Friday, October 26, 2007
I have miraculously made 21 kids in the past 6 months.
Now it can be told: what it takes to put together a Big Monkey Podcast.
Like The Justice League, we all don't live in the city. Many of us live on palacial estates overlooking the poverty, crime-stricken cities. At least I do.
Every other Thursday the call goes out. The red phone rings. It's Scip's manservant Paco, telling us it's time to assemble. I remove my smoking jacket and kiss my new wife good-bye, heading to the elevator, leading to my personal underground subway car which leads to Big Monkey Comics, various archery ranges & strip clubs.
Ben, resplendent in jodphurs and after spending the day perusing his steam-powered Information-Scope 20001, is the first to arrive at the store. Ben, having bathed in lilac-scented water and having read a stack of "girl comics" is prepared to moderate that which no sane man would.
Jon Brooks is next to arrive by a dune buggy powered by the sound of a million "Excelsiors!" Brooks is the hardest to corral as his day job as a world renowned voice coach/cicada specialist keeps him busy around the world.
Jon Carey is next, swooping through the window on a silken line, disheveled, gun at the ready. Ben, who has become expert at this point, patches him up, hands him his "medicine," props him in front of a mike and awaits "magic time."
Scip, as always arrives via golden spaceship, fashionably late (tipsy) and complaining of exhaustion, having freshly returned from spending too much time hanging out in various Macy's with new best friend, Tim Gunn. Scip is then led to his special chamber where he is bombarded with his essential "re-vita rays," which we don't have the heart to tell him, is actually just a buffet table with extra heating lamps.
Soon, I arrive. Before the podcast can begin, we lay hands upon a stack of Hot Stuff comics and pledge to uphold "The Blogger's Code," which basically says we'll use spel-chek whenever possible.
Next, the roast pig is brought out and they sup upon its flesh. I don't eat meat. I draw sustenance from the love of my many, many female admirers.
Next, the table is cleared of all debris, the lights are lowered and we sit at our chairs emblazoned with our unique symbols and attuned to our individual bio-rhythms.
Our golden cups raised, we let out a yell.
We are ready...
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Tomorrow's Teen Titans #52 is being drawn by one of my favorite artists, Jamal Igle.
I had NO idea.
In the "House of Seven Hells!" this man's name on a cover is an easy sell.
Month in, month out, he's been delivering with quiet reliability.
There's no guessing with this man's artwork. His character's are "on-model." He renders a hand as a hand. His characters express themselves with their hands. A face expresses the writer's full intent. His characters occupy their own space and interact within each others.
Best of all, he's constantly looking for it, a new way to lay out a page, a new way torender a subtle something unique to the way character carries him or herself.
It's a certain something that can't be taught and Igle's art has it in abundance.
Over time, Jamal Igle's become an artist I've come to respect.
His art lets me know exactly what's going on on the page. His art makes me want to turn the page and go back and look at it again.
That's makes for a good comic and Igle does nothing but.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Countdown* has not made an impression on me, at all.
Almost from the first issue this book has been troubled with lackluster art, continuity problems and continuity dependent appearances by Kyle Rayner and The Question (Green Lantern: Sinestro Corps and The Crime Bible, respectively) have had people creators and fans alike, asking if the right hand knows what the left is doing.
Other events such as The Sinestro Corps have eclipsed it in scope and immediacy.
Amazons Attack! did nothing for Countdown but make it feel unnecessary and especially tedious.
Furthermore, as much as I enjoy Countdown's writers Palmiotti, Gray, Bedard, Beechen and McKeever's individual works, they just don't seem to be gelling well as a writing unit.
These are very good writers. It's just that the material they're being given isn't very compelling.
The lead characters of Donna Troy, Kyle Rayner, Jason Todd, Trickster, Pied Piper, Holly Robinson, Mary Marvel and Jimmy Olsen aren't very compelling and just seem to be put in the path of a bullet for no other reason than editorial edict.
24 weeks in and we still don't know their story.
24 weeks in, I haven't been made to feel like I should care about their story.
24 weeks ago, I signed on to see Jimmy Olsen die. According to DC it was something that must happen. 24 weeks later, Jimmy is alive and in a sewer, hanging out with underaged boys in his underwear.
This may be as good a time as any to question where this comic is ultimately headed.
For 24 weeks now, I have done nothing but defend this comic and week in week out, I've been testing myself finding new ways to do so.
So, there you have it, my reasons for wanting to stop counting.
So, my question to you is this:
"Why do I still want to stay?"
*Thanks to Jon Carey for the image.
Oh! By the way...
New Big Monkey Podcast: The Writer's Block Edition!
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Three months late but here, nontheless! Kids, it time for another edition of....
Matt Worzala asks:
What's a good way to let your roommate know they need to help out more with chores, that won't lead to awkward tension between the two of you?
Sharpen your ax!
Next, awaken your village by singing a song full of plunder and one's testicular roundness and virility. Have the village children make torches, light them and have them form a circle just..."yay-big." Gather your roommate (by force if necessary,) bind his palsied wrist to yours with a leather strap, preferably one your father used to beat you with and have an all-out ax fight.
Hit him in the head with sharpened ax.
Repeat as needed.
Awkward tension becomes that feeling in your wrist as you haul his body back to the kitchen to get yourself some of last night's salted pork.
Viking Commando, Why haven't you made a comeback yet? I mean, Sgt. Rock just had that limited, and Enemy Ace and Unknown Soldier have done stuff at Vertigo, so aren't you about due? If Balloon Buster gets a prestige special before you, I will lose all faith in god and man.
Have you seen the state of comics lately? I have no desire to "come back." Come back to what?
A world that doesn't inherently appreciate the genius of my being a Viking who is very much a Commando. I volunteered for duty in scribe Frank Miller's Holy Terror, Batman! comic, only to be told by DC Comics they thought I'd be in their words, "a bit much, even by our standards."
That is the reason I won't come back. Without me, no one will know how utterly ridiculous this book will be.
There is your "balloon buster."
Gyuss Baaltar asks:
Viking Commando, This weekend all my friends have made some time for pillaging and plundering the village one county over. However, my wife has reminded me that the lawn needs mowing. What should I do?
Hagar? Is that you again? Be a man. Have the damned boy do it. Go and raid your England!
Viking Commando: I'm considering doing something with my investment portfolio. Despite the continued gains in the Dow Jones, I'm getting a bit nervous that the worm might turn soon and we could see a massive downturn. Should I move into safer short-to-medium term deposits, or do you think I'm wrong and I should remain in stocks, corporate bonds, and maybe even expand into something like futures?
The worm does often turn in all matters financial. I ask, what lies in your future? Planting within a wife's womb a Viking of stout heart? Then, I suggest short-to-medium term deposits. If that is the case, that is the safer way to go, I think. This tact will prove safest. If this works out, test the market with a few low yield bonds before investing too heavily.
If that fails, invest in a sack and steal some gold.
Dear Mr. Commando, I have lost the taste for battle. I no longer yearn to feel the warm spray of my enemy's blood splash against my skin or smell that deliciously smoky blend of burning wood and human flesh. In the past, I would have shared my feelings with my friend Barry, but the last time I sought your council, you advised my to cut out his tongue, which means he is no longer speaking to me. I tried discussing this with a wise man who had made a study of the ways of the warrior's mind, but I became so confused by his use of words such as "existential" and "ennui" that I had no choice but to sever his head from his body and slaughter his wife and children to ensure that his bloodline would never again be able to mock me for my lack of an education.
So, I now turn to you, Viking Commando, whose wisdom I admire and whose judgment I respect. What can I do to rebuild the bloodlust that is the trait of every true warrior? And if it involves pills, can you suggest a wise man who can provide me with a prescription without causing me to fly into another fit of murderous child-killing rage?
Yours gratefully, Allan
P.S. Gail will show us the way!
Your lament reminds me of a story: Once, the god Loki made a wager with dwarves. The wager was so that if Loki lost, he would have to surrender his head to the ax of a dwarf. Loki lost this bet and in time the dwarves came to collect their debt. A god prince's head. Loki gladly submitted to the fact that the dwarves were owed his head but in no way could they claim any right to any part of his neck. Loki and the dwarves debated long into the night.
Obviously, the dwarves were owed his head but they all could not agree upon which parts exactly constitute neck and which parts exactly constitute head.
Conversely, Loki managed to keep his head indefinitely.
Although, the dwarves did sew his mouth shut...
What was your question again?
As for "gail," that can only be found in the lamentations of the womenfolk.
...and so ends another edition of "All-Out Living! With The Viking Commando!"
*Thanks to James Rambo for the Photoshop help.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Arrest his ass for blocking the rooster.
For wanting everyone around him to be as ho-po' as his punk ass.
For treating a true player like a redheaded stepchild.
For trying to steal a true pimp's stable.
For hating on a man who for 65 years has kept two fine young ladies plush in his garden of pimply delights.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you The High Priest of Hatin', that Kaiser of The C*ckblock...
Pubic Enemy Number One...
Comics' Greatest Douchebag Of All Time...
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Help usher in laws violating others civil liberties: CHECK!
Hunt down former allies who disagree with said laws: CHECK!
Imprison former friends if they disagree with said laws: CHECK!
Become head of espionage group to make it just that much easier: CHECK!
Create clone of a Nordic god and set it against your former allies: CHECK!
After Norse clone kills a two-story tall Black man, assign someone to dig a hole for said man, have him wrapped in a tarp, buried in chains in front of his whole family: CHECK!
Arrest best friend, Captain America, march him like a dog, handcuffed in front of a mob and not allow for his being possibly killed: CHECK!
Do so while completely sober: CHECK!
Kind of impressive when you see it all in one place, don't you think?
Congratulations, Tony... without even hardly trying, you became a better villain than I ever could hope be.
All I've done lately is try and get elected mayor of Sub Diego.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Doctor BLACK MANTA
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
It's always about them.
White guys who keep those below, below the glass ceiling.
You know who I'm talking about.
Those two Atlantean kings who hate on men with big penises and doctorates and sh*t.
As much as I hate Aquaman, Namor, The Sub-Mariner just might be worse.
Always getting between Reed Richards and his baby's mama.
Disgraceful. A baby needs his daddy, *sshole.
I don't think he particularly likes Blacks either.
The eleventy-billionth Big Monkey Podcast is, much like Ben Hatton, up and running.
Thrill to the adventures of everyone explaining to Scip that Iron Fist is just a comic.
Swoon as we all get the Blues.
Listen in shock and awe as we show you that five men can talk for one hour without cussin'.
Read this first.
Monday, October 08, 2007
We have a lot in common.
Stupid blond guys are always getting into his sh*t.
Stupid blond guys are always getting into my sh*t.
He has a black soul.
I have a large Black Manta ship... to go along with my massive Black everythangs!
I heard he once cut his brother's girlfriend Sif's hair because she wouldn't give him any play.
I wholeheartedly approve.
If you did not know, that means I approve with my whole heart.
Loki is a "pimp," children.
Note the pimp cup.
His cup tells his story.
Friday, October 05, 2007
EMPOWERED VOLUME 3
ADAM WARREN (W/A)
On sale Mar 12
b&w, 208 pages
TPB, 6" x 9"
As if life as an often-struggling superheroine weren’t already hard enough, now costumed crimefighter “Empowered” discovers that another female superhero is ripping off her distress-prone persona—and cashing in, big-time! Even worse, her relationship with live-in boyfriend (and semi-reformed Witless Minion) Thugboy has run afoul of an extremely literal set of “power issues” ! Worse yet, a singularly bloodthirsty and ruthless ninja clan is gunning—no, make that shurikening—for Emp’s best friend and karaoke partner, Ninjette! Can our unlucky but still plucky heroine prevail over all these obstacles as well as the further threats posed by foreign fanfiction outrages, her own supersuit’s attempts to manipulate her self-esteem, and the revelation of (gasp!) her real name?
• “Empowered just may be the best graphic novel I’ve read all year.”
—Devon Sanders, Rack Raids
"Seven Hells!" returns with all-new material next week...Thanks to Graig of "Rack Raids" fame for hippin' me to the quote.