THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #27: REVIEW OF PREACHER #63

[My final comic book review for the Elmhurst College Leader. It wasn’t the last thing I would do for them. They invited me to write a few pieces for the summer edition. Some of them will be reprinted here. Others are so irrelevant to me that I’ll keep ‘em in the vault. It’s funny. When the last issue of Preacher came out, I didn’t really think about this review, but a couple of things stick out. The line about Jesse had better be dead before Tulip wakes up: yeah, that came true. Sort of. The other thing is my invitation to the student body to take over my role as a comic book reviewer. Guess what: no one wanted the fucking job. I’ll bet if I did this today, they would line up for it. This is from the May 8, 2000 edition. Just a couple of weeks later, I would graduate with a Bachelors Degree in the Arts.]

There’s no doubt about it: Garth Ennis is the greatest comic book writer working in the business. Steve Dillon is, due to the recent death of Steven Hughes, the greatest comic book artist working in the business. Their comic book, Preacher, is the best title in the business.

Unfortunately, it’s coming to an end this July.

True to Preacher history, Ennis and Dillon are keeping everything completely charged with tension in this last story arc, Alamo. Preacher #63 (part 5 of 7) brings us one of the most horrifying moments in the comic’s history, if you know the characters well. Ennis starts the issue out with the Rev. Jesse Custer talking with longtime girlfriend, Tulip, about the best and worst days of his life. The worst, as any loyal Preacher reader will know, is the day Jody shot Tulip in the head. In order to get Jesse off His back, God gave Tulip life again to show Jesse how much He cares. (He really doesn’t, He’s just scared Jesse’s going to beat the hell out of him.) Now, as Jesse and Tulip talk (naturally, in bed), Tulip reveals that God never saved her at all because “God’s a bastard.” Suddenly, blood is pouring down her face, and the back of her skull is a pulpy mess.

Luckily for Jesse, the image is just a dream, but it comes out of nowhere, and for people who have known these characters for years, it is a genuinely scary moment. Another moment only loyal readers will appreciate is when Jesse breaks one of his promises to Tulip by leaving her to go face the bad guys (this also happened way back in the third year of Preacher). Not only does he leave her, he also drugs her to make sure she can’t follow him into the danger he’s about to put himself into. All that can be said is that Jesse better be dead when she wakes up, because if he isn’t, she’s going to eviscerate him. (It should be noted that last time he did this, Tulip handcuffed him naked to a bed for hours on end while she went to hang out with a friend.)

Another character in very hot water is the unfortunate Hoover. He’s been through a lot. After he arranged for his boss to be anally raped (he thought he was buying him a woman), he was nearly killed. In fact, Starr has always treated him harshly despite his innocent ways. When he confronted Jesse, the reverend used his Word of God to make him count grains of sand on a beach until he reaches three million (Hoover spent years out there, going insane). Now about a hundred pounds lighter and lacking a great deal of his teeth, he still has his innocent (if lunatic) ways. He plays a joke on Starr, which results in Starr getting black rings around his eyes from binoculars before going in to prep his army (about two dozen men; Jesse, Tulip, Cassidy, and the Saint of Killers killed the rest of them) for the final battle to be held at the Alamo. Needless to say, being embarrassed in front of his own men has set Starr off on a rampage which will most likely end with Hoover’s crucifixion, which is really too bad, considering of all the bad guys in the history of Preacher, he is actually incapable of evil. He can’t even bring himself to swear.

The ultimate high of this issue, though, is Jesse’s last talk with John Wayne. To anyone who grew up watching the Duke kickin’ butt on TV, seeing Wayne in Preacher is a real treat. When he pulls Jesse’s father’s words out of Jesse, there is no one who wouldn’t want John Custer as a father. “Don’t take no shit off fools . . . an’ you judge a person by what’s in ‘em, not how they look. An’ you do the right thing. You gotta’ be one of the good guys, son; ‘cause there’s way too many of the bad.” Those are hard words to live by, and the only thing to do is try. Not even Jesse, who is one of the last true American heroes left (oddly enough, written by an Irishman), can live up to those words (after all, he did leave Tulip twice). There is no better feeling in the world than to hear the Duke utter his last words to Jesse: “Hell, pilgrim, I’m just a . . . a broke-down, wore-out ol’ cowboy . . . but this broke-down, wore-out ol’ cowboy wanted ya ta know: He’s prouda’ ya.” And then he’s gone, walking off into his final sunset.

Speaking of sunsets, this broken-down, worn-out ol’ college student is graduating, which means the spot for comic book reviewer is open for next fall. If any of you pilgrims got the sand to step up to a job writing reviews that most people won’t even read, then you better let Grand Journalism Wizard Wiginton know. Sure, no one will probably read it aside from Wiginton and editors, but you can win state conference awards, and you’ll be known as the second comic book reviewer at any college in Illinois ever. Of course, it’s completely understandable if you don’t have the balls . . .

Remember to be a good guy. There’s way too many of the bad. Got it? Good.

THE JOHN BRUNI MUSEUM OF MEDIOCRE (AT BEST) SHIT #6: PREACHER #49 REVIEW

[My third comic book review for the Leader, this one is from March 23, 1999. I’m about to discover something horrible about my reviews, which I will tell you about when we get there. In fact, I might not need to explain. It’s pretty obvious what my problem was.]

It has taken 49 issues, but Jesse Custer, the main character of Preacher, has finally found God. Writer Garth Ennis and artist Steve Dillon pull no punches in the latest issue, entitled “First Contact.”

About a year ago, Jesse set out to chew peyote in Monument Valley to see if he could track down God (which has been his goal since issue four). Now, after a series of battles including tanks, the Saint of Killers, a nuke, a little guy who looks like Ross Perot and enjoys having sex with meat statues, and a stint as a small town sheriff facing off against the evils of Big Business, he finally takes the drugs and leads us through a series of hallucinations that proves just how imaginative a writer Ennis is. Only one other hallucination sequence has outdone this, and that was the issue-long Arseface delusion (#40), which was extremely imaginative.

Not only this, but Dillon’s artwork is surreal. TC looks as twisted and demented as ever, and Gran’ma looks utterly revolting (even before she turns into a snake). It was extremely funny to see the leech with Irish vampire Cassidy’s head, and Tulip looks so much like a hooker it’s disturbing.

The undercurrent to the content, though, is rich with character. Jesse constantly denies that he sees Cass as a leech and Tulip as a slut, but it is oh so obvious that he is lying through his teeth. For all of his John Wayne attitude, he certainly seems not to be “shootin’ straight.”

The story and the art compliment each other nicely. In this one scene, Ennis portrays the God of the Christian Bible as contradictory. One moment, He’s a beautiful male model emanating glorious yellow light, peaceful and forgiving; the next, He’s a power-driven raving lunatic, boiling with red light. He even sucks Jesse’s left eyeball out in a fit of rage! Yes, Ennis is a die-hard atheist—anyone who read “True Faith” will attest to that.

Jesse Custer finally knows what he needs to find God, and he’s got a new inner strength. He’s been doing only what he needs to do and nothing more for a while now, but now he’s got the twinkle back in his eye, and his confident grin is back in place. It’s been a long time since Preacher felt this good.

Not that the last few issues were bad. They had some excellent storytelling in them—storytelling that proves Garth Ennis doesn’t always have to blow stuff up or shoot people down or what not. He captures the quiet moments nicely. Jesse lost himself for a while, and now that he has found himself, he’s raring to rip, and you better pray you don’t get in his way. This is something Preacher fans have been waiting a long time for.

This is the beginning of the end for Preacher, my friends, and it looks like Garth Ennis is going to give us one hell of a ride.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #184: THE SAME FACES EVERY DAY

This is day 4 of my new job. It's also the second day of walking in the rain to get from my office to the train. The rain doesn't scare a lot of people away. I'm lucky that my grandmother loaned me her umbrella. Just In Case. But I looked at my fellow commuters. Some had umbrellas, but a majority didn't give a fuck about having the sky cry on them.


You know who doesn't give a flying fuck about rain? The homeless. Rain or shine they're in their regular spot on their regular street. I cross the river to get to work from the train station to my office building. On my way in to work I see the guy who says good morning to everyone. There's the guy who peddles Streetwise. There's the guy who rattles his cup of change, the same guy who keeps taking change from his pocket to put into the cup so it seems like we all gave him something to rattle. There's the elderly woman who begs for help. There's the young couple who need drug money and aren't afraid to lie about it.


They're out there rain or shine.


On my way back to the train station their positions change, but they're the same people. The guy who rattles his cup. The young couple. The guy with Streetwise is gone, but everyone else is here. Instead of wishing everyone a good morning, they're wishing everyone a goodnight.


They are ignored. Maybe with good reason. I've known some homeless people over the course of my life, and from my understanding that's their lifestyle. It's horrible, but they don't want to change. They've found what they believe to be their place in the world. They have no hope. They just want to make it through another day.


So is Trump going to help these people? Is Clinton? Or any third party candidate who will never make it because the system is against them?


The system is made to be against certain people. Those homeless people you see on the streets will never find a place in our world. Maybe they don't want to. It's possible and likely from the interactions I've had. But here's the thing: the system is geared against them. Even if they wanted to be better they couldn't.


Look at our criminal system. People who have made a lot of piss-poor decisions in their youth can never recover to the point of getting a good job. No one wants to hire a felon or even someone who has committed a misdemeanor. No one believes people can change. Maybe that's fair. I know a lot of people who dug their own graves and don't know why they can't better themselves.


But fuck it. We should give people a chance. They might surprise us. They might transcend their place in the universe. They might even become paragons of society. You won't ever know until you give it a try.


I think mostly of a friend of mine. He grew up in a horrible place. His father was a psycho war vet. He got a Section 8 release, just like my step father. Except this guy was worse. He used to bury his son alive as punishment. It drove my friend crazy. I love him, and maybe that's the only reason he hasn't gone batshit crazy 100%.


He has IED as a result. This essentially means that no one will ever give him a job. Doctors will give him all sorts of drugs, but he'll never be able to make his way through the world. I liken him to Jody in PREACHER. So many terrible things happened to him in his youth that he swore that no one would ever make him a bitch for the rest of his life. He learned how to beat the mortal shit out of people at a second's notice. There is no one tougher than him that I know of. He unleashes his fury on anyone who has wronged him to the point where, well, he's been arrested again.


Our system is broken. It gives offenders ZERO chance. If you fuck up, you're out of our society forever.


It could have happened to me. I was arrested for DUI a while back. That's bad enough for anyone to ostracize me. I was lucky and was found not guilty. Very few people had that kind of luck.


Be careful who you ostracize. They could help society in the long run. Or they could kick the everloving shit out of you. Remember: we are a melting pot. We can find strengths in unlikely places. That's why we're supposed to be so forgiving of each other. Or we can just do shit as we always have. Business as usual. Let's march into our own destruction.


Or maybe not, yeah? Let's do something different. If we can.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #173: I'M THE BIGGEST WANKER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!

I've been unemployed for almost a month. Today I learned that I am once again gainfully employed. That picture is of me having a celebratory glass of Booker's, the most expensive whiskey I've ever bought and probably my new favorite alcoholic beverage.


In that month of not working, though, I learned something horrible about myself. And that's why I'm writing here tonight for the first time since May. It all has to do with PREACHER, so if you haven't read the book or seen the show, there are some spoilers in this piece. You might want to read this another time.


When I was in college I was through with comic books. That might sound funny to those of you in my life today, considering how deep into comics I am now. But when I was a kid Marvel canceled THE TRANSFORMERS, my favorite book then, and I was so pissed that I gave up on the medium. But then I met my buddy, CJ. He put three books into my hand that brought me back. The first was EVIL ERNIE: YOUTH GONE WILD. He also loaned me the first HITMAN story arc. But most importantly he let me borrow PREACHER: UNTIL THE END OF THE WORLD.


That book blew me the fuck away. I was at a low point in my life. I hated everyone and everything. If you knew me back then you wouldn't have wanted to be my friend. In fact I only know four people right now who knew me back then and are still my friends. But PREACHER helped me understand the world a bit more. I learned to love because of PREACHER. It helped me in so many ways I can't mention them all here.


AMC recently adapted the comics to TV, and I love the show. It's not as good, but it's pretty fucking good. Now that I had more time on my hands I decided to reread PREACHER for the thousandth time. It had a much different impact on me.


I've lost my way. I knew I had, but I had no idea how far off the path I'd strayed. For most of my adult life I have lived as a Jesse Custer. Rereading PREACHER this time revealed me to be a Cassidy. Don't worry, I'm not full Cassidy. I'm not hitting on your girlfriend behind your back or beating the shit out of women or letting drugs control my life. I drink a lot more than I should, but I'm not that bad. My mom still drank worse than me before she died.


I used to stand for things. Now I just have snarky comments. I loved, but now my heart is cynical. Those of you who read the comics know about Jesse and Cassidy's discussion about Laurel and Hardy fans vs. Charlie Chaplin fans. Here's the thing, though: judging by later issues I think that Cassidy is a style over content guy despite what he says. I love content in my writing life, but in my regular life . . . fucking hell. I think my style has overcome my content.


Rereading PREACHER shocked me. I've never read it like this before, with this interpretation. I have compromised all of my old thoughts about the world.


So that's changing. I'm going back to my roots. I'm welcoming love back into my life. I'm standing for things. I'm trying to be one of the good guys because there are way too many of the bad.


I got fired. What did I do that first day? I chopped up about seven Vicodins and drank a shit-ton of whiskey. I did so many of them because I have a high tolerance for opiods. I underestimated them and for about four hours of dizziness I had to keep reminding myself to breathe. When I came out of it, and I don't mean to compare me to this horrible scene, but I felt like Tulip waking up after being stuffed with so much Valium and vodka by Cassidy. When I reread PREACHER, I knew exactly what she meant by telling Cassidy that she was no longer his drugged up slut; that she was HER.


It took me a while to admit it, and when I did I gave myself the weekend to finish up wallowing in my misery. The end was last night. Today is the new me, better than the old me. I used to be so certain of myself, and then I hit about 10-15 years of fucking up. Doubt crept in. Depression ruled my mind.


No more. I know who I am again. It's good to be back, pardners. Let's see what we can do with this crazy ol' world of ours.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #103: I'M NOT PROUD OF LAST NIGHT

I blacked out last night. Usually, I'm OK with that, because it gives me the opportunity to piece together what happened the night before in a Faulkner-esque way. I love mysteries, and that's the perfect kind. But I'm 36 years old, and that's too old to be getting black-out drunk.


Whenever I drink these days, I water my booze down. Last night, I didn't. I got excited, and I forgot to do this. I wound up drinking a pint of Bulleit and a half-pint of Wild Turkey 101, which is insane for someone who has suffered from pancreatitis. I remember my friends warning me, and while it didn't kill me, I should have heeded those warnings, and I didn't because I'm stupid. I also had gin last night, which I never have, so I can't say how badly it effects me. One of my last solid memories of last night was having gin shots because I lost a trivia game. There are a few flashes after that, but that's the last memory I'm certain about.


I'm thankful that the husband/wife team who threw the party let me sleep on their couch. Who knows what might have happened otherwise? The last concrete memory I have is of watching the next team of game show contestants taking their seats after me. The next thing I knew for sure, I woke up on the couch because my alarm went off (I at least had the foresight to set the alarm, or I would have missed my dentist appointment).


Honestly, blacking out drunk is a thing for younger men than I. It was fun in my twenties, but now? I'm almost forty. I can't be doing that shit anymore. Whenever I drink, I have a few while I'm at home, watching movies or TV shows and generally being mellow. When I'm out among other people, I get out of hand.


Here's what I'm thinking: I should stop drinking when I'm out with others. When I'm at home, it's never crazy. When I'm out and about, I have a few too many. At home, I only drink to get buzzed--and I always water and ice my drinks--but when I'm out with others, even when I know I have a place to sleep the booze away, I drink too much without watering or icing my drinks. I lose myself.

From here on out? I don't think I'll be drinking outside of my home, if only to prevent myself from going off the rails. This upcoming week, I'm starting my new diet, which involves juicing. Spoiler alert: next year for Halloween, I want to be Cassidy from PREACHER. But he's waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too skinny, and I'm waaaaaaaaaaaaay too fat. If I can lose that weight? Cool. That's my goal. Drinking in public holds me back. I'll see what I can do.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #88: COMIC BOOK READER

In the wake of the new season of COMIC BOOK MEN, I feel the need to talk about my love of comic books. Since I started reviewing comic books for the Elmhurst College LEADER in 1998, I've been considered a comic book reader. To be fair, I did this long before. I loved comics when I was a kid, and I didn't stop until Marvel's incarnation of THE TRANSFORMERS ended, much to my chagrin. Years later, CJ, a friend I'd met during my senior year of high school, got me back into comics with EVIL ERNIE, PREACHER and HITMAN. Three years later, I was writing reviews for the LEADER as the first comic book reviewer EVER on staff. My time there won me an award from the Chicago TRIBUNE. (I got two, actually, but I only got one for my comic book work.)


Still, whenever I mention my love of comic books, people assume I'm talking about superheroes. This pisses me off a great deal, because not all comic books are about superheroes. In fact, I don't like superheroes. I know, that's blasphemy in this age of Marvel movies. Let me make myself clear: I love the superhero movies, but I can't stand the superhero comic books. I'm not condemning those books. It's a matter of taste. I don't like them, but I don't hate people who like them. That's your business, not mine.


I don't really read superhero comic books. The only time I do is when a writer I respect is writing them. There are a handful of great superhero stories, I think. One of them is obviously WATCHMEN. Another is THE BOYS, which is one of the greatest comic books ever written. I loved Mark Millar's take on OLD MAN LOGAN. The same goes for David Morrell's take on SAVAGE WOLVERINE. And then there's books like Brian Azzarello's WONDER WOMAN and so on and so forth.


But ultimately, those aren't the books I'm interested in, aside from THE BOYS. I think superheroes are stupid. I find it's a fucking shame that the average person isn't aware that comic books are more than some person wearing skintight underwear facing off against criminal/evil alien villains. I want PREACHER. I want TRANSMETROPOLITAN. I want 100 BULLETS. And yes, I want LOCKE & KEY. How about AMERICAN VAMPIRE? Or DICKS? Or CROSSED? Or THE FADE OUT? Or CRIMINAL or FATALE? FBP? SAGA? SEX CRIMINALS? STRAY BULLETS? TREES? How about DORK and MILK AND CHEESE? I could go on forever, but most average people, whenever they think of comic books, will think about Superman, Batman, the X-Men, Spider-Man and whoever else wears spandex tight enough to show the shape of their genitals.


I love Tommy Monaghan, one of the few guys in the old DCU who took the piss out of superheroes on a regular basis. He puked on Batman and showed how Green Lantern was a cheapskate. Or how about THE BOYS, who policed the degenerate supes?


But . . . the loyal fans of HITMAN remember very well that there was one superhero who had earned Tommy's trust: Superman. And just like that, I can appreciate certain things about the comic book superheroes.


Whenever someone brings something cool into the Stash on COMIC BOOK MEN, I can truly appreciate it. I'm wowed. I'm very interested to see how these things turn out, because they're historical documents.


But let's be honest. Superheroes should have died out long ago. Marvel manages to keep them alive, for the most part. I don't like a lot of their methods, but they have their hearts in the right place. DC, on the other hand, has driven their titles into the ground. They don't know what the fuck they're doing. If their BATMAN/SUPERMAN movie succeeds, it will only be because people were curious enough to see it. Not because it's great, though.


Some superheroes are immortal, and that's fine. Those who aren't should have been released a while ago. The Big Two work constantly to reinvent these characters, but in all honesty, I think they should just be released. If they continue with new people behind the mask, then it's the same ol' bullshit as ever. If there's a reboot, no matter how much you change it, it's still the same ol' bullshit as ever. If you let these characters die? They can serve a narrative purpose.


Reboots only serve as commercial agents. Actually killing characters off would serve stories very well. Not like I give a shit. Just give me my non-superhero books, and I'll be satisfied.


But what the fuck do I care? You guys fuck around with your superhero comics, and I'll stay over here with the other stuff. Goodnight, fuckers.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #18: VERTIGO

It always makes me happy when I see Vertigo doing one of their preview books. These days, they're for free, although in the past they've charged, and I've willingly paid. Once upon a time, Vertigo was my favorite comics company, since they put out the best books I'd ever read (PREACHER, TRANSMETROPOLITAN, 100 BULLETS, hell, you know me and what I like). (And yes, I know that TRANSMET started as a Helix book. Quit nitpicking.) I'm more of an Avatar Press kind of guy now. (Big surprise, considering they've worked with Vertigo greats like Ennis, Ellis, Delano, etc.)


This new preview is nice, in that it reminds everyone what Vertigo is doing right now with great books like AMERICAN VAMPIRE, FBP and so on, but it's also giving us a peek of what's to come. Sad to say, their new fare doesn't look very interesting to me. BODIES has some great creative-types attached to it, but the story doesn't look very appealing. I love Peter Milligan's work, but THE NAMES looks like heavy-handed crap. THE KITCHEN could be interesting. It's a hard-crime look at the 'Seventies in Hell's Kitchen, but told from the female perspective. What they sample, though, doesn't look that great. I'll probably give it a shot.


The one that looks most promising is SUICIDERS. I'm a fan of Lee Bermejo's artwork, but this will be the first time I'll get a taste of his writing skills. I love the cover, and the sample is just over the top awesome. Of the new batch, I look forward to this one the most. I'm glad to see it's a monthly, although I have no idea how Bermejo will get that much work done. Have you seen his art? It's insanely intricate. Writing and illustrating this book should put him through the ringer, but I love what I'm seeing so far.