Justice before the dark mirror is not anti-justice. It is death and insanity. And every principle of goodness requires a strong man. Or, in this instance, two strong men. And a telepathic woman. Persons willing to get their hands dirty in order to set things right, to battle death and enclose madness, to save the hedonists from themselves.  "Let the dead fluidsss flow!"

The Devil whispered into the young Captain's ear, "I just want you to think big, Frank, for Christ’s sake!" The young Captain, overrun, turned his mind to the hunger inside him and to the vision set before his eyes and he said 'yes'. He thought as big and wide as one could manage and then grabbed the sixty. It was time to finish them. All of them. Every god damned last one of them. "Not every day you meet your polar opposite."

People are creeps. Just a bunch of creeps crawling around with their tongues out licking the ground for food. Frank knows this. He hunts for the biggest creep he can find and gives him what for. Tries to anyway. The man in red, overcoming the barrel roll, carries the creep off to justice. In response, Frank does drugs in Mexico. "I'll need my uzi to handle this mob."

Put on The National. We are sad dads. Sad dads who cannot be glad. Who cannot be glad about being dads.  It's dark, bro. Give us a day or two to post a new episode. Please. 24 hours. Something. Just put the gun down. We are doing it for Maria and the kids.

Even if the improvisation of serialized fiction is eternal, nothing stays the same. All is change. The mainstream comics world has new blood, writers who have entered the scene since 2017. We decided to find out who they were and then pit them against each other. We wanted blood. And we got blood. A river of it.  Gerry Duggan vs. Tini Howard, Kelly/Lanzing vs. Tom Taylor, Kelly Thompson vs. Saladin Ahmed, Steve Orlando vs. Philip Kennedy Johnson, Zeb Wells vs. Jed MacKay, Leah Williams vs. Ram V, Ed Brisson vs. Al Ewing, and Joshua Williamson vs. Torunn Grønbekk. After nearly two hours, a champion stood at the crimson mouth, arms raised, challengers strewn or drowned.  It was good. "He loves you Selina. And so do I."    

Reality is bending. If we wake up, it breaks. Or does it? Does it matter if The Key finally slides into The Lock? Or has it already happened? Would we know the difference if a drug addled, megalomaniacal lunatic merged with the fabric of being itself?  The punch is spiked, the phone is back on the hook, and we are spinning wildly three years into the past. Tie us up before we cause too much harm. It's showtime! "Wreck it completely!"

She's been twelve for a long time, under the care of her own inept Renfield. Now she is alone. Meanwhile, he's been building his quiet rage, preparing himself for the pleasures of murder. Outcasts both, they find each other, tapping kisses into the pine.  Twenty five years earlier, Tony Scott makes an extended music video. Somehow these are both vampire movies. Find out why! [Sarah smiles, shakes her head, and then spills wine on her top]

This one goes out to Swedish Noble, Jake Gyllenhaal. The Swifties done did him dirty. Like, maybe he was a mean boyfriend to Taylor Swift at the tender age of twenty. Maybe he didn't hold her hand at that party. So what? GROW UP. Jake is a phenom who will not be stopped by some clingy, stupid little girl. He's got movies to make. Movies like Dan Gilroy's Nightcrawler. Movies that expose America for what it is. Not like you, Taylor, not like you at all.  #teamjake #erastoursux #alltoowell #cringe. "Is that blood on your shirt?"

There is nothing better than sport, is there? Sport and school dances. Those transformative rituals that are the true magic of life. Press-ganged into prison-like enclosures, we battle each other and face our fears. We learn to 'grow up'. Sometimes we even grow up to be important. And, in rare instances, we grow up to be something more than important. Sometimes we grow up to be a hero, a lightning-scarred hero destined to battle the ultimate evil. So let's hear it, shall we? Three cheers for sport and school dances! "Blimey, Harry. You've slayed dragons. If you can't get a date, who can?"

One adolescent male power fantasy seeks to put the other in its place. John Wayne ain't dead and Russia is on the move. Nothing changes.  Come see what people through was cool in a post 9/11 environment. It's woodcuts as far as the eye can see. "The idiot. As if I would turn back from the one military act which will unite Russia's voters behind me once and for all."

God stole the sight of a boy. And in the pews, the boy leaned into hate. But then, through alchemy unknown, God became man. And the hatred followed. The self-hatred. The pain. The loss of direction. Chip, who stands before us like Virgil, leads us along the path the devil trod to return to God. Strangely, he wears a Spider-Man costume. And it kinda works. "I use violence, but also compassion."

We all go to the brain butchers from time to time. There is no harm. A pleasant memory, a map instead of terrain. Scalpel incision replacing lost luggage and delayed flights. Dig deep, dig deep dear brain butchers and sing us to sleep with a pretty dream. Give us all what we can never have. "A man is defined by his actions, not his memory."

"And the brunt of lacerating particles, needle-fine sandstorms driven by nuclear force, is absorbed by something spawned and sent by the dread... but not before Jakosa tastes life in the past tense, hosting an eternal instant of ashen death in mind, soul, and body. Riven, his irradiated flesh disintegrates."             - Doug Moench, Noted Bard

Through a very unfortunate series of authorial missteps, the subaltern has been transformed into a murderous freak and given very few redeeming qualities. Frankly, it's a mess. We apologize for this intrusion into your good taste. But also we don't.  "As long as there are people like you who shame us by looking into our backgrounds there can be no progress!"

Mcmorgy pognosty manman, syntegra bok kogo... I don't know how long I can keep the channel open. You have to listen. We're under attack! The Demon's Head is back and he has stolen something important. He's stolen the plans of ... clingo dag dingo manman. Blerk zeek manman. Shemangi dip tip bip, manman... "Splendid. Whoever said that a picture is worth a thousand words..."

Cops, man. Cops. Policing all over the place, back alleys and outerspace. The cops, maaan, they leave their trace, spray that mace, punch you right in your law abiding face. Living on the street? They displace. There ain't nothing they distaste more than the stink of waste. They eat from a trough and have super powers in a post-war Nazi project paperclip metropolis that turns gold into lead. Flat dead. Blood red. Must shed and become.... police. "Good. Do not weep. Being is enough."

Avatar August 2023 reaches around to jerk itself off. Tim Vigil and David Quinn accommodate. They hammer-f&*k all the c$nts to the wall, teaching hornypu$$y the meaning of well-endowed. It is definitely something to observe. "I play because I play."

From the horrors of the lab or the end of the world, the great journey to freedom begins. Either to shuck off the heavy weight of programming and metal or to shed the skin of conditioning, we must go. Animals we are. Smelling the summer breeze, we travel far into the unknown country, encountering danger and loss. Fighting back, no matter the cost. "1 know 0"

Honour is two things. Honour is social capital tied to material wealth. In this mode, when you lose your honour, you sometimes lose your house. This does not mean, however, that you also lose the second thing that honour is: dignity and self-reliance, the willingness to sacrifice for what you love and what you represent. The first type of honour buries and represses the second type, concealing its face from the lord and master. But we always know that it is there, haunting the hollow red armour, threatening hell.  "A husband must provide for his wife and child."

Monkeys that sway to fire want fire to walk. Fire to command. Fire to burn away the impurities of monkey speak and monkey life. But when fire walks, the fire commands the destruction of all that monkeys had once been. Until there is only naked monkey. Drugged. Rambling. Telling us the story of how fire came to be. "We should have realised, at this late juncture, that neither our knowledge nor our reason had any relevance to the situation."

(search function optimization initiate) Hunger Games director with Keanu Reeves from John Wick give Constantine (2005) movie, starring Rachel Weisz and Tilda Swinton!  Based on Alan Moore property written by Jamie Delano for DC Comics under Vertigo imprint (1988). All is owned by Time-Warner/Warner Bros. Margaret Thatcher and the Spear of Destiny. Hell is a mirror and you. Are in it. "I don't believe in the devil." "He believes in you."

Back to the well of Junji Ito! The place where we deposit the unburied dead. Where physicians are baffoons and citizens sacrifice their blood to the soil. Can art transcend the material conditions of its production? Will we ever find our lost loved ones? WE DON'T KNOW. Our mouths are too full to scream. "I can't go dying until I finish... her gold statue."

Waiting for the Deathblow Waiting for the Deathblow Waiting for the Deathbloooowwww "I was raised as a patriot. Trained as a soldier. And became a killer."

The dark green turtle emerges from self-imposed exile. New York is out of control. Or under control. Not perverted enough, the villain nonetheless has mommy issues. Daddy gone away. A mirror to Michelangelo. Who watches the ladies come and go. "I'm sorry, Father. I failed."

The blood bank is running dry. The number of withdrawals is outpacing revenue. Knives, guns, sticks, and bombs. What kind of high is this? Sky high. BOOM. The storm is upon us now and nothing will ever be the same. "I'm sorry, but your contractor's doing a lousy job."  

Reborn from the dark crystal prison, Kulan Gath awakes hungry for power and flesh. The Man-Spider must pay for his crimes. Heroes will be made to serve the cause of Gath's revenge, transformed into Hyperborean analogues. Those who fail to obey will be changed. There will be hentai in Manhattan. You can count on that. "Rachel, use your mindblasts to punch a whole in that outside wall!"

Memory is at the centre of the human. Without it, we fade away into nothing. So we built a machine that watches us every hour of every day. It sees everything. And remembers. Now, when our number comes up, we are reborn as number, an infinite number, more moves on the chessboard than atoms in the universe.  Prime time TV never had it so good. "In addition to this being now, it's also probably the end."

The sharp blade of the scissors has trimmed the first molecule. The second. Metal ripping through reality, cutting to the core. Millions separated. And we are now sad. Processing our loss. The end of the Dream Weaver. Like this day wasn't a birthday, but the dream of a birthday ended early. Awoken into a sad sack nothing. "And nothing is truly lost."  

Time to court controversy. In space! Are we just a dangerous, primitive, child-like species? Or are we on our way to the stars? Like, for instance, if for some reason all of us got really horny, would we die in a mass orgy? Or would we find the will to master ourselves? Must we be trapped on this industrialized nightmare, rape-gang orb? Or will we homogonize under a bland ideology, build star ships, and play at seamen? "Shut off that damn noise! Go to yellow alert."

Sins of Sinister #1 - March, 2023 - Written by Kieron Gillen and illustrated by many, many others. The Ambassadors #1 - March 2023 - Written by Mark Millar and illustrated by Frank Quitely. Batman/Spawn #1 - February, 2023 - Written by Todd McFarlane, pencilled by Greg Capullo.

The world is run by the invisible hands of invisible persons. Running wild and covert. But one team has had enough. For Cole Cash and Spartan, it's time for action! Time to become the most invisible of hands so that the world can be cradled into the future.  "Evolution is an unavoidably violent process."

The hunter, ruthless bloody bastard, will skin you to the bones. Sometimes wearing a monocle. Sometimes wearing fishnet stockings and sporting long, sharp nails.  Question unasked until now: Is the Predator a woman? A space woman? An invisible space woman who KILLS ALL PERFECT MEN? Sadly, we do not answer this question. But we do enjoy a classic. Join us. "Same kind of moon, same kind of jungle. Real number 10, remember?"

No mercy with Percy and let 'errrrr Ryp! Hey kids, it's WOLVERINE!  What sort of shenanigans has our diminutive Canadian been up to since mutants go themselves yet another island utopia? The answer: far more and far less than we could have ever imagined possible. "Cover your ears and open your mouth!"

It's all coming together now. The fates have activated the fates. The tragedy is in place, the gun aimed. A blackpowder dream.  "I wish I could remember what you smell like."

What do the rich care, alive on their boats and up in the air, in the clouds, breathing the atmosphere of capital? We hold their trays for them and watch them feast, anxious for scraps, praying for a high pressure front to overturn their olympian existence, to turn the world inside out.  The one word we failed to use: carnivalesque. Meat party. Now. Try to relax your triangle of sadness. "I'm so sorry about that. That was irresponsible."

The poor, struggling artist is trapped in the guilded cage by his own obsession. Blessed with every material he could ever want, staffed by the greatest assistants on spaceship earth, he nonetheless laments his life, fixating on past trauma. And the devil gnashed: how awful it is to be successful and desired, for the critics to know all your techniques, for them to identify all of your flavours. Where is the power in that? For him, the artist, there is now only the heat of the hellish kitchen.  "You will eat less than you desire and more than you deserve."

Here is what we shall do. We shall take hundreds of our soldiers, most of them borrowed from a smash and grab that occurred hundreds of years ago. We will paint them as True Warriors. We shall put them behind enemy lines and ask them to help conquer themselves. We shall call this Valour. Then, when it all goes tits up, we shall pretend it never happened. "Ach, I've seen worse up the shore road on a Saturday night, sir. That's no word of a lie."  

Did you feel that? Reality Storm. Always happens this time of year. Thunder. Lightning. Twenty centimetres of allegory expected. Chance of simile. Like a young girl hiding among men in a universe of No Girls Allowed, it's best to stay Inn. Find your stories there. If you have any. "That's your proof."

Captain America #400 "Murder by Decree!" Written by Mark Gruenwald, pencilled by Rik Levins, inked by Danny Bulanadi, coloured by Christie Scheele, and lettered by Joe Rosen. Avengers West Coast Vol. 2#82 "Shi'ar Hatred!" Written by Roy and Dann Thomas, pencilled by Dave Ross, inked by Tim Dzon, coloured by Bob Sharen, and lettered by Joe Rosen. Quasar #34 "The Scorched Sun" Written by Marc Gruenwald, pencilled by Rurik Tyler, inked by Keith Williams, coloured by Paul Becton, and lettered by Janice Chiang. Wonder Man Vol. 2 #9"Big Decisions" Written by Gerard Jones, pencilled by Jeff Johnson (w/Stephen B. Jones), inked by Dan Panosian and Bud LaRosa, coloured by Joe Rosas, and lettered by Pat Brosseau. Avengers #347 "Empire's End" Written by Bob Harras, pencilled by Steve Epting, inked by Tom Palmer, coloured by Gina Going, and lettered by Bill Oakley. May, 1992

Warning: This episode has some terrible audio. We didn't realize it was recording so badly. Now we can't fix it. Sorry. Also, we try not to swear in this one. That doesn't go well either. Fortunately, we do have other attributes...  "Okay, they're stupid infants."    

And there came a day when the chips were down and the deck was stacked and the rain fell and fell. Widows wept and pulled their hair, wailing. We waited for the dust to settle. We waited for a champion to emerge. They never arrived. They never even wrote to say they'd be late. All we got were these hideous amalgamations, these blurred icons, these terrible nightmares breathing flame, kicking mud all over the barn doors. Thanks for everyone who made it this far. We hope you survive the experience. "Another small assurance that age and treachery will overcome youth and luck."

It's like a toilet plunger, isn't it? That suck suck sludging noise following you around. Like pulling your feet up from the mud. Or the oil sands. Black crude leaving marks behind you for the rest of your life. All for the slim hope of one day being an artist. Or at least human. Kate Beaton - Ducks. An investigation. "Coal, fishing, steel... but that's all gone, isn't it?"

"Assassination" Written by Bob Harras, pencilled by Steve Epting, inked and coloured by Tom Palmer, and lettered by Bill Oakley. "Bad Judgement" Written by Len Kaminski, pencilled by Paul Ryan, inked by Bob Wiacek and Keith Williams, coloured by Mike Rockwitz, and lettered by Michael Heisler. "Now Strikes the Starforce" Written by Tom DeFalco, pencilled by Pat Olliffe, inked by Al Milgrom, coloured by Gina Going, and lettered by Michael Heisler. April 1992

It is a truism that one never has enough time to pleasure a woman. Walker knows well this ancient truth. He learned it the hard way, splitting himself between ages like a muscular Belgian splits his legs. A man out of time, forever separated from himself.  Halt! Put down the gold bullion! It's Timecop! "Poor bastard. Tomorrow might have been a brighter day."

To walk the realm of mortals and feel the dirty air, risking death, bringing destruction in your wake. We all want this. Even the ones who cannot die. Them most especially. They look up to the ones below, secretly desiring their own inevitable loss. And then kill their children to bring it about. "Shall we go back to your place?" NOTE: Contestants of the 'He Who Dares Wins' Essay Competition can write to [email protected] by March 1st, 2023. Winner gets a full run of Alan Moore's Promethea or the complete run of Warren Ellis' The Wild Storm (winner's choice) sent right to their door. But to win you must write a 300 word essay insulting us. Most creative insult essay wins.

These primary colour flatland print objects are growing up. They have kids now. Responsibilities lacking in youth. Time slips away from them, leaving past triumphs in the past. Tradition spurs them forward. Tradition and the perpetual threat that one day the status quo will no longer suffice to push units. Ask yourself who benefits. Ask yourself what possible motive could have inspired the death of Sue Dibny. And when you solve the mystery of Brad Meltzer's Identity Crisis, remember: "... you should never underestimate what someone will do for the people they love." NOTE: Contestants of the 'He Who Dares Wins' Essay Competition can write to [email protected] by March 1st, 2023. Winner gets a full run of Alan Moore's Promethea sent right to their door. But to win you must write a 300 word essay insulting us. Most creative insult essay wins.

Born from the murky river of tarnished America, the trundling beast sat at its typewriter. One claw tick tack tick. Ding. Another sentence. Nixon is in the white room waiting with Kissinger. I will never forget this moment, the beast writes, not even in the dreamless sleep of the plaza strip. Nowadays, bastards everywhere you look. Frank Miller - Spawn/Batman. Steve Gerber - Adventure into Fear. "The lash is --- no illusion!" NOTE: Contestants of the 'He Who Dares Wins' Essay Competition can write to [email protected] by March 1st, 2023. Winner gets a full run of Alan Moore's Promethea sent right to their door. But to win you must write a 300 word essay insulting us. Most creative insult essay wins.

The horse walks slowly atop the dusty rough, carrying the man wearing a star. The man reads the signs left in the night, sees the swollen bodies and the blood. 9mm rounds, .45 ACPs. Knows that something larger is at play. And that someone needs his help. The man thinks it's all waiting on him. But that's vanity, isn't it? NOTE: Contestants of the Insult Essay Competition can write to [email protected] by March 1st, 2023. Winner gets a full run of Alan Moore's Promethea sent right to their door. But to win you must write a 300 word essay insulting us. Most creative insult essay wins. "Daddy ever tell you how Max came to his reward?"