Who Needs a Movie? If Fred and Sharon are making it -- Everyone!

12 Super Hero Comic Book Runs That Are My Favorite

Another list!  This time, it's 8x as nerdy!

12 Super Hero Comic Book Runs That Are My Favorite

12. Marv Wolfman/George Perez - The New Teen Titans

11. Geoff Johns/Ethan Van Sciver/ Carlos Pacheco/ Ivan Reis - Green Lantern

10. Warren Ellis/John Cassaday - Planetary

09. Peter Milligan/Mike Allred - X-Force

08. Joss Whedon/John Cassaday - Astonishing X-Men

07. Brian Michael Bendis/Michael Gaydos - Alias

06. Warren Ellis/Bryan Hitch - Authority

05. Geoff Johns/Mike McKone - Teen Titans

04. Brad Meltzer/Ed Benes - Justice League of America

03. Brian K. Vaughan/Adrian Alphona - Runaways

02. Grant Morrison/Frank Quitely/Ethan Van Sciver/Phil Jimenez/Marc Silvestri - New X-Men

01. Alan Moore/ Stephen Bissette/ Rick Veitch - Swamp Thing

Even the Japanese Think Michael Jackson Looks Like a Raisin with Hair Extensions

We are the world, indeed. While the Japanese Michael Jackson is the most hilarious, keep and eye out for Japanese Cindy Lauper.

John is sad. And a little insane.

Garfield minus Garfield is a collection of Garfield comics with that asshole, Garfield, deleted.

From the site: "Who would have guessed if you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life?"

I Can Fix It. A Short Story.

I CAN FIX IT
By Dylan Palmer
___

“I can fix it.”
“Not that I don’t believe you, but it’s -- let’s just say it’s in an unfortunate state.”
“I can fix it.”
“You can fix it?”
“I can fix it.”

Truth be told, Lyle didn’t know what “it” actually was. “It” may once have been a tractor or a small yacht, but now “it” was a heap of burnt plastic and wrenched chrome. Lyle licked his lips, staring down the mass of destruction. The beast in his gut was making the lust noises, and if he could have anything in the world, he would have this pile.

“Would you like to see a picture of how it looked before?”
“No.”
“Then how do you intend to repair it?”

How, indeed? The notion that there wouldn’t be any repair was not one he would allow The Owner to entertain. Lyle’s stomach tied into the kind of knot out of which you’d make a noose, but his expression remained tepid as he munched on a long strand of hay. The hay absorbed saliva so Lyle wouldn’t choke or drown in it. Hyperactive mucous production was common for males in his family.

“I don’t share my methods with strangers.”
“Excuse me if I don’t except that. This is an expensive piece of machinery. I won’t entrust its care to just anyone.”
“I have ways to repair machines that not a lot of people understand.”

The uptight middle-aged rich men, a category The Owner seemed to define, were very receptive to vagueness and implications of mysticism, Lyle found, likely for the same reason they tend to discover Zen Buddhism or Transcendental Meditation upon reaching midlife. He could almost hear the creaking of well-worn forehead muscles as The Owner raised his eyebrow. For the first time, his calm cracked, and Lyle allowed a grin to crane his lip.

“How do you mean?”
“Sometimes they talk to me, the parts, I just know how they go together.”
“That’s… very interesting.”

He nodded calmly, belying his racing heart and the slowly hardening bulge in his pants. It was a matter of minutes and distance now. Before he could caress his lovely.

“How much?”
“This is a special machine. I can see you care for it.”
“Yes. But how much will you charge for repairs?”
“We’ll talk payment after she and I have… communed.”

The man’s face hardened suddenly, like tv dinners flash-frozen at the factory, as Lyle’s turned whiter than snow on volcano rock. He dug fingernails into the palm of his hand, punishment for taking the “magic” too far. Communed? Why did he have to go and say communed?

“You’re drooling.”
“It’s hereditary.”
“It’s disgusting.”

Saliva ran down Lyle’s stalk of hay and pooled on the top of The Owner’s black wing-tip loafer. He felt his hands tremble, and if his nervous system had the ability to shine when provoked, every inch of his flesh would be lit with blinding red panic. And in Lyle’s world, panic generally led to violence.

Nothing would take the pile from him.

Before either man could think, Lyle’s hands were ratcheted to The Owner’s leathery, over-tanned throat, both their faces grossly contorted, one in rage and hatred, the other in pain and fear. Lyle’s grip tightened as The Owner’s eyes appeared to bulge, and then did bulge, from their sockets, dangling on threads of flesh that stained The Owner’s cheeks with his own brand of bloody rouge. Lyle, his grip stronger than the Sun’s on Mercury, pulled his face close to The Owner’s, and pure savagery siphoned into the shape of a man, bit into the dangling eye.

The last thing The Owner saw was Lyle eating his eyes, and it wasn’t the lack of oxygen that killed him, but the horror-induced heart attack.

Lyle wiped pink saliva from his mouth, discarding The Owner and stepping nearer his mangled mechanical beauty. He softly ran fingertips over dents, cracks, splinters, shards, breaks, tears, twists, bends, scorches. And when he finally let his pants drop to the dusty ground, he shuddered with pleasure.

Rebel Rebel

Rebel Rebel, a Space-Age Firecracker

Milo Kinsey didn't want anything to do with the Glitterkids, a subculture of homeless teenage vagrants with freaky (but ultimately harmless) super powers, despite also being homeless and having freaky (but actually dangerous) powers of her own.  So she was totally pissed when branded a Glitterkid, shipped to a ghetto on the edge of New Pink City, and targeted for extermination by The MacDonald Group, a political dynasty hellbent on clearing the streets of New Pink City of the Glitterkid scum.  There, the GKs discover Milo's incredible power, and guilt-trip her into defending the Glitterkid Ghetto (with great power comes great responsibility, etc) from Thom Fellows, a super-powered thug hired to wipe them out.  In an explosive battle that reaches from the Glitterkid Ghetto to downtown New Pink City, the reluctantly heroic Milo, disguised as glam-rock heroine, Rebel Rebel, pulls out a win, and sends a message to The MacDonald Group, and the rest of America:  That the Glitterkid Ghetto is now an independent city-state, and she will protect it until they shoot down her make-up smeared body.  It's a declaration that pits Milo and the Glitterkids against the collective forces of the United States government and military.  But then, Milo, or Rebel Rebel as the GKs now know her, has never been fond of authority.

Storming of the Brain

I'm still trying to figure out what this blog is going to be.  Here are a few options...

1.  Online Diary.  This could be cathartic, and would be nice to have a record of thoughts and experiences.  But, online diaries... are gay.

2.  An "Idea-Blog."  This would be where I list and pitch a few ideas a week.  Could get my creative juices flowing again.  But, it's awfully public.  Then again, only assholes are concerned with idea-theft.

3.  A review blog.  I would review TV shows and Movies and comics.  In a hilarious manner.

I just don't know.  I do know I need a blog, because if I call myself a writer, I have to believe that people will care about what I have to say.  And right, that feels embarrassing.  So, I've got to work through it.

Maybe it will become all of the above.  Hmm...