November 17th, 2010
Zom: From a cave in Nanda Parbat to an old haunted house on the road out of town, and onwards to a better Batmobile. Let’s go!
Amy: Some quick preamble before we get into this. I admit to being as worried as anyone about the release dates, but that was before when the DC site made them looked really fucked up, when Batman: The Return looked like it was coming out the same week as Batman and Robin 16 or whatever it was not, and certainly never because Return of Bruce Wayne 6 was scheduled to arrive after Bruce had returned in that book. It was always obvious to me that ROBW 6 would cap Grant’s mega-story, if only because it was in that book that the real meat of the thing would have to be cleared up, dealing as the series does with Batman the myth, the eternal Batman outside of time and the linear flow of the batrob books. It was there that the spell would reach completion.
Moments before I tucked into the final issue, I discovered an old Grant Morrison JLA story in a Secret Files comic that as far as I’m aware no one I know has ever read before – the comic had been in my possession for years, but this was the first time I’d cracked it open. These kinds of weird coincidences always kick in when the deep magic is flowing.
Gasping neck wounds and protruding tails: scrambled sexuality and dermatological disorder in Charles Burns’ Black Hole
May 22nd, 2008
This post contains some pretty strong stuff, so if you’re under 18 or easily offended, it might be better if you turn round and go back the way you came in.
Okay, so I’m a comics geek and we’re always the last to get picked for the squad, and when the numbers finally whittle down to us, our selection is always greeted with moans and groans. But I was popular enough off the playing field, so I didn’t give a toss about that. Football’s rubbish anyway. No, what really got me was shower time. It’s bad enough hitting puberty without having to strip down to your nadgers in front of a room full of braying schoolboys. Anyone that had an inkling of hair down there, or was starting to grow or droop a little was fair game. I remember how poor old Simon Hudson’s massive, hairy willy was always a source of vicious fun.