Weapon Brown: Blockhead's War
Chapter 1


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Hey crew! My web site makeover, which is taking place in a secret bunker beneath Tehran, is proceeding on schedule. But since I never told you what that schedule was, I'm sure many of you have been walking around your apartments with your hands in your pockets, checking this site as many as six times a day to see if there has been a change.

So, just to keep you from going all Owen Wilson on me, The new site launches on November19. Set your calendars! Whatisdeepfried.com 12.0 ("Cougar") will boast all sorts of cool frills and will overflow with sparkly neatness, making the wait well worth it. So keep the razors away from your wrists and come back in a month.



Lookit me! I'm in Wizard issue #190! Be nice if I'd let you know that when it was on the shelves, wouldn't it?

A great deal of change is underway here, and this is the last post that will feature the homepage layout as you see it now. So soak it in! Enjoy that blue #5EACFB,and that thick black stroke below the menu, because come next update it all changes!

The new home page will feature regularly updating comic content, starting with the Boogie Bunneez (as endlessly promised), and then new Deep Fried goodness. I am embarking on a revised strategy of how to make myself more web-tacular, and this is the opening gambit.

In the past, I have thrown just about everything I could at the wall content-wise (strips, animations, blog) and waited for something grand to result. This is called the "Iraq strategy" of web business. Now I am zeroing in on what I know works, and what can work better, allowing me to deliver more consistent goodies in a way that won't cause me to lose my mind, and will give you something to keep coming back for.

I know that my content has been on again/off again in the past six months, and frankly, I have been reassessing what the hell I am even maintaining the site for if I'm not going to ladle out fresh material to delight you with. But I'm looking forward to getting this enterprise rolling again with a fresh agenda. Things are about to get very awkward and appalling around here, and Deep Fried will soon re-establish itself as a comic that is not to be fucked with.

A lot of work remains to be done for this endeavor, so rather than spit bile over OJ, tasers or General Betray-Us, I am going to cut this short and invite you to subscribe to my mailing list so that you can be sent your invitation to my grand re-opening, which will be happening soon.

In the meantime, here are a couple of mementos from my recent trip to Dragon Con. Despite being on my best behavior, I still could not avoid the hostility that seems to follow me everywhere I go.

This is Strawberry Shortcake's incorrigible younger sister, Raspberry Hotcakes. Yeah, I hit that. Her hair didn't smell like any baked good I could name, however, unless Entenmann's makes a danish flavored with True Greens and sailor sweat.

Support our troops! This heroic Army-of-One is going back to the front in October.
These guys were on their way to a casting call for "Evil Dead: The Musical". Break a leg, guys! (Actually, I think they both had broken legs).
Look, I know for a fact that there are no brains in there. They must have smelled my zombie on my clothes!
Damn you, Nintendo Wii! Haven't you fucked up enough elbows already??

That's it for now. Prepare for the coming Rapture!

I have cranked out more sensational art to take with me to sell at Dragon-Con, which takes place in Hotlanta at the end of the month. Do you live close to the City That Never Puts The Lid Down? Then you may have the opportunity to buy artworks like these!

What can I tell you? These kids love the spookies. But If you would like to nab any of these pieces you can always drop me a line and express your interest ahead of time. Don't be stingy with those e-mails! Heck, go ahead and pitch me a penis supplement while you're at it!

Hey! Who's that good-looking guy causing trouble at Rochester's City Council? Could it be your friendly neighborhood cartoonist?

Look at those flashing red eyes! That is me last night appearing on R-News, a local cable news outfit, as well as WROC, Rochester's CBS affiliate. I brought the devil's own flame to yesterday's Rochester City Council session, addressing the Council on the subject of police surveillance cameras, which they would be voting on whether or not to to blanket the city with. I was the lone voice of dissent in the pre-vote commentary session, arguing that the City Council should first install cameras on their own streets so that the cops can monitor when they have parked too close to a hydrant or haven't curbed their dog before imposing the system on the proles.

I inspired at least one Council member to comment on this publicly (see the video). Another took me aside at the end of the commentary session and, though I had not solicited his opinion, assured me that it was Rochester's Mayor Bob Duffy and not the people who runs Rochester, that he would love to have a camera right across the street from his house (though he demurred when I suggested he propose it during the vote), and that anyway, I was not in his district so that he was unanswerable to me. I assured him that I was glad not to have his representation. Putz.

The measure, of course, passed unanimously. What else can happen when the Federal government is waving a check for $1.5 million dollars in your face? So now, Rochester is a city under the Eye. How long will this last?

Stay tuned.

The Murdoch Journal's Peggy Noonan has cracked the code of berserker jihadi violence, and just in time, too! That war in the sand is starting to turn into a real tough thing to ignore, like an irregular mole that you aren't sure if you'd had your whole life or if it's new, and now you think it might be new and uh oh! It just bled when you scratched it.

So tell us, Peg! Who's to blame when good subjects go bad?

Whenever I think of war, I think of this: It was 1982 or '83, I was in Northern Ireland, and a local reporter was showing me around Derry, then a center of the Protestant-Catholic conflict. The neighborhood we were in was beat up, poor, with Irish Republican Army graffiti on tired walls. There were some scraggly kids on the street.

Suddenly an armored British army vehicle slowly rounded the corner, and the street came alive with kids pouring out of houses, grabbing the heavy metal lids of garbage bins, and smashing them against the pavement. They made quite a racket.

A woman came out. She was 35 or 40, her short hair standing up, uncombed. It was late afternoon, but she was in an old robe, and you could tell it was the robe she lived in. She stood there and smirked as the soldiers went by. She'd come out to register her dislike for the Brits, and to show the children she approved of their protest.

As I watched this nothing sort of scene, I thought: That's where it comes from. That's what keeps it alive.

One can imagine Peggy, Dian Fossey-like, parting the weeds in darkest Derry and peering through in amazement, the first white woman ever to witness unjustifiable rage at a superior culture. It's all so simple! The Catholics hated the Brits for the same reason the Iraqis hate us! Because their moms are trailer trash who think they're too good to have our death-spitting Humvees roaring up and down their potholed boulevards.

The colonizer, the imperialist, the occupier, they could never be hated based only on their identity as natural oppressors, could they? Of course not! To even think such a thing is to burn a flag in one's brain! No, hatred is just an heirloom velvet painting, handed down from a mother to her urchins, who know not why it exists or care much against whom it is directed.

Not surprising, then, to find that Peggy considered this a "nothing scene". Sure, as a lone protest it made not a ripple. But then again, that scraggly family wasn't the only one protesting at that time, were they? That nothing scene is called "remembering who your enemy is", and it's how a people maintain the spirit to resist tyranny. It is why England finally had to capitulate to much, if not all, of what that woman and her children wanted.

Regretably, the Iraqis didn't muster this spirit in any sustainable way against Saddam, but they are making up for lost time now. The Iraqi's were a conquered people their entire lives. Did we really think they would just bend a knee to a new conqueror because he happened to show up with a box of candy and hanged the old boss?

I knew what kind of person she was. She was lost, neglectful; she was what would come to be called dysfunctional, and whichever of the kids were hers you could tell she wasn't giving them order or safety, not often. (...) They would grow up and assign their misery to outside forces. The boy humiliated because he's never sent to school with a clean shirt will turn that into "Britain Get Out of Ireland."

Poor dears. Never to own the clean shirts of the defeated. Never to understand that order and safety flow from a tank turret operated by men from across the sea, men who chose your government for you, and give the preferred jobs to their toadies, and take a tax levy from you for the privilege of being their wards.

I mean really, what country ever truly wants their occupier "out" of them? If they really did, they'd protest with something besides garbage can lids. They'd probably use something that explodes.

Good lord! How long am I going to keep that Harry Potter cartoon up there? I mean, I know it's extra relevant these days, what with the movie being out, and also that book, the last of the Harry Potter novels where Hedwig, Dobby, Lupin, Fred, Hagrid and Snape* all die. But still, I really ought to rotate it once in a while.

If you missed my gallery show here in Rochester, you missed more than just sausage and cheese on wooden skewers. You also missed Doritos. But more than that, you missed seeing my offensive, controversial and frequently prescient political scrawlings in the flesh and hanging on walls. As the youth of America would undoubtedly say, $UX2BU:)ROFLBRB!

Anyway, here are two snaps of what you denied yourself.

There's one .   And There's your other one. That guy with the crutches kept leaping in front of the camera .

Of course, it's not like you owed me anything. I have been a bad provider, denying you new cartoons, but only because I have been jetting around the country trying to make a living as an artist I was also just at the recent San Diego Jesus-Effin-Christ-It's-Huge-O-Con, where Deep Fried literally walked off my table like warmcakes! Weapon Brown, on the other hand, zipped away like it was wearing buttered iceskates. I'll post those long promised pages, as well as the Boogie Bunneez, in my next update.

The purpose of my trip was, of course, to drop my series proposals in the right hands and explain to editors why they should take a shot at being sued by the Schulz estate. But that still left plenty of time for fun and trouble!

The one, they only powerful Mach 5! KITT was also there, but apparently he and the Mach 5 don't get along. According to KITT, Mister 5 is a "bare-backing blue-baller".

When I suggested to Snoopy that being photographed with him should indemnify me against any lawsuit over Weapon Brown, "Joe Cool" responded with a reach-around scrotum twist that I shan't soon forget.
I heard that the San Diego Comic-Con was a great place to rub elbows with A-list celebrities, but the only one I saw there was Rosie O'Donnell.
When I told this guy that I saw someone else doing the same schtick, but with ribbon magnets, he did not take it well.
Of course, everyone thinks they know the "proper" way to constrict the blood flow through the cartotid artery. Feh! Is there one man among you who knows what he's doing?
Mmm! Now that's good suffocation!
Touchy, touchy! If I had smurf cum in my hair, I'd want someone to tell me!
Mister Christ....sir, it is an honor...!!!

More poop next week!

*I kid! Hagrid doesn't actually die. Tonks does, though.


If you live in upstate New York, why are you here reading this when you could be meeting me, shaking my hand, even eating a potato chip out of my mouth at my big, big one man gallery show at Rochester's Anti-War Crisis Center?

I have a raft of my finest political cartoons on display, and this evening I'll be showing some of my animated funnies as well. I will also be giving a discussion about what makes me so goddamned great, so be there from 5-9 pm tonight at 658 Monroe Avenue. If you can't make it tonight, take heart! The show runs for a month. Let me know when you are coming so I can break into your house and shave your cats.

San Diego draws nigh. My big premier at the world's largest comic show is at hand. Which project will steal the heart of the publishing community? My adorable bunnies or my blood-soaked cyborg? Who can say. With all the cyborg bunnies in the news these days, there's no telling which the nation would like to see more of. I will definitely have my sample pages on line soon after I return, including three Boogie Bunneez stories and a full 14 pages of Weapon Brown. How excited are you now?

I will also be snazzing up the site soon as I prepare to debut a bunch of new material, including new Deep Fried cartoons. I have not been sitting on my thumb since I concluded the weekly strip, you know. My love of Beepo, Roadkill--Squints too, I guess-- has not abated. In fact, it has metastasized into far weirder and crueler stories than I have ever written before, and I am itching to bring them to life. With the San Diego Comic-Con behind me, I will finally have the time to make that happen. Of course, if a big fat contract lands in my lap, then...NO! Dammit, I will not let potential success in my chosen career interfere with my juvenile sex and violence orgies!

While you ponder the implications of what all this means, here are a few snaps to enjoy from my visit to the Paradise ComiCon in Toronto a few weeks back.

Not a bad set up, huh? Surely a spread like this would earn me some long overdue respect...

...but as usual, everyone seemed to have some issue with me. The Baroness took exception to my inquiry about whether or not Destro had a chrome-plated dong (as if she wouldn't know!)
Here's me getting a completely unjustified axe to the neck from Gene Simmons.
When I told this Beepo imposter that he'd be hearing from my lawyer, his response was most Roadkill.
I...will not...make..a....joke...about....the...Death...Star...plans!
Behold: my target demographic!
Do what you want! I'm not shelling out ten bucks for a goddamn Simpsons episode just 'cuz you stuck it in a movie theater!!


Cat Woman is now safely in the hands of a loving Internet home where I know she will receive all the cream and yarn balls she could ever want. Remember to spay your artwork, folks!

Hot on that kitty's tail is my newest bid-worthy artifact. Behold: "The Dance of Death"!

This is Death (from Neil Gaiman's Sandman) as well as a skeleton (from inside your own meat wrapper), dancing the night away in a cute little tango de la meurte. I'm pretty excited about this one. I really like Death's pose and, if I do say so myself, that is one of the best rib cages I have ever painted. Dance of Death is 9 1/2" x 11 1/2", rendered in pen&ink and watercolor on watercolor paper. Makes a perfect gift for the gothy punker girl in your life, or for Gramma, who will soon be taking this dance lesson herself!

Remember, all proceeds go to the most noble charity of all: me! And I will use them to travel to San Diego and pimp my projects to publishers, thus
keeping my career on life support despite Congress's best efforts to remove its feeding tube. Please bid!

The San Diego ComiCon is little more than a month away, and my career-making projects, Weapon Brown and the Boogie Bunneez, are nearing completion. As promised, I will post the Boogie Bunneez stories (there are two short 'uns so far) and the remaining Weapon Brown pages when they are completed. But here's a nibble

Aw! So koot!
Um...not so much.

Incidentally, as my semi-bitter blog below would indicate, I feel it is time to reacquaint myself with what this site was all about in the beginning, which is my cartoons. With my San Diego projects safely in the hands of the wider publishing world I will have time again to add new content to Whatisdeepfried.com besides my raging screeds.

But that will have to wait until after the ComicCon, and you fans can help me out a big way! To generate the lucre I will need to survive the finacing of this trip, I have started producing some fresh new pin-up art that I am auctioning on E-Bay. The first of these pieces, a yummy Cat Woman, is already up. It has no reserve either, meaning it is within reach of even the most frugal fans of my work. Behold!


I call this number "Whip Tease". It is 11"x 14", renderd in pen&ink and marker on bristol board. As you can see, it's got a lot of energy and sex appeal, and your generous bid will help me get to the biggest comic show of the year so that I can bring work like this to a wider audience. Give this kitty a home! As an added bonus, I will toss in a free copy of Weapon Brown if the winning bid comes from a visitor to this site.

My next auction piece will be a watercolor painting of Death, from Neil Gaiman's Sandman. The curious among you can e-mail me for an advance peek (I'll even part with it before the auction if you are nice to me). And as always, I do take requests for comissions.

My daily excursion to the V-blogs to "get my news on" as I call it has turned into "getting my-who-gives-a-shit on." I think after so many years of daily exasperation at the psychotic political landscape I have finally snuggled into the New World Order.

This sensation is a polarity shift from the full-throttle outrage that usually prompts one of my month-long news fasts. I am still cuckoo for news puffs; they just don't fill my attention as they did before. I am finally disinterested.

I have always feared that this attitude constituted apathy, but I think that we will have to redefine apathy for the Internet age. Who can be truly apathetic when you can't turn your head without getting a whack from the news stick? Radio, newspapers, blogs, tickers...ten thousand news feeds, all of them eager to cram information down your throat, up your ass and in each nostril twenty-four hours a day.

Apathy is scarcely an option. On the contrary, Americans today are compelled to hold more simultaneous opinions than at any time in history. But the media is now so consumed with delivering product, any product, that the line between newsworthiness and fluff has been officially erased. CNN's Paris Hilton coverage provides the most pristine example, but hardly the most egregious. Our world is not post-9/11, it is post-OJ.

I would like to take the moment to coin the term news-sick. I think that aptly describes the state of our nation's mental environment. Too much news, scarcely a particle of it useful. When the Iraq War escalation (excuse me, "surge") must share equal time with drunken video of David Hasselhoff eating a cheeseburger like a camel, then "news" as we have traditionally thought of the subject --new information of critical value-- no longer has any meaning. Given this, are we really so surprised to find we've been led into a in a meaningless war by meaningless men? It is not our lack of attention that is responsible, it is too much attention to too many things at once.

How I remember the authority-flaunting zeitgeist of my youth, joyfully encapsulated in this Bloom County strip which has always stuck with me:

What went wrong? How did we put the war monkeys back in the driver's seat? Frankly, I'm exhausted from trying to answer that question. We have 1500 troop deaths to go. That is the benchmark, the only benchmark, that will finally matter in this war. When the death toll hits 5000, we will be officially pooped out on Iraq. I guarantee this. America is big on the significance of round numbers. When that one finally breaks, and we see that the insurgency is still nowhere near concluded, this war will end. The war monkeys will not die. Their caretakers--GE, Boeing, Raytheon, Halliburton--will put them back on a ventilator to be resuscitated with stem cells in another 15 years when it is time for a new round of profit building.

America's war resistors too will slip back into a Terri Sciavo-like stupor, eyes glazed. "Five thousand, hey, that wasn't so bad. And we stopped it before it reached six, right? My blog saved the world...my blog...saved...the cheerleader...". I will no longer be one of them, the yattering bohemians, all links and no chain. I'm sick of playing the game of the Milo wannabees whose only inheritance from the 60's turned out to be drugs and fucking, as if those could never be commodified and sold to us as a substitute for owning our nation. If talk is all we are capable of, then talk is the problem.

Presently I am working my little cheeks off getting some pin-up art ready for E-Bay and my upcoming debut at the San Diego Comicon, but I will have a proper update for you in a day or two.

As I am working I have been taking advantage of this great website, http://www.tv-links.co.uk. It has tons of TV shows, cartoons and movies (including current releases) available for streaming download, and it is my official substitute for all social interaction. However, go to the movies section and you will notice something odd. Of all the movies you can watch, Battlefield Earth is not one of them. The Godfather, Taxi Driver, Battleship Potemkin, Raging Bull, Rush Hour 2...the greatest films in history are free and at your fingertips, but the smelliest turd ever to splatter across celluloid is absent??

Fortunately the runner up, The Family Guy Movie, is there and downloads like a dream.

I haven't watched a single one of the (cough) debates yet, only bites of them on-line. Why bother? These couldn't be considered a meeting of the minds under even the most pre-school definition. What legitimate contest to determine who should take the helm of a brewing world war would boast a "yes or no" format?

The enduring legacy of this administration--besides the record for most Americans turned into landfill-- is that the bar for intellectual capacity has been dropped so low that Mini Me couldn't limbo under it. So when Tom Tancredo tells Time magazine that the answer to Global Warming is for the the Sierra Club to support the Border Wall, or when Duncan Hunter declares his support for a preemptive nuclear war with Iran and no one sharing the stage with him immediately declares that under their presidency there will be no nuclear war--which should be the very least we expect from a man who will have Armageddon at his fingertips--it's just par for the course in Dum Dum's America. Pure, asinine, downright apocalyptic sentiments just roll off our backs.

That is where we find ourselves as we select our next President. A brave new idiocracy made possible by our inability to rally the pitchforks and torches to take down a man who spent hundreds of billions of dollars and cost our nation tens of thousands of casualties to re-fight and lose a war in the Middle East that we had won twelve years earlier. That such a leader can escape office unimpeached, much less unpunctured by a dozen senators' knives, means that even the most crackpot candidate for the nation's highest office can not be ruled out of contention.

There is also the fact that we still have not come to terms with the ramifications of the neo-conservative theory of executive power--the Unitary Executive, the "Decider"--and how this has truly struck at the sanctity of our free government. America is a nation with a political religion, and I mean that exactly as it sounds. Every nation has its guiding star, the quality that defines her people, the gold standard of their unity even amidst explicit pluralism. In America it is the Constitution, our holy writ. I would wager that, on average, some provision or protection of that parchment is invoked every few days by nearly every citizen of our country. Likewise, the indisputable wisdom of the the Founding Fathers is trumpeted just as frequently, though few people can quote their words. In the reasoned, free-thinking manner of our times they are considered no lesser prophets than those found in the Bible.

This should be food for thought for every independent-minded citizen, since it reveals how lacking in independent thought we are. Those who, for instance, fear the encroachment of religion into the law-making apparatus will quickly run to the 1st Amendment to rebuff that heresy. This is no less a call to the celestial wisdom of our ancestors than anyone who seeks similar affirmation from the reputations of Jesus, Moses or Abraham. If those on the Right think their eternal privileges flow only from God's encoded verses in the KJV, so-called free-thinking liberals do not have any problem saying their freedoms descend only from the Bill of Rights, or at best, from the brain meat of Ben Franklin and Thomas Jefferson. Above those geniuses lay the lofty heavens; it is not for us to know with what antennae they received their messages from the cosmos. We only know this much is true: that Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech. For the majority of the public those words may as well have been written by a tongue of flame as a crow's feather.

It is this fact that makes the Evangelical sentiment that we are a Christian nation so laughable. The Constitution is both Church and State, in much the same way Queen Elizabeth was both Queen and Virgin Mother to her upstart Protestant populace. Above God we find the Constitution, its sacred Liberty superceding even the authority of the Sky Father who preceded it. God's Constitution begins with the First Commandment, "I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before me." On the other hand, the First Amendment says that, at least as individuals, we may take you or leave you, O God. The preamble makes it crystal clear that from now on, Law has a new author: "We the People."

The fact that, from rich to poor, dullard to scholar, we all find little complaint with this arrangement makes the power of our Constitution unquestionably the lifeblood of our nation. And that is why what George Bush has done reaches far, far beyond mere shenanigans or even traditional corruption. However much or little he has been able to achieve in law, Bush has repeatedly and unapologetically shit on nearly every sacred tennet of our government.

Pick almost any Amendment in the Bill of Rights and you will find thaat George Bush has tried to wrest from it its immutable legitimacy. For the First Amendment we have Faith-Based Initiatives, John Ashcroft, favoritism for Regent University grads and the 2004 Republican Convention roundups. The Second gets off light, only having been scorched by Dick Cheney's incompetence with firearms. The Fourth Amendment has been shot to pieces by warrantless wiretaps and domestic surveillance. The Fifth and Sixth have been fist-raped, at least as principles, by Gitmo and extraordinary rendition. Number Eight is out the door after Abu Ghraib and "enhanced interrogation techniques". What lasting damage these assaults by our President have done to the founding principles of our democracy, the white pillar of all Western Civilization, can scarcely be calculated at this point.

You do not have to destroy a right to end it. Merely eroding it can be enough, if you also erode the processes which might correct the damage. Our stupefying tolerance of the outgoing clod, as well as our ability to accept incoming candidates who will not vigorously and without apology condemn every particle of George Bush's villainy, will surely speed this decay along.

That is, of course, unless we can recognize our Constitution for what it really is, and the principles behind it as more than words on paper but as the iron that binds us. Then we might see George Bush's riot of catastrophes not simply as the acts of a fool, an error to be avoided in the future, but as true acts of blasphemy that must be utterly condemned.


I just enjoyed watching a "town hall" meeting with Mitt Romney on C-Span. "All the Shit Mitt Can Spit" should have been the title. Nothing Republicans love to hear went unsaid. Lower taxes, especially for the obscenely rich (such as demi-billionaire Romney himself), cuts to the evergreen parasite of "entitlement spending", potentially titanic increases in military dollars, and of course that cardinal line of bullshit: decreasing the size of government.

Everything he said confirmed what I already suspected: I hate Mitt Romney. His Reagan-humping, his artificial folksy-ness, his Hollywood hair, his shareholders' meeting speaking style, and of course the fact that as a Mormon Mitt worships Xu'uL the Imposter and drinks fetal pig's blood with every meal. How Iran factors into the Mormon vision of the Apocalypse I'm not sure, but I'm confident that within a year of his presidency we will be storming Tehran to reclaim the Golden Eye of Ra or something.

But at least I was actually able to watch Mitt the Gipper. For the last two days the audio on my computer's version of RealPlayer has been fully fukt. It was one of those infuriating computer issues that comes out of nowhere and defies any logical diagnosis. For a day and a half I checked and unchecked boxes in my system preferences trying to get the sound turned back on. When I slept, I imagined hidden libraries in the Vatican that held the solution on a scroll of parchment written in the tongue blood of St. Bartholomew.

However, the final resolution to the matter was more baffling than the glitch. I spoke my woe to a friend who used to do IT, and he told me to open GarageBand, play a few notes on the virtual keyboard and see if that helped. It did. RealPlayer was healed! The day before I spent 45 minutes on the phone with an Indian woman in Apple's call center in Tandoori-Vishnu and all they could recommend was reinstalling the OS. This was ultimately a futile operation, a heart and lung transplant when all I really needed was some hillbilly's poultice. Will wonders never cease?

Politics and computers. Bah! Enough of these dry subjects. I have art for sale! I have opened an online gallery at Comicartfans.com which you are required by law to visit. The number of pieces I have put up is small for now, but it will grow soon enough. And remember, if you have a favorite page you'd like to acquire you can always e-mail me with your requests.


I have nearly completed my Weapon Brown proposal, which I will share with you in its final form on this site pretty soon. This leaves me free to begin my next project: a Boogie Bunneez comic for kids!

Yes, the Boogie Bunneez used to be concerned with global warming and Zoloft, but no longer! I am letting them reclaim their bunniness for an adorable anthology of silly stories to delight youngsters who will have no idea what filth I am otherwise responsible for. Mwuh ha ha! I am the Dark Deciever! Anyway, I will put those pages up when they are ready as well. And canucks take note: I will be in Toronto for the Paradise Con next week. Drop by, visit your comic book savior and and dump a little of that sweet Montreal chiba in his lap!


Christopher Hitchens' on-air eviscerations of unraptured Evangelist blowhole Jerry Falwell are must-view. Hitchens has empowered the polite among us to hate the man's legacy and character as it deserves to be hated, and his contempt is, to say the least, succulent. Here is Hitchens on Anderson Cooper's show, ladeling out the rich, creamy bile (I swear I could eat that man's elocution), and defending it the next day on Hannity (and colmes).

As the Republican presidential candidates prepare for their second mass press confer...er, "debate", I finally have an opinion to share on the first debate that took place on May 3rd.

If I am slow off the mark it is because I contemplate politics in ent time, choosing my words carefully instead of shooting from the hip. In other words, I just got full DSL service after discovering a website that allows me to stream complete Simpsons episodes from all the seasons I've missed. My priorities? Fully in order.

Okay: the debate. So there's Rudy, the cross-dressing crossover candidate, being issued his first outright challenge to assert his New York cred or else suck from the conservatives' corn cob pipe. In response to Chris Matthews' loaded, mob-tested question "Would the day that Roe v. Wade is repealed be a good day for America?", Rudy, in a juggling act that would flabbergast Chris Bliss, said this:

"It would be OK...it would be OK to repeal it would be OK also if a strict constructionist judge viewed it as precedent and I think a judge has to make that decision."

Matthews: "Would it be okay if they didn't repeal it?"

Rudy: "I think that the court has to make that decision and the country can deal with it."

This after a row of elected rednecks had just unequivocally denounced Roe, praised demolishing it in freedom's name and did so while daubing tears from their eyes with a Confederate flag they passed amongst themselves.

Unasked went this question: "If Roe is overturned, will any of you attend the funeral of the first woman in Mississippi to bleed to death amongst the crack vials of that state's first basement abortion clinic since 1973?". But why complicate matters? After all, such a question would only imply that the abortion debate has multiple dimensions, and that the Supreme Court wasn't necessarily tangled in Satan's beard when they decided that the State did more harm than good trying to decide the existential question of when a fetus is ensouled.

Does Rudy really think he can fool anyone on this topic? He's pro-choice. He can say he's pro-choice, because everyone know's he's pro-choice. This issue is burnt into the electorate's brain with a cattle brand, and there is simply no assuaging your opponent with a cotton-mouthed cop-out about "strict constructionist judges". Yer either fer it or a'gin it, yankee.

Contrast Rudy's sweat-drenched answer with the response to Chris Matthew's invitation to all the candidates to demonstrate, by a show of hands, that they did not believe in evolution. Three hands shot up ( Sam Brownback's, Mike Huckabee's, and Tom Tancredo's). Without hesitation, three educated, seasoned American politicians in the 21st century declared their right to lead this nation despite being fucking idiots. Meanwhile, Rudy can't just say yes or no on an issue that most Americans agree with him on.

This hand-wringing bullshit, this need to pretend that a politician's duty is to glom they support of every mongoloid in Dogpatch, is the death of statesmanship in our nation. Is it any wonder a man like Dum Dum can be elected? That fucker declared Jesus to be his favorite politician in '00, dragged us into a mini-apocalypse in the sand, and still his base feels confidant enough to field a half dozen candidates that are playing the same Pied Piper's song of God and Guns. Why? Because they aren't afraid to say it! Haven't the spin-drenched campaigns of Rudy, Hillary and Obama learned that Americans know we live in the age of phoniness? What then could be more endearing to a citizen getting a dick in his ear from all sides than a person who actually stands for something, even stupidity?

When the ball in the roulette wheels of Brownback, Tancredo and Co. finally stops it may land in the "dangerous quack" slot, but at least it fucking lands! With the rest of them, round and round it goes, where it stops, only a USA Today/CNN.com poll knows! Even Gandalf McCain paused for one democracy-dooming heartbeat on the evolution question to calculate how many Red votes he was about to lose before answering "yes" on proven science.

How 'bout someone ask Osama how he feels about evolution? I think the Koran says something about God making man from a bit of sperm and a clot of blood. That sure as hell sounds a drop more progressive than the notion that our forebear appeared out of thin air with a fig leaf glued to his crotch.

My talented-as-all-get-out snuggle companion Eva "Hippity" Hopkins has just had an interview posted on Newsarama announcing the coming of her new comic series Dark Ivory, which is being co-produced by artist XXtraordinaire Joe Linsner. Dark Ivory is a sexy adventure story about a pouty goth clubber who discovers that being a brat is simply a side effect of being princess of all vampires. It's sure to be a runaway hit, and my fans are ordered to get excited for the premier of Dark Ivory in November. Read Eva's interview and feel yourself moisten!

Last week was the Pittsburgh Comicon, and I wound up enjoying the hell out of it as usual. Between the penthouse keggers and the spastic karaoke, however, I got into my annual series of brawls with most of the con-goers. Fortunately my lawyer was there with camera in hand to record the offenses.

Things began innocently enough as I made friends with Saturday morning glamazon Rainbow Brite. But then...
OHH! Where did we go wrong? I thought we'd made a real rainbow connection!
Later on I found myself stuck in the middle with two Agents from the Matrix posing as the Men in Black who actually claimed to be Reservoir Dogs. Hey, guys, did I mention I was a cop?
Well, that didn't go over so well. Fortunately Vincent Van Gogh is a hero of mine.
The Monarch and Doctor Girlfriend from the Venture Bros. invited me to a party with their minions. Turns out...
...it was a boot party!!! Aieeeee!!!!
Ah! My own minions, the Ghosbuster Night Squad. Where were you when I needed you? Probably hanging out in your clubhouse collecting pictures of breasts.
All I did was suggest that Sub-Zero consider laying off the Hostess Snowballs, and this was the thanks I got. Fortunately, he didn't stick around to "finish me". He left that...
...to Silent Bob Squarepants! This is by far the wittiest way to lose a tooth.
Less funny is getting cold cocked by this guy! "The Goon" is a comic hero who exists souly to hit me in the head with a wrench. That's what he does! It's all he does!!!!
Now this was a welcome break from my assaults. My favorite X-Man, ThighLock! Er, Psylocke! So, are you alone? Wanna come up to my danger room later...?
Wait! Guys! GKK! I didn't know she was with you! Kelsey, Hugh...I thought we were buds!
One person I didn't take any crap from this year is Layne Toth. The so-called "Hardest Working Li'l Show-Off in Comics" told me she'd burn down my booth if I didn't pay her six Oreos for "protection". But anyone who has ever tried to come between me and a cookie knows that I don't mess. Click here to read her take on this ugly incident.

Another fun outcome of the con was being interviewed by Chris (last name unknown) from That's Good to Know, a pop culture podcast that will surely be given Imus' drive time slot if they can avoid remarking on the nappiness of certain folks' hair. Click here to listen to the interview (I am the last person they talked to, so scroll or be patient).

Oh, and by the way: Spider Man 3? No need For a review. You've heard it all at this point. Just thought I'd share.

Jim Lileks, once my evergreen Republican irritant, made an interesting about face-recently. Here is Jim in October of 2004, still flushed with the glow of Iraqi Freedom:

I admit. I have a fantasy. Kerry wins. He’s having a summit with Tony Blair. In the middle of the conversation, Chirac calls up; Kerry excuses himself and has a brief chat about a new resolution to let French oil companies bid on reconstruction projects, and they have an amiable conversation in French. Kerry hangs up.

“Your predecessor,” Blair says, “spoke to him in English.”

“I know,” says President Kerry. “He couldn’t speak French.”

“He didn’t have to,” Blair notes. He gives a tight smile. And sighs. And gets down to explaining what now must be done.

If Tony B. ran against Kerry in this country, I wonder who'd win? I'd vote for him. Everything else aside, he gets it. He always has.

Contrast this with Jim's take on our steadfast coalition junior partner from this past April:

Iran is probably right, at least about Europe. If the British hostage situation accomplished anything, it reminded England that John Bull is a gelding.

Goodbye Churchill; hello Hugh Grant. Goodbye roast beef and blustery confidence in king and country; hello organic salad and a deferential cringe toward the critics of Western Civ. The Beefeaters outside Buckingham Palace might as well assume the fetal position.

Awww! Is the honeymoon over? It's sad to see that Jim and England no longer share a special relationship.

Years ago, Lileks and his ilk talked themselves into believing that the US and England had a kind of Green Lantern/Green Arrow thing going in this war. United in color, if not in capability, the US would use its mighty power ring to do the heavy lifting in the fight, and we could feel safe knowing that the Emerald Archer would be at our back with his trusty medieval weapon to pick off any sap-wielding hoodlum that tried to get the drop on us while we were ensnaring the entire crime syndicate in a giant strip of green fly paper. We even had a team name, like the Super Friends! It's just that the Republicans never quite understood the escape clause inherent in the term "Coalition of the Willing".

Instead of serving as a B-list superhero, England's unflappable devotion to our boondoggle in the sand has been more akin to that of some knock-kneed ghost hunter in a Hanna Barbara cartooon. They have repeatedly swooned at the sight of the blood shed by their 148 fatalities in the war, out of a military commitment that topped off at a staggering 8,500 troops, most of them stationed in Iraq's cushy, IED-free south. What are they keeping the rest of their boys in reserve for? Is Argentina enriching uranium?

Jim Lileks' take note: England is only slightly less committed to winning the Middle East than we are. It's not like we actually declared war on Iraq. How invested can we expect our allies to be in a bloody, unending "resolution" being waged by a Commander-in-Chief who thinks Queen Elizabeth is 233 years old?

A more crystaline example of Bush Think ye will not find. Dum Dum spoke at the CENTCOM Coalition the other day, and if you scroll past his usual stream of discredited justifications for everything he's fucked up you will find something interesting. At around 13:00, Bush says this:

"In 2005, nearly 12 million Iraqis demonstrated their desire, their deep desire, to live in freedom and peace. (...) In 2006, a thinking enemy, a brutal enemy, responded to this progress and struck back, staging sensational attacks that led to a tragic escalation of sectarian rage and reprisal in Baghdad."

Apart from the fact that Bush chalks up these "sensational attacks" to the nameless, politically unaffiliated "Enemy" that has become the catch-all for every foe that resists us in Iraq, be they Sunni insurgents, Mahdi Army, Shia government death squads or al Qaeda, note also that according to Bushtopian lore, the fighting has only been occuring since 2006!

Fast forward to the end. Look at Dum Dum's face after he says "God bless." As he's leaving the podium he bites his lip and exhales, like a kid who has just passed a difficult round of a spelling bee. "One more can of patriotic Alpo in the dish" he seems to say. It's getting easier and easier to read this guy's mind as he struggles to connect his rhetoric to reality. I think that before his term is over we just may witness George Bush being born again again, this time into our world.

Campus Crusade For Christ

Fox is apparently trying to hang the name "Question Mark Killer" around Cho Seung-Hui. Ah, branding.

Here's the headline:"Question Mark' Killer Quietly Seethed With Rage". Guaranteed that some television procedural has an "Exclamation Point Sniper" or equal bullshit in an episode within two weeks.

Coming next summer from Fox Searchlight.

Apparently Fox pulled the name from Cho's classmates: "In one class, he refused to speak and signed his name using a question mark. Fellow pupils called him 'The Question Mark Kid.' Little did those students know that they were actually kicking off the PR campaign for our first homeland terrorist incident since 9/11.

Yes, it has been some time now since 9/11 taught us that violence only comes from afar, though borne on the wings of American airplanes. We'd forgotten the loons that are our own national bird, and would have continued to drown quietly in a television sea of dead Baghdad shoppers had ol' Seung-Hui not shown not us the light of our own darkness.

But unlike 9/11 or Katrina, our other recent feel-bad moment, this time we can't apportion any fault to fr'ners who hate for hate's sake or a Commander-in-Chief asleep at the helm of the SS Neverland. No, we're back to good old fashioned American mental illness, plus celebrity martyrdom, started by postal workers, perfected by the Columbine Kids and now reaching its maximum marketability thanks to the whoring possibilities of YouTube.

What's worse, unlike Islamic fundamentalists Cho loved our freedoms! Ted Nugent and his brood, folks who think the 2nd Amendment was etched in stone by a tongue of flame shot from God's own eye, jumped into action the moment the usual chin-scratching over gun law laxity began, and have been doing their best to keep our attention on the Hokie Pride and not the Hokie Dead. And yet the Nuge, a brain-fucked moral leper who can hump a gun during any mourning period, still dared come out with this paean to the buckaroo American spirit that Cho was brimming with: Gun-free zones are recipe for disaster, where he says, almost literally, that Evil smiles when people don't own guns and that the real criminals at Virginia Tech were the unarmed victims.

And speaking of God, it looks like Cho was all for Him! Listen to Cho's own words: "You loved crucifying me", "You decided to spill my blood", "raped my soul." "Do you know what it feels like to be humiliated and be impaled upon a cross, and left to bleed to death for your own amusement?"; and the big one: "Thanks to you, I died like Jesus Christ to inspire generations of the weak and the defenseless people."

So what is a right wing movement that has been pissing xenophobia down our throats for what feels like all of recorded history to do when it comes time time to explain why the new face of terrorism is an American kid invoking CHRIST??

Well, here's what you do. If you are NBC you say that Cho's video manifesto "rails against Christianity", even when you are airing video footage that proves just the opposite.

Then, if you are Fox News, you focus on something Cho wrote on his arm: Ismail Ax, "which may be a reference to the Islamic account of the Biblical sacrifice of Abraham," and then reach still farther by reminding the Islamic scholars in the audience that "A
more obscure reference may be to a passage in the Koran referring to Abraham's destruction of pagan idols; in some accounts, he uses an ax to do so."

Or "AX" may have something to do with the Alpha Chis in Greek Row who once poured soy sauce down Cho's throat and made him sing "We are Siamese If You Please". No one has a goddamn shred of evidence that this massacre is even in the same solar system as al Qaeda. There is certainly plenty of the manifesto we have not been shown, but what we have seen doesn't leave any room for a fucking question mark. If this guy had a God, it was J.C.

And yet, is there not something familiar about Cho's immolation? His manifesto was nothing less than a martyrdom video, the kind suicide bombers make. Sure, Cho put the Western slant on it, shooting up roomfuls of innocents because at heart we are a bullet and not a bomb people, but otherwise his massacre was the stuff of jihad, right down to the trip to Paradise via a round of ammo in his computer like his heroes Harris and Klebold and dozens of other US suicide martyrs. If Cho had mentioned Mohammed instead of Christ--if that was the ONLY difference--we wouldn't spend a moment investigating his meds or his play-writing skills. We'd be finding a way to invade Iran over it. And that way would be found, because the Democrats are still too weak in the knees to impeach Dum Dum, so you know he feels confident enough to keep wrecking shit.

The Right is thirsty for new Islamic terror. It's all they have left to pray for, the only thing that can end their Blue Angel death spiral. But the gun nuts will be the first to taste what the right wing is really capable of if that ever happens. The NRA, which circled the wagons and set the Cold Dead Handers to work in every corner of the Media while the students' splattered blood was still viscous, will be pretty much butt fucked and out of luck if that prophesied "second wave" ever hits our shores. Nugent, Wayne LaPierre and the rest had better beware the moment that, instead of trying to cram a nuke into a shoe, Mohammed's boys remember what we have just seen: that anyone--even cuckoo nesters with a giant neon sign of an atom bomb above their heads-- can get as many guns and as many boxes of ammunition in as little time as they want to in this country. A well-armed populace doesn't scare the suicidal. They aren't expecting to win the fight.

But this reminder that Americans are still plenty capable of slaughtering ourselves by the dozen and even throwing in some Jesus to prove how ineffective that shtick is surely sends a shudder down the spines of the Cheney wing. That's because it might just get people a little less paranoid about foreign terrorists (Cho's citizenship not withstanding, we all know an American when we hear one) and back into the same apathy we used to enjoy, where killings like this just roll off your back by next news cycle. In other words: normalcy.


Cat? I'm a Kitty Cat!


Stay Tuned!