Tag Archives: comics

These kids comics are definitely not for kids, and maybe not for adults either.

30 May

May 30, 2010

They say that comics are for kids but I don’t know if that’s true. Comics today feature Grant Morrison’s musings on the structure of time, space, and the multiverse, Garth Ennis’ profanity-fueled dark and graphic violence, and Frank Miller’s total shit.

But there has always been at least one comic that for nearly 70 years could be depended on for good wholesome, family fun: Archie Andrews. Archie is a high school student who lives in Riverdale, a nice fictional community where Democrats don’t raise taxes and no major crime has been committed since Big Moose broke Reggie’s nose with a shovel for dissing his fugly girlfriend Ethel.

Archie is your typical teenage kid, i.e.: kind of dumb. He’s totally in love with two girls, Betty, your average pie-baking virgin, and Veronica, the Paris Hilton-like rich girl who’ll go all the way in the backseat with the quarterback in the most expensive car. Archie is so dumb that he has no idea that even Jughead has hit that.

Anyway, typical Archie Comics plots center around Archie borrowing five dollars from his father for a milkshake at the chocolate shop and Jughead eating a hamburger. Once there was a miniseries where Archie and Dilton fell asleep in class.

How, then, to explain the issue where Archie gave hand jobs to three guys in a swimming pool?

Dammit Betty, you're supposed to do that!

Well, if Archie can’t be counted on, we can at least count on 1950’s TV to provide wholesome fun, right? No, no we can’t.

Remember The Rifleman with Chuck Conners? Of course you don’t. No one does. This is the 21st Century and trust me, no one gives two craps about this black and white old televised turd. Chuck Conners was your usual TV western good guy- he carried a rifle (duh, like The Rifleman would carry a bow and arrow) , caught the bad guys, delivered homilies and family-friendly morals, and seemed to be deathly afraid of women. How else do you explain the fact that the Lone Ranger never got laid, the guy from Gunsmoke never schtupped Miss Kitty, and the only female in The Rifleman’s cast played someone named “Lou?”

I have an answer, an obvious one, as seen in this issue of The Rifleman comic:

gay rifleman

Gee Mr. Rifleman, I dunno...

Mr. Tight Pants seems pretty proud of that “log,” doesn’t he? Almost as proud as the kid is afraid that The Rifleman is going to put that thing somewhere bad. Again.

And speaking of TV and comics, what do you think is happening to that guy in this scene from The Incredible Hulk?

gay hulk

"Hulk not power bottom! Hulk Top!"

Of course, Superman must be safe for kids. He represents Truth, Justice, and The American Way. No way would he be caught dropping his towel in a Russian steam room. Everyone knows that Superman is in love with Lois Lane, who on television has been played by the attractive Erica Durance but in the movies was played by Margot Kidder, a chain smoking scud whose very glance, like the mighty Medusa before her, could give men herpes. Medusa may have turned men hard as stone, but the only thing Margot Kidder hardened was men’s resolves not to touch her.

But back in the early days, things were a bit different for Clark Kent. He hadn’t yet married Lois, was still unsure of his place in the world, and his adventures were not yet overseen by the Comics code Authority, a group of people determined to take any hint of sex or violence out of comics. How else can you explain this sequence?

gay Superman

"Gay City Here I come!"

He sure is in a hurry to get to Gay City, isn’t he? Gay City is no place for a woman. What the Hell is going on here?

The man flits about in his underwear. You figure it out.

And lastly, even if Archie has disappointed you, the Hulk is buggering bald men, and Superman is off to the opera in Gay City, would Batman let you down?

Would Batman, in a story straight out of the Bible, let you down?

You decide.

I leave you with this:

Batman wrestles wioth his snake

Monday Night Was Magical

19 Dec

December 19, 2009

Monday night was magical. My sexy girlfriend and I (she’s a model) took a limo into the city, ate a fabulous dinner at a fancy restaurant, saw a Broadway show, and spent the night in a luxurious mid-town hotel. At least that is what I’ve been telling people.

Truth is I did no such thing. Well, I did go into the city, I did eat a meal, and I sort-of saw a Broadway show. You see, I tend to stretch the truth. Makes me feel like a big shot.

In reality, my brother and I took the train into the city to see the Rangers, AKA “The Broadway Blues” at MSG. So I say I did see a “Broadway show.” Sue me.

We started our Mid-Town sojourn at one of the greatest gifts Manhattan can bestow: Mid-Town Comics. They don’t need me to plug them but for the sake of taking up space in this blog I’ll do it. If there is something comic book related, they have it. If they don’t have it you don’t need it. They have two floors full of stuff that just compels the money out of your wallet. You don’t even know it. Walk in and ten minutes later you are standing at the register behind a pile of stuff Webster couldn’t see over while the guy behind the counter calls in your credit card and asks for a credit line increase. It is that good. There must be some magic in that old silk hat they found, how else to explain all the people buying $100 Wolverine busts?

If Mid-Town Comics has a problem, it is the one thing they don’t have and desperately need: a way in. As I said, they are two floors of the best stuff a comic book nerd could ever want. Trouble is, the two floors are the second and third floors of a building. The first floor is taken up by souvlaki stands, fake Rolex shops, the World’s Smelliest T-Shirt Shop, and an unmarked door guarded by a large bald man in sunglasses and a leather coat that must have taken the combined hides of four cows to make.

To get to the comics shop, you have to climb up a staircase to the second floor, a long straight climb without a landing. I assume there is a handicapped entrance somewhere- maybe the bald guy is guarding it. Aside from the long climb, the main trouble with the staircase is that it is too narrow. I hope no building inspectors are reading this. The staircase is too narrow for two people to pass. If someone is walking down and you want go up, you have to wait for the person to get to the bottom. Even if the guy going down the stairs is 96 years old, takes the stairs one step at a time and then waits to catch his breath, you’re stuck waiting.

I stepped on the bottom step to go up at the same time as someone stepped on the top step to go down.

We stopped.

I stared up.
She stared down.
I squinted at her, Larry David style.
She kept staring.

My brother said “oh this is bullshit!” and pushed past me and went upstairs. I followed along, and when we got to the top the woman kept staring at me. Who cares? I was where I wanted to go.

A lot of people have a wrong idea of comic book readers. They expect fat guys in Fantastic Four t-shirts and old baseball caps. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mid-Town Comics was crowded with men in business suits, guys in casual office wear, women in smart skirts. In fact, the only fat guy in a Fantastic Four t-shirt and an old baseball cap that day was me.

I spent about $80 to stimulate the economy (including a George Perez JLA collection and a hardcover of The Return of the Sinister Six. I tell you this in case you were going to get me either of these as a Christmas present.) and somehow managed to avoid the allure of the $100 Wolverine busts. We went to go back down the stairs and damn if there wasn’t a 96 year-old man coming up the stairs one at a time, catching his breath at every step.

Twenty minutes later we were down the stairs and on our way to eat.

TO BE CONTINUED