, then I'm going to retire my coverage of comic book conventions.  It sucks, but cons cost waaaay too much money to cover them on my own dime.  As it turns out, I've discovered horror cons are a lot of fun.  Flashback doesn't offer press passes, so I won't be covering them, but Days of the Dead is coming up in Schaumburg in November.  They DO offer press passes, so I'm thinking if I can score one, I'll start covering that con instead.  (That is, I will if I don't wind up stepping on Forced Viewing's toes.)


EDIT:  I should mention that I'm making an exception for MISERABLE AMERICANS.  Since practically nothing came out last week, I didn't get anything I could review for Wednesday.  I decided to go with MISERABLE AMERICANS because I'd never heard of the guy who does it before.

EVERYONE'S GOT ONE #8: WIZARD WORLD CHICAGO 2011

Truth be told, I wasn’t going to go to Wizard World Chicago this year. I’d made the decision last year, when DC and Marvel didn’t show up and everyone was Blago crazy. One thing changed my mind, and oddly enough it was because of my C2E2 attendance. Brian Azzarello told me that WWC would be hosting not just him, but also artists Eduardo Risso and Dave Johnson, all together at the same table. Since I’d never met either artist, I thought it would be a capital idea to go to WWC.



I almost wish I didn’t. Don’t get me wrong, I had a good time, but I was also disappointed for the second year in a row.


It probably didn’t help that I’d just had my gall bladder removed earlier that week. As a result, I had four healing incisions in my shaved belly, which is not a comfortable experience, especially since I was walking around all day. But thankfully, WWC serves ALCOHOL! Which brought me plenty of aid and succor.


But my main gripe with WWC was how much comic books have been forgotten. This con is much more for the benefit of pop culture. Gone are DC and Marvel, as well as many other prominent publishers. (Avatar is still here, but they have such a small booth that they’re easily overlooked.) Any comic book creators you find here are on their own in Artist's Alley or, like Azzarello and company, were with a charity. However, if you’re looking for celebrities, you can’t take a step without bowling one over. Want to meet Bruce Campbell? Want to get put into a submission move by the Nasty Boys? Want James Marsters to sign your Spike puppet? No problem. Except . . . .


How much are you willing to spent? Campbell costs a hundred dollars. And you can’t get any Buffy actor for less than twenty-five.


Here’s the thing: by ANYONE’S standards, that’s too much. Do these guys deserve to make money? You bet. That’s why they’re here. But don’t you think $100 is over the top? Don’t you think high prices alienate fans?


Case in point: I saw a girl waiting in line for Marsters, eyes full of stars, as if meeting him was the only reason she was here. Then, she got close enough to see money exchanging hands. She asked a volunteer how much it would cost, and when she was told $45, she was absolutely heartbroken. She got this sad look in her eyes, like she was about to cry, and she walked away.


Ten bucks sounds reasonable to me. They could break even in one hour on Saturday, I guarantee it.


But there are suckers who are willing to pay these outrageous fees. Hell, I was one of them. It was my personal mission on Saturday to meet Ash himself (although I admire him far more as BURN NOTICE’s Sam Axe these days). When I heard how steep his fee was, I blanched, but I had my copy of MAKE LOVE THE BRUCE CAMPBELL WAY, and I was intent on him signing it. I then found out that he only did the VIP signing, and it was full up. Foiled.


I did kick in the $45 for Marsters. I mean, come on! He’s fucking Spike! And he was a super-nice guy. He also informed me that the Fox lawyers told him it was illegal to sign over Buffy’s face. He spent a lot of time with each fan, making sure they got their money’s worth. I also met Nicholas Brendon, who was maybe the most affable guy I’ve ever met. He was having the time of his life, and it seemed like nothing made him happier than meeting his fans. I toyed with the idea of meeting Julie Benz, more out of love of DEXTER than Buffy, but I kind of liked the idea of leaving the convention with SOME money.


But I spent a lot of time in line for booze. It’s funny, you will see people lined up elbow-to-asshole for overpriced food (and the pizza this year was awful; the plate tasted better), but alcohol? The line for cocktails was very short at all times. In fact, once I saw the line was a bit longer than usual. That was until someone ahead of me noticed that this was for alcohol, not food. He took his friends with him. Others overheard him and joined him. Soon, it was just me and a guy with his family. He got beer for himself and a bunch of Pepsis for the li’l ‘uns. Unfortunately, while waiting my turn, I leaned on the railing only to have one of his kids come up to me and start licking the back of my hand. The lead-paint-chips-chewer’s dad looked over and didn’t stop him. Fucking parents . . . .


There were quite a few good things about WWC. For example, I came closer to finishing my Mickey Spillane collection by purchasing a couple of cheap paperbacks. While I was there, I noticed this little gem:

TORMENTED WOMEN is apparently a book, written by a doctor and former alcoholic, about the dangers of booze to women. It looks utterly trashy, so I had to have it. And where else but at a con can you find books like these?

I even found a few back issues of MAD which were absolutely delicious. The one parodying A CLOCKWORK ORANGE actually made me laugh out loud. They made fun of the symbolism of the movie, and at the same time used the word “faggot.” Even though it was permissible back when the magazine was published, it’s still kind of weird to see MAD use such language.

One of the things I miss about WWC these days is the lack of porn stars. There used to be plenty of them until WWC ruled that they couldn’t hang around anymore. ‘Tis a pity, as I enjoyed their presence greatly. I actually got to meet my favorite soft core porn star, Jasmine Gray, two years in a row. Shortly after the second time I met her, she died in a horrible car crash. It’s hard to believe that she’s gone, but every once in a while, I like to take down her old CANDY GIRLS DVD. It’s too familiar to “get the job done,” so to speak, but it stands the test of time.


I should also mention that I got a handjob from one of the porn stars who used to frequent WWC in the old days. I won’t mention her name (for reasons I’m about to bring up), but those of you with good memories will probably recall her. One year, I spent so much at her booth that I apparently qualified for the “special package.” I bragged about that for a year. Who wouldn’t? But when I saw her the next year, she was an absolute mess. She rummaged around in her purse for a marker with which to sign her new DVD when her purse fell over and spilled. I helped her pick everything up, and part of the mess was a collection of prescription pill bottles. It was stuff for serious mental problems. Talk about awkward. I never bragged about that handjob ever again after that.


Don’t bring up the Suicide Girls, who were indeed present this year. They don’t count. Sure, they like to show off their naked bodies, but not in a pornographic way. It’s about art for them.


I did manage to find a pretty cool booth where they were selling prints of scantily clad women murdering people. One of them really stuck out for me, the picture below. Fishnets drive me crazy. It doesn’t matter who wears them (female wise, of course). I once made out with an extraordinarily fat chick only because she was wearing fishnets. They look good on everyone, they really do. (Even Tim Curry.)

Here’s another cool thing: I got every comic book I brought with me signed. That almost never happens. Someone always calls off, or can’t make it for one reason or another. Not only did I get Azzarello, Risso, and Johnson, I got Matt Wagner, Pia Guerra, Bill Sienkiewicz, Rodney Ramos, and Ben Templesmith. Good fuckin’ times.


But the best part about WWC was, of course, Artist's Alley. This year, probably because so many major publishers were gone, they supersized AA. It was bigger than I’ve ever seen it, and there was a lot of good stuff to be found this year. (As you can probably tell from the reviews I’ve posted.) Sure, there was a lot of crap (as you can also tell from said reviews), and almost every single indie book had a hard time with spelling, but there was a lot to offer.


All right, I lied. I said I spent most of my time in line for liquor. Actually, I spent most of my time sitting at the Product of Society table with Leo Perez, Jon Lennon and a variety of other folks who stopped by. I had the most fun just sitting around, bullshitting with these guys, and meeting a lot of the fans who came by. You may have noticed that I didn’t review the new issue of PRODUCT OF SOCIETY, which I ordinarily would do. This time, I actually have a piece in it (adapted by Leo), so I can’t really say much about it (except, you know, buy it). It was fun watching people react to the fact that my story actually happened to me.


By the way, Leo also drew up a lot of very offensive sketches. He was giving them away to anyone who bought something at Jon’s table. If you were lucky enough to be there, you have one. If not, I think the offer is still good. Hit him up. You won’t be disappointed.


For those who don’t know, Leo’s adaptation is the “return” of TABARD INN (since the story is called TABARD INN TALES), so I figured I’d bring in a bunch of issues of my magazine (as well as bumper stickers) to give away for free. That’s right, for free. Jon was horrified by my decision (because he wanted to make sure that I got money for something I put so much of my heart into), but I insisted that we give them away. Remember a while ago how I posted that I was willing to give all three issues away for free, provided people sent money for shipping? NOBODY TOOK ME UP ON THE DEAL. That’s right, I can’t even give these fucking things away, and I have to get rid of them somehow. They’re cluttering up my house.


The offer still stands, by the way. If you want FREE issues of TABARD INN, let me know. Leave a comment below, or get me on Twitter or Facebook or even my actual website, http://www.talesofquestionabletaste.com/.


Anyway, I couldn’t help but laugh whenever someone would come by to take a look at the free magazine only to find each issue full of words instead of pictures. Many people chose not to pick up a FREE book because there were too many words. Jesus Christ.


The bumper stickers were the main attraction, though. People really loved CHOOSE DEATH, which surprised me. I thought the real winner was PUSSY SATISFIES. The one that horrified most into putting it back and fleeing was IT’S A PARASITE NOT A CHOICE, which made me smile.


But really, as I sat at Jon’s table on Sunday, shooting the shit with him and any fan who stopped by, I realized how much fun I was really having. That’s what a con is supposed to be about: like-minded individuals enjoying each others company, talking about art that turns them on.


And THAT is why I don’t regret showing up.


So, what do you think? Is WWC still worth attending? Or is it all about C2E2? Let me know in the comments below.

JASON YUNGBLUTH IS FUCKED UP: A review of THE GREAT TASTE OF DEEP FRIED

But you’ll love him for it. On the very first page of THE GREAT TASTE OF DEEP FRIED, this writer/artist promises tasteless comedy, and he delivers it in spades. Meet Beepo. He’s a chain-smoking, hard-drinking party clown bent on traumatizing children. Meet his sidekick, Roadkill, a trash-talking, heroin-shooting cat. In their first, horrifying adventure, they take an entire “Lackluster Video” hostage with the power of movies that are usually blamed whenever some teenager goes on a killing spree. Shockingly enough, that’s their most innocent outing.



How to describe things like Scruffy the Sock Puppet to the uninitiated . . . ? Or how about the time Roadkill became a phone psychic? Or how about when Beepo clubbed the Pope to death with a baby seal? Or . . . well, you get the idea. This is some pretty fucked up shit, here. And through this, Yungbluth actually manages to make some social commentary on how badly doomed the indie comic scene is. For example, here are a few words on the subject from Roadkill: “Face it, folks: American humor is dead! All that remains are the unscrupulous consciences of the talentless, and that’s us, baby! We’re comedy sociopaths!”


And then there are the downright nasty parts of DEEP FRIED, like the comic strip above. There are a couple of really ugly continuations of Clarissa’s story later on. When she gets a stuffed animal for a present, just by playing with it a little, she “imagines” it into being alive. At first, the little fella is eager to play with her . . . until Daddy comes to tuck her in. Then . . . ugh. She also gives bathtub lessons to those who don’t want to be raped by Daddy. Sure, these get shocked laughs, but Yungbluth really crosses the line, in a very Gwar “Preschool Prostitute” kind of way, when he advertises GIRLS OF KINDERGARDTEN RECESS GONE WILD. Talk about nervous chuckles . . . .


But the true star of DEEP FRIED is Weapon Brown, who is actually Charlie Brown in a post-apocalyptic world. That’s right, Linus Van Pelt, a mad scientist, has kidnapped Chuck’s lovely Red-Haired Girl and is going to sacrifice her to the Great Pumpkin unless everyone’s favorite round-headed kid gets to her in time. It’s only funny if you have a vast knowledge of the Peanuts strip, but if you do. . . you will never look at Peppermint Patty the same ever again (or Marcy, for that matter).


You’ve got to be a sick bastard yourself to get any enjoyment out of DEEP FRIED, but if you are, you won’t find greater satisfaction anywhere else.


THE GREAT TASTE OF DEEP FRIED
Written and illustrated by Jason Yungbluth
Publisher: Death Ray Graphics
128 pages
$14.99

"DON'T BE A CUNT, MATE": A review of STITCHED

Pruitt, Cooper, and Twiggy are three soldiers on an extraction mission who accidentally crash their helicopter over enemy territory. They were receiving no incoming fire. The captain just lost control, and these soldiers nearly became one of those unfortunate casualties of war caused by mishap. Pruitt, the commander, is injured, so Cooper constantly helps him get along across the desert as Twiggy, who is only a clerk, quakes the whole way, absolutely terrified of the situation she’s in.



And then the bad guys show up. No, not the Taliban, but . . . something else. They’re kind of like zombies. Could they be demons? Djinn? Who knows?


This is the idea behind STITCHED, a short film written and directed by comic book genius Garth Ennis. However, whenever he writes war stories, he usually writes the kind that are more along the lines of “boys club” tales. Here, the only man in the trio is Pruitt, who is badly injured. Cooper, who is an absolute bad ass, has the balls of the group, despite actually lacking the physical kind.


Tank Jones plays Pruitt as best as he can. He can’t stretch out into the role as a longer feature would have allowed. Kate Kugler is decent as Twiggy, who reminds one of Dante from CLERKS when she says that she’s not even supposed to be here. The true stand-out in the cast, though, is Lauren Alonzo’s Cooper. She plays the bad ass to a T, especially as she chides Twiggy into reminding her training when they face off against the monsters.


As for the villains of the piece, they’re not bad. They could be better. The guys in the white robes play as zombies pretty well until the heroes get beyond their clothes, to the stitched eyes and mouths. But the effect looks too much like plastic to be taken seriously. We don’t get enough of a good look at their leader, the guy in the black robes, so one can’t really comment.


As to the other effects, namely that of the bodies, they could have been much better. The absurdity of their deaths would have played off well in comic books, but here in a movie, it comes off as kind of silly, especially the guy who had his intestines pulled out through his mouth. However, when one of the monsters gets shot in the head, and giant pieces of its head are blown off, it makes for a good effect.


This is the problem with the bad guys, though: if they’re such evil, mutilating bastards, why didn’t they do better against the soldiers? They just sort of . . . staggered around. The worst it got was when one of them pressed its fingers into Pruitt’s leg wound.


As far as criticisms go, that’s about all that can be found wrong with the film. The writing is superb, but that goes without question. Ennis is also a capable director. The opening scene with the three soldiers struggling across the desert is beautiful, perhaps inspired by Leone’s ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST.


The editing suffers a little bit, though, when it comes to transitions. When one scene moves into the next using a black out, kind of like the space a missing commercial leaves on a DVD of a TV show, it jars the viewers out of the movie. The pacing is a little bit off in the beginning, as well, but when Ennis’s other heroes show up, everything falls perfectly into place.


Other heroes? Remember how our trio is there on an extraction mission? These other heroes are the ones they’re here to extract. In a moment of absolute peril, one of them shoves an assault rifle in a bad guy’s face and says, “Don’t be a cunt, mate.” In true Garth Ennis fashion.


The sad thing is, this is only a prologue to a bigger story. STITCHED is going to be a series from Avatar by Ennis with art by Mike Wolfer. It promises to be a hell of a book. Don’t miss out on how it all began. Get STITCHED now.


STITCHED
Written and directed by Garth Ennis
Produced by Mischief Maker Studios
17 minutes
$15

BATSHIT CRAZY: A review of BLAST FURNACE #1-4

Where does one begin when trying to describe the sheer lunacy of Ryan Browne’s BLAST FURNACE? It probably helps to remind readers that he is also the insane genius behind GOD HATES ASTRONAUTS. Knowing this, all bets are off.

Blast Furnace is a recreational thief with an impressive ‘Seventies mustache that shoots electricity and a tie that is always on fire. He has a propensity for ultra-violence, and he loves his job, no matter how crazy it can sometimes get. For example, when we first meet him, he’s breaking into a Non-Descript Factory (no shit; that’s what it says on the building) to steal whatever’s inside. He has no idea what he’s after. Soon, he discovers that a bunch of gun-toting ostriches are mass producing golden eggs in this place.

He hates birds. When he was a kid, a pigeon shat in his mouth. His lifelong vendetta comes to the front, and he starts brutally murdering the ostriches before stealing their eggs. But it turns out that he knows some of these ostriches, and things get complicated.


Yeah. Things get . . . complicated. For example, there’s a giant robot businessman made of smaller robot businessmen, dragons, an outlaw bear and owl couple, and more. Browne has once again outdone himself with his off-kilter imagination. He also does mind-boggling things with his story structure. We actually start out with Blast Furnace checking into a motel, and all of the action happens in a flashback. (So far, we have yet to return to the present time. Or is it a frame? Who knows?) Then, when he runs into the ostriches he knows, he flashes back to a childhood visit to the zoo, during which he fell into the bear pit. The ostriches want to save him so they can be bought by a rich businessman and thus escape the zoo. (It’s a long story.) But the bear turns out to be Ralph, an essentially harmless guy who has mistaken a young Burn Furnace for Owlice, a former friend of his. Thus we go through yet another flashback as Ralph thinks back to his and Owlice’s brush with the law. We haven’t even got to the crabs that are threatening Burn Furnace’s wife.

And so far, we don’t know why Burn Furnace’s tie is on fire, or how he shoots electricity from his ‘stache. We may never get an explanation.

It’s not often that something this wild comes along. Don’t look for a lot of subtext and social commentary here. This isn’t what Browne is after. No, he wants to tickle the folds of your brain with his off-the-wall, batshit crazy sense of humor, and you will love the shit out of him for it. Go to http://blastfurnacecomic.com/2011/06/27/day-1-2/ immediately. You won’t be disappointed.


BLAST FURNACE
Writer and artist: Ryan Browne
23 pages per issue

A MONSTER OF A TALE!: A review of SCREAMLAND #1

All right, get this: you know all of those old Universal monsters? Those weren’t guys in make-up or rubber body suits. They were for REAL! Here’s the problem: these days, what with Hollywood relying on CGI effects, the monsters are kind of out of work. They’re making the convention rounds, but that’s about it. The only one who still manages to find somewhat steady work is Carl, the Wolf Man, but that’s only if you count cheap direct-to-DVD productions.



Then, something goes wrong: Devil Fish (aka, the Creature from the Black Lagoon) dies under mysterious circumstances. Well, maybe not so mysterious, since he went for a dip in a pool in which he’d dissolved a shit-ton of cocaine, but you get the idea. His obituary makes the papers as kind of a curiosity, and people quickly forget about him.


Everyone except Izzy, the Invisible Man, who was Devil Fish’s closest friend. He has just made an announcement at a convention to screen one of Devil Fish’s private films, a controversial piece where apparently all of the old Universal monsters were having an orgy at his place. Why is Izzy doing this? To stir up trouble? To get back at all the people who had forgotten his friend?

We may never find out. Even as Carl works hard at getting enough of his old compatriots together to stage an intervention on Izzy, we discover that someone has taken the initiative of killing the Invisible Man. Now the assembled monsters must work together to find the murderer . . . or there may be other monster slayings soon.

What a fun little idea! It’s a sheer delight to watch Carl get together with the Mass (aka, the Blob) and Robrain (a robot powered with a brain floating in juices), among others. There is nothing like reading about what it would be like if such monsters really did exist in Hollywood and how they would act if they did. Writers Harold Sipe and Christopher Sebela deserve a lot of credit for parading this wonderful idea around.


Equally deserving of credit is artist Lee Leslie, whose rough edges perfectly depict these everyday monsters and their lifestyles. Carl looks exactly as one would expect with his hirsute features, and even though he wears a sleeveless checkered shirt to signify his backwoods attitude, he also keeps his hair slicked back like a Hollywood star.

Luckily, this book is much easier to find outside of conventions. Don’t hesitate in seeking this one out. You’ll have so much fun, you’ll hate it when you have no more story to read.


SCREAMLAND #1
Writers: Harold Sipe and Christopher Sebela
Artist: Lee Leslie
Publisher: Image
27 pages
$2.99

THE ONLY THING IN HIS BINDLE . . . IS JUSTICE: A review of THE TRANSIENT

So goes the tagline of THE TRANSIENT. Brought to us by the fine folks who gave us ONCE UPON A TIME IN 1972, it follows the crime-fighting antics of an initially unnamed vigilante. By day he picks through garbage and sells questionable wares to passers-by. By night he battles with the most absurdly stereotypical ‘Eighties punks since Troma put CLASS OF NUKE ‘EM HIGH to film. His only contact with the ordinary world is his sidekick/caseworker Steve (played to nervous perfection by Blake Stubbs). In fact it is Steve who eventually decides he needs a name, and after some heavy thinking, comes up with the Transient.

Sadly the Transient (a ruthlessly aloof Dave Ruthenberg), who would probably be at home as a member of Garth Ennis’s Section Eight from HITMAN, has very little regard for the lives of scumbags, so more often than not he kills those who would do others harm. He does so with improvisational weapons, probably found in trashcans. In one scene he takes down a wife-beater with a barroom dart and a crumbly brick. In another, he crushes a punk with a shopping cart. (And early on, before it becomes too punny, his patter is pretty funny. He might be the only person in history to say that FITNESS magazine is “slightly pornographic.”)


All of this horrifies Steve, who at one point wants to turn his companion in to the authorities, even though the Transient has just saved his caseworker’s ass from the above-mentioned stereotypical ‘Eighties punks. The only thing that stops him is the new horror that stalks the night for blood: VAMPIRE ABRAHAM LINCOLN!


That’s right, Lincoln has been laying low since the assassination attempt on his unlife, and he’s been living off the blood of women (mostly) for all of these years. Now, he is attempting to gather together 87 of these fine young ladies (get it?! Four score and seven!) so he can drain their blood within a fortnight. If he pulls this off, he will finally be free of his bloodthirst and his need to live in darkness. So he’s been hiding out in a blood bank, using punks to kidnap these women for him. Only the Transient (and Steve) can stop him!


Are there big gaping plot holes? You bet. You can probably figure out what they are from reading this review. But don’t let that stop you from enjoying such a fun movie. Michael Krebs, who plays Lincoln, pulls it off with the macabre glee of Vincent Price at his American International finest! And if some of his dialogue sounds familiar, don’t be surprised. Writer/director Chris Lukeman borrowed from some of Lincoln’s own real life material, enough to give Lincoln credit as a co-writer. (No shit! Look at the box!)


There are just two things that bear mentioning. At one point, the Transient and Steve dig up a zombie, Timmy, because he’d be able to track down Lincoln for them. This baffles Steve (as well as the viewers), and all the Transient can say by way of explanation is that Timmy is a “dowsing rod for the preternatural." That’s all we get?! Also, Timmy later bites a vampire, at which point her fangs fall out and she becomes one of the walking dead. Then Timmy and his new companion just . . . disappear. Which is kind of odd because it’s an action packed scene in which Steve is doing characteristically awkward battle with a vampire. Where did Timmy and his friend go?


Never mind this slight nitpicking. You’ll want this movie for your collection. How could you say no to a homeless vigilante facing off against vampire Abe Lincoln?


THE TRANSIENT
Written by Chris Lukeman and Abraham Lincoln
Directed by Chris Lukeman
Produced by Kill Vampire Lincoln Productions
24 minutes
$11.99

A DECENT EFFORT: A review of APOCALYPSE CITY #1

Everyone in Artist Alley seems to think murder is pretty funny this year. Writer/artist John Hoban, the man behind APOCALYPSE CITY, is no exception. In the first few pages of his book, a mindless security guard stumbles upon a hitman, who then tells him, “You will die with honor.” The guard’s response before he dies? “Awesome.”



Next up we meet the hero of this piece, psychic detective Matt Sharpe. Hm. Didn’t anyone tell Hoban that psychic detectives were out this season? Nevertheless, he soldiers on with some actual witty dialogue, like, “What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen Whoopi Goldberg naked!” The problem? As with many others in Artist Alley this year, everyone seems to think a crime scene is a laff riot. Nothing to do around a corpse but start crackin’ wise, right?


Here’s another problem: when Captain Mahoney shows up and starts belittling Sharpe’s ability, he seems to be forgetting that he exists in a world where people like Captain Radiation also exist. That’s right, with superheroes lounging around, Mahoney doesn’t believe in psychic abilities. That’s kind of like hanging out with Superman and not believing he’s really the Man of Steel.


Hoban’s book isn’t entirely bad, though. His character interaction between Sharpe and Diamanda comes off pretty well, and as earlier stated, he’s capable of some cracking good dialogue. And Sharpe’s unnamed gangsta foil is kind of funny, too. It’s weird that he’d be associated with the mysterious Mr. Bacchus (yeah, everyone is soooo creative with their characters’ names this year) and his odd death cult. Metal-face makes for some good action, but couldn’t he be little harder to find? If you’re going to fight crime at night, perhaps you shouldn’t wear your metal face mask to your bouncer day job.


For all its shortcomings, APOCALYPSE CITY has its charms. It might be worth checking out where it goes with the next issue. However, if it really took Hoban since 1992 to throw together issue one, as he says in his afterword, it might be a while . . . .


APOCALPYSE CITY #1
Writer and artist: John Hoban
32 pages
$5