Fucking Hell

I spend a lot of my "spare money" on funnybooks and related items, but even I get royally pissed at the prospect of wasting money on something irrelevant. Now, many people would consider dropping ten bucks on a stretched-out interview with Alan Moore one of the aforementioned 'irrelevant somethings,' but not me. What I do consider bullshit is paying ten bucks for the same fucking Alan Moore interview twice.

I love Alan Moore. It would be ridiculous to point out at this stage that I mean this in a platonic, admiring way, rather than a sexually charged one. Make of it what you will; we all have artists whom we admire. I really dig Moore's work; I mean really, really dig it. I've read his works dozens and dozens of times over, and scrape up any interviews, text-pieces, or the like concerning him. Needless to say, I didn't bat too much of an eye when I ordered "Alan Moore Spells it Out" last year from Airwave Publishing.

The book is just under 80 pages, and contains an interview that might just as easily have fit nicely between the covers of an old Comics Journal or the like. It certainly wasn't bad, but as I said, it's pretty much a straight-up interview with Moore, formatted as a 'question and answer,' rather than prose. The dude who did the interview, Bill Baker, basically just typed out the questions he asked and Alan's responses, verbatim. It didn't exactly take too much effort, I'm sure. Which isn't to say I didn't enjoy the book; my point is, it's not a classic by any stretch.

So I felt a little burned at dropping a ten spot on it, but overall I was pretty pleased with the content. It was an interview of substantial length, and they covered some pretty cool ground. Again, it wasn't earth-shattering, but it was pretty decent. When I ordered "Alan Moore on His Work and Career" about a year later, memories of the previous tome flittered through my mind. I didn't want to waste more money on a glorified Wizard piece.

Imagine my utter disgust earlier this evening, as my shipment of funnybooks arrived, and I cracked open the cover of this latest inter-biography (tm), only to find it is the exact same interview.

College textbook manufacturers make big money off of 'revised editions,' since every school pretty much has to dump the old ones and order up the new version. The thing is, they have a certain percentage of content which has to be changed in order for it to qualify as a 'revised edition,' or so I was once told by a learned man. The thing is, the cover itself counts for the majority of that 'percentage,' so all they really have to do is slap a new cover on it and change the page numbers. I expect that kind of behavior from the piss-stained halls of Upper Academia, but not from the ever-lovin' funnybook realm.

I cracked that goddamn book open right away, and shut the pages in disgust within a minute or two. Hey, it took me that long to realize. Glancing at the indicia, I noticed it said "Large portions of this book were previously published as Alan Moore Spells It Out." Large portions? Try the whole fucking thing! They tacked on some bullshit at the end, like an 'Awards List' and an expanded (but pathetically far from complete) bibliography of Moore's work.

The real kicker is that they also added a glossary. A fucking glossary! Can you believe it? Thankfully it was two pages long, giving them ample space to explain what such mind-boggling concepts as "Synopsis," "Almanac," and "Epiphany" mean. Thank heavens; I'd have been lost without it.

Even more baffling is that, after an eighty-eight page (they made the font bigger) interview in which Moore discusses his entire career, pretty much from start to finish, the powers-that-be decided to slap on an "About the interviewee" blurb. Again, this is fucking retarded. This isn't on the back cover; oh, no. It's tucked within, beefing up that oh-so precious page count. What a bunch of happy horse shit. Who the fuck would need to read a one-paragraph "About the Interviewee" after they've read almost one hundred pages worth of his own words? That's like giving "Hello, My Name Is" stickers to everyone as they exit a conference room.

Now that I sound like a crotchety old spendthrift, allow me to backpedal a bit. I am assuming the initial volume is out of print, and has been usurped into this "Talking with Graphic Novelists" series' banner. That's all well and good, and if you enjoy Moore's work I actually reccommend seeking out this book. Just don't get it if you already have "Alan Moore Spells it Out." I just wish they would have warned a brother.

Jack Kirby Would Be Shitting in his Pants

Have you been reading DC's latest weekly extravaganza, Countdown? Probably not, because not many people follow comic books at all, let alone weekly ones. Last year, DC started it all off with 52, a boiling batch of bearpus that didn't make much sense to me. Granted, some people loved it, and I didn't really pay too much attention, but it just didn't make any sense.

Well, DC's follow up, Countdown, has been sliding down a slippery shitslope for the past twenty weeks. At first I really hated it, and found it just as boring as 52. The past month or two, however, has kept me riveted to my seat. It's all centered around Kirby's Fourth World saga, which has been a personal favorite of mine for a long time.

It seems like they're finally building towards the inevitable (though perennially postponed) climax, which has long been an underlying plot point. The New Gods are being killed off, though so far the only ones that have a second shitstringers, except for Lightray. He was always basically a pussy, though.

Another one to bite the dust is Sleez, who I believe was first featured in an old John Byrne issue of Action comics. Superman and Wonder Woman had amnesia, and Sleez was filming them in a porno. I shit thee not. Has he ever even appeared in anything else? I doubt it. Then again, probably somewhere.

There's also a subplot about some crazy-ass freaks who are searching for Ray Palmer, the Atom. He's shrunk into some unknown universe, and they're heading towards him. I don't even remember why they want to find him, but I think it's bad news.

Finally, Jimmy Olsen is the secret to the Anti-Life Equation. That's fucking great! He's been exhibiting all these crazy-ass powers, and some two-timing doctor ran some 'equation' on him. The doctor was working for Darkseid, who first appeared in Kirby's Jimmy Olsen run. It all comes full circle.. Jimmy Olsen Must Die!

This is one of the shittiest comics out there, but also one of the best. Dini helped define what LOST is all about, and he brings those skills to the table for this series. It's total shit, but totally shitterific!

Funnystrip Update

Well, in addition to coining a new term (Funnystrip, ie, a comic strip which predates 1960), this installment contains several KEY PLOT ELEMENTS in the various funnystrip collections I'm currently reading.

First, as always, is Smilin' Jack. In this collection (#3 or 4, I forget which), Zack is starting up a new airline school whilst going undercover to foil the supposed criminal exploits of "Mummy," a rough and tough World War I pilot. The thing is, Jack is totally nutso about Mummy's daughter, and grapples with the dilemma he's in: can he rat out on the father of the girl he loves? He doesn't seem to be too bothered about it once he's done it, though. Also, Fat Stuff continues to fuck up at school.

Over in Mary Perkins (volume 2), Mary has recently escaped the clutches of Samson Anthony's (again, not sure if that's the character's actual name) wrench-fisted contract. A serious of creepy events transpired, leading Ms. Perkins to believe she is nothing more than a pawn; a paper doll of sorts. Now she's shacking up with some sensitive type, I think. I forget what happened last, but that Mary sure is a filthy slut.

Terry and the Pirates (volume 1, NBM) continues to be stellar. The truth is, I haven't read much of it in the last week. So I guess, technically, it's at kind of a slow point. It's still great, though.

Many among us will ridicule the preceding declarations. You, who stand so proudly above all others, will tell yourself that your critical assessment, or complete disregard thereof, is of a superior nature. You, and you alone, are deemed worthy to decide upon all which is good on this earth.

Think again, Oh Noblest One, think again.

Terry and the Pirates

I've recently been reading the new Terry and the Pirates collection by Milton Caniff, which came out from IDW about a month ago. I have to say, I've been enjoying the Hell out of it, which is pretty hard to do. At first I was hesitant, because although I've read the first year or so of the strip and enjoyed it, I really didn't think it started getting really good until around 1940.

I'm happy to report that, pretty much right from the start, it's spectacular. I'm about a year or two into it, but I skipped over all of the Sundays that weren't running the same storyline as the dailies. Thankfully, they printed these consecutively in the beginning, so they were easy to skip right over, and will be easy to go back and read later. The storyline with the two main characters stranded on an island was one of the best 1930's storylines I've read in a long time. The art reminded me of Krigstein and Johnny Craig, both of whom I believe were big fans of Caniff.

One thing I noticed is how often the leading men of vintage strips were asked to go undercover to expose some form of criminal activity. The catch is, they're always impersonating some crazy criminal who happens to look exactly like them.

In this collection, Pat Ryan tries to break a ruthless gang of crooks, one of whom he looked exactly like. I'm just at that particular part in the book right now, so I don't know how it will end. Smilin' Jack looked just like a certain criminal too, and tried to spoil the Head's plans by going undercover. I think Dick Tracy might have done something similar, though Gould seemed a little too classy to rely on such a hackneyed concept.

Li'l Abner had his own criminal lookalike, too, as did Mammy and Pappy Yokum. Come to think of it, just about everyone in Dogpatch had a twin of some sort or the other. There must have been something in the water back then.

My Enthusiasm Has Been Curbed

I watched the season premiere of HBO's "Curb Your Enthusiasm" the other night. I didn't like it. I may be a professional Hater by choice, but I don't think I'm alone when I say this show has jumped the shark.

I love CYE; it's one of my favorite shows. At times, it has made me laugh so hard I nearly pissed myself. Note that I said 'nearly,' asshole. I don't want any weird rumors about me starting up. Anyway, I wasn't really surprised, because the last season pretty much sucked, too. I don't know why I continue to watch it if I don't really enjoy it much anymore, but I keep coming back. I guess it's like calling a friend up that you don't really have much in common with anymore. There's not much point in doing it, but force of habit rules out in the end.

At least it was better than "Fonejacker," some completely horrible BBC show I recently watched. God, that was awful. I'd rather watch video of Larry David taking a shit than sit through that again. Imagine if Ali G decided to re-make Crank Yankers in his image, and also he has to stop being funny.

Fuck Jules Verne

A buddy of mine used to have a big beef with Jules Verne. Yeah, the old French writer, Jules Verne. He read 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, which was a great book, and loved it. Then he read some others, and when he got around to reading The Mysterious Island, he was pretty well-versed in Verne. Needless to say, he was excited at the prospect of a sequel to Leagues, since the original was so good. What he got was, in his words, "A steaming pile of Verne-shit. Fuck him!"

At the time, I, also, had read a lot of Verne. And a bunch of H.G. Wells, too. Overall, I would say that I like Wells' best better than Verne's best, but Wells had some pretty boring shit, whereas Verne always maintained a certain degree of suspenseful action; at least enough to carry the show to the end. His books might have been kind of lame at times, but they always had at least one great concept.

Anyway, when my buddy read the Mysterious Island, he became royally pissed. He said the majority of it was based on some strange dude lurking around, or some such shit. I never actually read that particular book. The point is, it really wasn't much of a sequel, and I guess he was so angry because he'd been sold a false bill of goods.

I recently finished Verne's Around the World in 80 Days, and I, too, feel I was played the victim. For decades, what one mode of transportation springs to mind when you think of that book? I'll give you a second....

It's the fucking air balloon. Everyone associates the air balloon with that book. And guess what? There's not one fucking air balloon in that goddamn book! He only mentions it in one sentence near the end, and he's pretty much dissing it as far as a form of transportation goes.

Now, I know, once again, this isn't really Verne's fault per se, but fuck him anyway. He was probably a dick to someone, at some point of his life. And anyway, what's he going to do about it?

The Jungle

The other day I started reading "The Jungle" by Upton Sinclair. I can't get over that name; "Upton." What a sissy name it is. I bet that dude got the shit beat out of him on a regular basis. I can't even imagine why someone would name their child that. And that last name... "Sinclair." No offense to anyone living today, but even that surname just screams "Pussy." And not in the "Check me out, I get tons of Pussy" vein; more in the "Christ, I am such a pussy" category. My grandfather always said "Don't speak ill of the dead, you ingrate," but I bet even if he were a vengeful ghost, I could still beat the living (or undead) crap out of Upton Sinclair. Plus, Grandpa used to touch cousin Shana in her flowerbox. I saw him do it once.

As for the book, it's a wacky story about the hijinx and shenanigans that went on in the meat packing industry at the turn of the previous century. My friend Schooly G would probably make a real lame joke about the phrase 'Meat packing industry' at this point, but thankfully I'm way above that. Though I might add as a side note that your mother and I once started our own meat packing industry, but we had to call it quits once her rectum prolapsed. You know what I'm talking about!

King of Kong

Last night I watched "King of Kong," the documentary about the guys who hold the world record on all those classic arcade games. It centered around the game "Donkey Kong" in particular. In a nutshell, some guy in the midwest (or so) got really, really good at Donkey Kong, and wanted to be recognized as the world-record holder.

It was a pretty understandable request, since he blew the other score away. But the thing is, the guy with the original score turned out to be really tight with the referees (they were all from the old days), and he doesn't like the thought of someone beating his score. I think his name was Billy Mitchell; look him up if you're interested.

It's a totally fucked up story. In truth, the movie tends to play Mitchell as a villain, but taken at face value some of the stuff he does in it are truly reprehensible. I'd like to hear his side of the story, but I don't feel like looking it up.

Regardless, it was a great movie. Just under an hour and a half, which is pretty much my cutoff for any flick. It was fascinating, in the same way that the sex-doll documentary was, but nowhere near as creepy. That shit was just totally fucked.

Introduction: The Rugged He-Men of Years Past

Hey Folks! DJ Sloofus here. I've been asked by the braintrust over at CBH headquarters to start my very own blog. Since I really don't have too much to say, I've decided to create a ridiculous concept, and loosely thread it together over the course of the next few weeks. It's basically a contest between comic strip characters, all of whom are forced to compete against one another. Can you believe it? This is a truly unique, original idea which I got while watching American Idol. Isn't it great?

For the first series in this new, official Comic Book Haters' spin-off blog, we begin with a contest torn from the pages of yesteryear. Quite literally, as we present a series of pairings between the toughest ironjaws to grace the pages of American newspapers during the World War II era. Though they've been grouped randomly, the pairings are ultimately leading towards one inevitable 'winner' of sorts. The true winners, of course, are those who are able to click away from this nonsense right now.

Any true discussion of the rugged ‘He-Men’ of the comics page, circa 1935-1950, will undoubtedly center on five men: Captain Easy, Smilin’ Jack, Pat Ryan, Steve Roper, and Steve Canyon. On a slow day, you could throw Popeye into the mix, but his cartoony style pretty much excludes him from the others' more‘serious’ overtones (on the surface, at least). Dick Tracy’s employment by the department of law enforcement prohibits him from being part of this speculation. He would most definitely disapprove of every aspect.
Toon in next time, dear reader, as we present the first of our fictional faceoffs. In the meantime, why not check out one of our many sponsors?