COOL SHIT 10-7-10

UNKNOWN SOLDIER #24: I have always been a fan of the Unknown Soldier, from his WEIRD WAR TALES origins all the way up to Garth Ennis’ Vertigo mini-series. And I love what I originally thought was a re-imagining, but now I know better: it’s a continuation. Writer Joshua Dysart’s vision was a brand new man behind the Invisible Man bandages, but now he’s brought the original back into the mix. For those who aren’t familiar with the character, we get a recap of all that has come before, and Dysart even drops a bombshell into our laps. It would be criminal to give it away, but anyone who read Ennis’ take on the old soldier can probably figure it out. There have been rumors that DC might torpedo Vertigo. Since the character has such a rich DC past, I don’t think they would get rid of this book, but the subject matter will never be quite as mature as it is now.

LIBERTY ANNUAL 2010: This is the annual anthology from the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund, a cause I hold dear (hell, I’d better; at $4.99, the book is a bit pricey). Sorry to say that most of its contents suck, and some suck really bad, but the gems are worth it. We have a Conan the Barbarian story from Darick Robertson. It’s paint-by-numbers storytelling, but such a grand map never fails to entertain. Conan’s just such a conqueror and destroyer that it’s fun to watch him in action. Sorry guys, but Conan could kick seven shades of shit out of Chuck Norris and the Dos Equiis guy. At the same time. With both hands tied behind his back. One problem: Robertson’s illustration doesn’t make Conan look tough enough. His stoic humor doesn’t come through. To see what I mean, check out Joe R. Lansdale and Timothy Truman’s Conan series, SONGS OF THE DEAD.


My favorite part of this book, though, is the RETURN OF EVAN DORKIN’S MILK AND CHEESE! For anyone unfamiliar with this duo, I shake my finger in shame at you! Did you even live in the ‘Nineties? You fool! For those of you in the know, my friends, you don’t need me to explain these “dairy products gone bad.” For the rest of you—you scum—a sentient carton of milk and wedge of cheese live out their violent whims, wreaking havoc everywhere they go. It is not uncommon for their comic strips to be covered in blood and pithy banter. Here, they slaughter a convention’s worth of costumed nerds, knock a guy’s eyes out, decapitate several people, and kick an unsuspecting baby. But their brand of bloodshed this time comes with a message: that comic book readers must defend their own right to read whatever they want. Because, in the words of Milk, “Poor defenseless little comic book industry! No Superman will fly down and save you! No Wonder Woman will deflect the bullets aimed at you! No Aquaman will do whatever it is that idiot does!”


And then there is a small THE BOYS story from Garth Ennis and Rob Steen. Let me be clear: the art fucking blows, and the story is kind of silly, but it serves its purpose in defending the freedom of comics creators. Finally, we know how The Legend got fired from Victory Comics: with a story about two major female superheroes being driven mad and attacking each other with their breasts. BUBBA DUBBA DUBBA DUBBA! And speaking of THE BOYS . . . .

THE BOYS #47: If any of you have the guts to tell me that Garth Ennis sucks as a writer, fuck you. Fuck you with a seven-foot barbed dildo. After I’ve violated your holiest of orifices (and rubbed salt in the anal fissures), I will point you to this issue of THE BOYS. It’s not all goofy violence and obscenity, folks; the man’s got great emotional chops. This issue is just fucking heart-rending. I’ll be honest, I almost teared up. My eyes got a bit wet, and my vision went blurry. The tear didn’t get shed, because it’s really, really hard to get me to cry, but Ennis has come the closest any writer can get. But then, if you’ve been a fan for as long as I have, this shouldn’t surprise you. PREACHER and HITMAN also brought me close to the brink, and when John Constantine hit rock bottom in Ennis’ run on HELLBLAZER, he almost got me again. My only problem with this issue was that Russ Braun, who is usually a good artist (not great, but good) has somehow made every character except for Annie look like pompous assholes. Butcher and Queen Maeve literally look down their noses in every panel they’re in. I wish Robertson would come back . . . .


WARNING! HERE THERE BE SPOILERS!


I couldn’t let this one go without talking about what twisted my heart so badly. (I don’t usually do spoilers, as I consider my job here to sell these books, so I offer my apologies. You may leave if you wish. Be back next week, though.) You see, Butcher recently tricked Huey into watching footage of his beloved Annie sucking the dicks of several superheroes in order to get into the Seven. He brought it even further by telling Huey that she’d probably been playing him the whole time, that she was a whore, and she was laughing behind his back at him. Maybe Butcher believes it, but one way or the other, it’s a total prick thing to do. It poisons the way Huey feels about Annie, and when he starts to tear up himself, Butcher does something my step-father did to me when I was a kid: he points his finger at Huey and says, “Stop it. You’ll feel a fucksight better if you don’t start cryin’ in front of another bloke.”


Then, Huey confronts Annie in the park in a knockdown, drag-out condemnation. He hurls all sorts of accusations and ugly statements at her, calling her a bitch, a cunt, and a whore, and teary-eyed, he tells her that he never wants to see her again. But you see, we know Annie. She isn’t any of those things. She was just in a bad situation. Huey doesn’t understand because Butcher poisoned his mind. Has this irreparably destroyed one of comicdom’s greatest new romances?


The thing that got to me the most: “The strange thing was, he knew she was right. Without being sure exactly why, he knew he was making the wrong choice. But he dredged up what he needed to keep going. To put one leaden foot in front of the other.”


Powerful stuff.