Sure he lost in '76, but he's well rested and rarin' to go!



**waaaaughh**

Labels: comics, steve gerber

Click to enlarge.

Panel two is the best - note Donald's face.

Via.

Labels: assholism, comics, funny

DOOM FORBIDS IT!!!

Labels: comics, funny, hubris

Let's take a break from my "embarrassing the gay community" (whatEVS!) to check out the funniest thing I've seen in ages.

This may help you get it.

Labels: comics, funny

Extremely sad news today, as Mark Evanier passes along word that writer Steve Gerber died last night after a long illness.

Long-time readers here know how important Steve Gerber was to me, especially in my impressionable youth. The creator of Howard the Duck, Omega the Unknown and the best Defenders writer ever, Steve's warped sensibility left an indelible mark on young Johnny's mind. His current work on books such as Hard Time and Dr. Fate showed no slow down or decline in talent. Steve was also on the forefront of creator's rights, taking Marvel Comics to court to win back rights to Howard.

I'm leaving Steve's blog link up here for awhile, since Mark is taking it over, turning it into a tribute for the man. R.I.P. Steve.



Waauuugh.

Labels: comics, steve gerber

Labels: comics, Doctor Who, hubris, paul lynde, video of the moment

Labels: comics, funny

Art Adams does Steranko as The Incredible Hulk becomes The Incredible Herc starring Hercules of course, beginning with issue #112.



Grrrrrrrrrrrowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwllll. If only Adams was doing the interiors as well.

Labels: comics

Growing up as a dedicated Marvel Comics fanboy in the '70s, I worshipped at the altar of Jack Kirby, the creator/co-creator of Captain America, the Fantastic Four, Hulk, Thor, the X-Men, etc., etc., mythic figures still being published monthly decades later. But by the time I was buying comics, Kirby was working on lesser lights such as The Black Panther, The Eternals and Devil Dinosaur. I didn't care...I loved them all.

So, as an adult with newly disposable income, I made it my mission to collect all of Jack's 1970s output, from the minor titles like his adaption of 2001: A Space Odyssey to longer runs on Captain America, Mister Miracle, even Superman's Pal, Jimmy Olsen. The Kirby Kwest began in earnest around 1992, so by 2005 I had filled two longboxes with Kirby Kreations and I was down to the titles I never cared for as a child (there were precious few). One of those I never got into was Kamandi, The Last Boy On Earth, which happened to be the longest-running title Jack did for DC Comics. It was the tale of a teen aged boy who emerges from an underground bunker in Earth's future after a "Great Disaster" to discover the world was now populated by intelligent animals of all species that walked and talked, while humans had devolved into a beast-like state. Basically a take on Planet of the Apes, then hugely popular in 1972 when the series began.

For some reason, Kamandi never moved me. I guess the notion of talking dogs, apes and snakes just seemed so juvenile to my five-year old mind. Plus, it was published by DC Comics, or as my razor wit called them, Dumb Comics. I was a Marvelite, through and through.

Fast-forward to 2006 and DC begins releasing deluxe hardcovers collecting Kirby's work in handsome volumes, including Kamandi. Since I'd never sampled the book, apart from picking up a #1 for a song in 1994, I plopped down my $40 for Kamandi Archives Volume One, reprinting the first ten issues of the series. I was hooked. Where as a kid, the adventures of a boy encountering intelligent animals in a post-apocalyptic Earth seemed childish, as an adult, the concept was just plain fun. Volume Two couldn't come fast enough, and when it did I devoured it quickly, but the Kamandi jones continued - thus began The Great Kamandi Hunt.

I've been collecting comics long enough to know that with the less collected, less popular titles, that often the opposite rules of collecting apply - while early issues are more expensive, it's often the latter issues that are the toughest to find, since dwindling sales equal smaller press runs and less popular titles tend to spend years knocking around the quarter bins, making high-grade copies scarcer and scarcer. With this in mind, I began the Kamandi Hunt by working backwards from the final issue #59 on down. Since I'm not happy with anything in Very Fine condition or less, this became harder than I thought.

Let's start from the beginning, though...with the copy of #1 I bought in 1993:

A beautiful, crisp Near Mint copy with off-white pages, sharp corners and colors at a bargain for just $25 (it sells for up to $135 in this shape). Only one problem, which I didn't discover until I got it home - the cover is pulled away from the lower staple. D'oh. Let's call this a placeholder copy, then.

From there, I had various issues I'd picked up at random over the years, mainly for price and condition...#6, 17, 19 & 28:



#19 & 28 are pretty rough, so those'll have to be replaced. From here, we'll see the copies hand-picked by me from the bins of comic shops nationwide. Kirby did every issue of the book up to #40, then it wobbled along under other hands to the end. Sales dipped as a result and copies got scarcer. Here are some from near the end of Jack's run, #32, 39 and 40 (scans of 39 & 40 are not my copies):



I'm particularly happy with the copy of #32 I scored for a measly $6.50, since it's a special giant-sized issue which, thanks to their glued square bindings are pretty tough to come across in so nice a shape. From here is where I began working from #59 down with great success (again, the scans do not reflect my awesome cherry copies):



You'll notice #57 is missing. That's because that little bugger has been a very tough bitch to find. I've seen some beat up copies here and there, but that truly VF/NM copy has eluded me thus far. I wonder if the Jim Starlin cover on it has something to do with its relative scarcity.

The Great Kamandi Hunt will be updated on this blog as new copies are procured. Feel free to openly mock the geek now.

Labels: comics, Jack Kirby, The Great Kamandi Hunt

So, if you've been following my little Twitter to the left of this here blog thingee, you know Baby Chutney and I spent a four-day weekend in San Francisco last week.

Oooo, and how was your trip, Johnny?

:::gritted teeth/forced smile::: Ummm....fiiiiiiine...

The purpose of this trip was to visit Baby Chutney's new Baby Nephew (aDORable, btw), and since we were up there, the rest of the Chutney clan as well. The drive up was nice, thanks to Sirius Radio with Howard and Robin Ophelia Quivers, and the occasional breaks to the New Wave station everytime Sal & Richard came on or Ralph called in. After checking into our hotel and taking a nice nap (MARRIOT BEDS RULE), we headed to the Castro Theater for an evening of Fashion in Film with special guests Santino and Jeffrey from Project Runway and a big-screen presentation of the Joan Crawford classic The Women.

Yes, we are faggots.

You'd think being said faggots, we'd like San Francisco. Wellllll, the city's okay, but the people - ye gods. Here's an example - during the lighthearted Q&A with Santino and Jeffrey, there's plenty of laughter and funny stories about Heidi Klum being a cunt until some skinny queen stands up and asks:

"This is all well and good, but what are you two doing for charity, specifically those living with HIV and AIDS?"

Seriously, do y'all have to politicize EVERYTHING, including my frivilous reality shows? Take me back to good 'ol vapid L.A. (By the way, the answer was nothing. I got the impression Santino is living off his lecture circuit cash.)

Saturday, we enjoyed a nice brunch with some Chutney friends, then some Castro time where we walked about and did some light shopping. I grabbed a double-DVD compilation of all of Divine's videos and TV appearances from a neat little record shop called Medium Rare. Number of times we were asked for money on Saturday - four. Oh, that reminds me - you SF bums really have to stop adopting the same new story all at once. It ruins the effect. The tale of woe du jour is as follows (change the state and arty occupation for variety as needed):

"Excuse me, sir, but I'm from Oregon and I'm a musician and my car broke down and I really need some cash to get it fixed and get home."

We heard this from three different people in two days. To the musician I said, "I was a musician, too! I quit when I realized it didn't pay and got a JOB so I'd never have to beg on the street."

He was not impressed. Later, when the girl "from New Orleans" who was a "painter" used the same story on us, I wondered why she spent the money to come to SF in the first place if her car was in such disrepair. I did not get an adequate answer and my money remained in my wallet.

That is, until Sunday when we went to Rasputin's downtown. Rasputin's is sort of a baby Amoeba records in a funky old office building with five floors. The first two floors are accessible by stair, but you have to take an elevator to the third thru fifth floors, sharing it with a guy whose job it is to press the appropriate floor button for you. There's a nice gig someone stuck in SF could score to get their car repaired! It was at Rasputin's that I found the ever-elusive Volume One of the Mystery Science Theater 3000 collection used for a cheap $34.95. Not bad, since it grabs $90 on Amazon. Score. Now I got 'em all. Love ya, Crow.

From there it was to the Levi's superstore where Baby Chut tried on 743 different pairs of jeans. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating, but I could have Twittered War & Peace while waiting. I don't mind at all, though, since this is the same guy who waits patiently and reads Peanuts hardbacks while I geek out at the comic shop weekly. It's love, I tells ya, love.

We made our way to Berkeley for another dinner with family, but since we had time, we stopped at the world-famous Comic Relief (see?) and Amoeba Berkeley, where I grabbed another sweet score - Vanity's hard to find second solo album, Skin on Skin. Gee, wonder what blog that's gonna end up on soon? Number of people who asked us for money in Berkeley - three. And boy, God love ya if you live there, but Berkeley is fucking filthy. Poor Green Day.

So, why was our trip so teeth gritty? Not to speak out of school, but it had a lot to do with Chut Chut's family. He's the youngest of three boys, and the eldest two are at least a good 13 years older than him, straight, married with kids, baseball nuts, etc. As a result, they have absolutely no clue how to talk/relate to their gay little brother with the scary bald white boyfriend. At the dinner we went to that was obstensibly in Chut's honor, they sat on the complete opposite side of the room with ten people between us and only spoke to us at the end of the meal when we got up and walked over to them. Chut's also a bit worried about his niece who's on the cusp of 30, yet still lives at home with her mother, seems to have no real career goals and doesn't see any reason to change this status.

The best I could do is assure Chut that my brother is the same way (hey, at least yours speak to you!) and we all have aimless relatives we worry about. I think gay people just hunger for more - the desire to succeed, leave home and the city you're from, etc. We're just driven.

And come Monday morning, we were driven the hell out of San Francisco. I know a lot of y'all live there, but...well, the Marriot beds sure are nice.

Labels: baby chutney, comics, mst3k, san francisco

Avengers Vol. 1, #4, 1964

Labels: Captain America, comics

Yeah, Captain America is dead. Again.



Yeah, Diana, that's pretty much my reaction, too. You non-comic geeks out there may be wondering why I'm so blase' over the death of my favorite character, while comic geeks totally understand. This sort of fake-out death happens far too often in comics, so spare yourself the trouble of jumping in your car and zooming over to your local Comic Book Guy to grab the "collector's item" issue that will be worth nothing in five years. Cap ain't going anywhere.

In fact, *cough*LifeModelDecoy*cough* I can think of about *cough*ArnimZolaClone*cough* a half-dozen ways to bring him back within the continuity of the series right off the top of my head. So, don't mourn for Cap...mourn instead for the new, "realistic" Marvel Universe where heroism is scoffed at and rewarded with a few slugs in the gut while nihilism and bleakness get a shiny new #1 issue with seven variant covers.

Labels: Captain America, comics, Jack Kirby

I give you the Marvel Universe float from the 1987 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade:



Cheestastic using today's eyes, but if I were ten years old when I saw that, I probably would have had my first orgasm.

Labels: camp, cheese, comics