Elephantmen vol. 1; A Hardcore Review

"Part Blade Runner... part We3... completely AWESOME!" In all honesty, this is not a fair comparison, cause I have yet to read We3. But this book was completely fucking amazing.
Look, I know like many of you, the amazing lettering the Richard Starkings and Comic Craft have done in the past decade or more of comics. And I also know that Starkings began the Hip Flask mini stories as a way to promote Comic Craft's superb abilities. But was anyone expecting the full on dynamic characters, the sweet lineup of artists who would handle the art chores and the flat out amazing story that would come of it? Elephantmen is a superior comic on so many levels. The concept is hundreds of years in the future, a geneticist named Dorctor Kazushi Nikken, under the auspices of MAPPO splices animal genes and then places the embryos into host human females. The result was humanoid hippos, alligators, rhinos and more, all created for the sole purpose of war. MAPPO controlled every aspect of the creature's lives, including education, training and making the creatures including Hip Flask and Ebony completely dependent on them.
The creatures attempts at acclimating to society after their trials are staggering. For the most part, the humans reject them. So much so that like in our country, they have enacted laws to stop people from marrying the mutant creatures. That is until a young woman named Sahara, who's own mother was kidnapped from an African village and forced into being a host for Doctor Nikken's insane experiment, falls in love with an Elephantman named Obadiah. Obadiah is probably, at least in volume one, the most powerful of the Elephantmen, and seems to be involved with some shady customers. The engagement of Obadiah and Sahara made national news, prompting bigotry and outrage from some people, sort of like same sex marriages seem to do the same now.
Doctor Nikken acted as if he were god, under the hood of an evil multinational corporation. The voice heard by the young animal/human hybrids was always Nikken's. Warning them that they were created as inferior to humans, but MAPPO made them stronger. MAPPO sent these Elephantmen out on warpaths, destroying cities and maiming and massacring people. It's no wonder that people feared these behemoths.
In all, like with groups of people who are almost wholly distrusted by society today, not all of the Elephantmen are bad, or have bad intentions. Most of them just want to exist somewhat unnoticed by the masses. Something that is very hard to do when you're nine feet tall with gray skin and a trunk.
Elephantmen was something I picked up after meeting Richard Starkings at last year's San Diego Comic Con. I got a free copy of issue one, which had some amazing artwork, including the superstar cover art. Took pics of the Sky Cab cutie, complete with window pane top. And watched a friend pick up all three collected hardcover volumes. It took me almost a year, but I finally got my own volume one at Charlies Comics right here in Tucson. The money I spent on it was more than worth it. A massive phone book sized compilation of the first seven issues, plus issue 0 AND all of the covers; back stories, sketches and more. Elephantmen is an excellent read and a great play on current events and how they might unfold. I give this awesome book something very suitable in the annals of wrestling history... The WWF's annual tournament event that culminated with the June pay per view King of the Ring. The two combatants who made it to the finals were the staunch veteran, Jake "The Snake" Roberts and the young, brash upstart who was told just a year earlier that he would never make it past mid card status and couldn't make a career out of wearing black trunks and black boots to the ring, "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. Roberts had a busted up set of ribs, and Austin had just returned from the hospital after getting his lip stitched shut caused in a previous match that night. Immediately Austin went for the ribs with such gusto that it caused then Commissioner Gorilla Monsoon to break up the fracas just long enough for Roberts to gain the upper hand. But in true "Rattlesnake" style Austin sent the veteran crumbling to the mat with a Stone Cold Stunner. Following the match came possibly the most famous words ever uttered in a promo. As a broken Jake Roberts was helped back to the locker room, Austin began running his mouth in what would be the first of many amazing Stone Cold promos in the WWF/E. "You thump your bible. You talk about your Psalms. You talk about John 3:16. Well Austin 3:16 says, 'I just whipped your ass!"

The Crow Wicked Prayer; A Hardcore Review

"Better than the original," and "Greatest goodguy badguy banter this side of a Spider-Man comic," ARE NOT THINGS YOU WILL HEAR IN THIS REVIEW! There is little I enjoy more than destroying something via Hardcore Review. I can use words no one would associate with the project being reviewed. And be as verbose as I want and those of you who read this will salivate like the proverbial Pavlov's dog.
Cause I am fucking honest to a beat down truth. I'm ruthless when it comes to reviewing shit I don't like. And this is gonna be one of those reviews. So, let's get past the greeting and intro and get into the steaming pile of shit that wouldn't be able to fertilize a lawn. Yeah, it's that bad.
First of all to try and sell a movie to potential fans with Edward Furlong, Tara Reid and David "Angel" Boreanaz is your first, second and third mistakes. If it were a felony to cast shitty actors, and it should be, the casting director and director should be in prison without the possibility of parole. I would change my stance on the death penalty for this one folks. There were two possible good points to this utter episiotomy of two hours of my life, Tito "The Huntington Beach Badboy" Ortiz and Danny Trejo, and both were cast to NOT play themselves and fell flat on their faces. Who the fuck casts Danny Trejo to act? Even his cousin doesn't attempt that.
The fact that the hero was five foot nothing and then they tried to spin this whole massive fail of overacting, and tough guy gothitude, not only didn't work, I was actually hoping there was gonna be a repeat of the first movie. No goth is tough. They all sit at home, write shitty poetry in black ink on black notebook paper while listening to either shitty music that makes your ears bleed or 80's (which honestly isn't all bad, but the stuff they stomp dance to sure as fuck is) and cut themselves with their ceremonial fantasy daggers that are laden with crystal balls and dragon handles, they bought online while wearing black vinyl they got at Hot Topic. These people are people I laughed at ten years ago when it was in vogue, and now, I just feel sorry for you that you haven't gone on to the next fad. Especially since most of you haven't bothered to STOP eating or START working out as you've grown ancient.
David Boreanaz as the "satanic biker cult leader," WHEN THERE WASN'T A FUCKING MOTORCYCLE IN THE ENTIRE FUCKING MOVIE! And you gave Tara Reid a speaking role? Who the fuck are you trying to pander to? Cause it wasn't someone who enjoys thinking, or being even remotely entertained.
I've had bowel movements that were more pleasant than listening to the dialog in this piece. I mean to me, James O'Barr is a one hit wonder when it comes to comics, but at least he's had the decency to stay out of the spotlight when he has nothing interesting to say. That guy looked so on edge during his interview on the two disc collector's edition of the original The Crow, that he probably would have strangled his wife and then blown his own head off if he had seen this.
But then, there was the very last possible saving grace, and that was Dennis "PABST BLUE RIBBON" Hopper in one of the final scenes where a Las Vegas style goth Boreanaz shows up to marry Reid's character and all we get is this drivel dialog with Hopper spouting hip hop phrases while conducting the marriage vows. I could barely stomach this, but then again, I already awarded the vaunted Hogan "leg drop" as a grade so, nothing could ever be quite THAT bad. Right?
In terms of this being HARDCORE, here's my take on it. Sid Vicious, when he was Sycho Sid in the WWF, SHITTING HIMSELF during a match with the Undertaker. That's how hardcore this bowel movement was.

Hitting Phoenix ComiCon!

This weekend, May 26-29 I will be at Phoenix ComiCon at booth #681 across from the AZ Ghostbusters exhibit. There's a lot of great stuff to be had at my booth:

Bedhead; The Book of Grrry; Fuzzyface; Youth in Asia and Got Crayons? The Adventures of Agnew Colouring Book. In addition to these books, I will also be selling Agnew "chainsaw" t-shirts and two of the last three mini Agnew's I have left.
Are you looking for original art, I am going to be doing sketchcards starting at $5 and 8.5X11" commissions starting at just $20.

Spend $20 at my booth and get a free Agnew "chainsaw" t-shirt (sizes are limited to stock on hand)
I will also be offering a couple of package deals:
Get both Bedhead ($10) and Fuzzyface ($12) for just $20, which would qualify for the free Agnew shirt and save two dollars

Get both Bedhead ($10) and the Book of Grrry ($5) for only $12... save five bucks

Get both a mini Agnew ($25) and Fuzzyface ($12) for only $30... saving seven bucks

Price list:
Mini Agnews... $25
Fuzzyface... $12
Bedhead... $10
Book of Grrry... $5
Youth in Asia tpb... $7
individual YiA issues... $3
sketch cover for YiA #4... $5
Agnew "chainsaw" t-shirt"... $12
Got Crayons? volume 1 or 2... $5 both for just $8

Original Art
sketchcards... $5 (inks) $10 (colors)
8.5X11" commission... $20 (pencils)
8.5X11" commission... $25 (inks)
8.5X11" commission.....$30 (colors)
11X17" commission... $50 (pencils)
11X17" commission... $75 (inks)
*all commission work is for one character only*

Comics: George Carlin; A Hardcore Review

Holy Shit! A review of a project that has not yet been printed. I know. I usually don't do such things. However, due to the fact that nobody knows who I am, much like Spider-Man, I don't often have the chance to review such preprint projects. I am proud to bring you my first such review. And it is a comic book biography of my favorite stand up comedian, George "Seven Words" Carlin. Now, I gotta be honest. This is the first non-porn related comic bio I have read. EVER! I'm not a big fan of biography comics. But I took an interest in this one, cause I know the writer and talk with him quite frequently online. This book is being published by Bluewater, the same company behind the political bios of John McCain and Barack Obama, as well as the Women in Power series and the "Fame" series with current celebs.
Written by Jaymes Reed who is the man behind DIGITAL CAPS lettering, who has lettered a ton of biographical comics on new and in my mind totally unwothies, like fucking Justin Beiber. I don't care if Dave thinks he can sing, I don't like when anyone who's half my age makes a billion dollars for being cute.Although being 32 and cute might be sorta weird. Now, here's the kicker with this George Carlin book. It's got no comedy in it. That kind of threw me, but then again. It's a biography. And we all know Carlin's classic routines, but to steal a great line from the movie of V for Vendetta, "but what of the man?" For those of you who may not know, Carlin's life wasn't always about those seven words you can't say on television. In fact it was a mighty fucking tough road to where he stood atop the great comedy Mount Olympus. He toiled in obscurity for a long time. In fact it wasn't till the 1970's when Carlin became the Carlin we know and remember today.
George Carlin is one of my heroes, if for no other reason than he spoke his mind. To be on stage, in front of millions, and still have the balls to not shrivel up and pussy out and be a clone is a huge thing. Besides those famous seven words, Carlin was a work in progress until the 70's. He did a lot of funny characters and wore a fucking suit on stage. A suit, really? George Carlin? The guy who said, most pro lifers are, "people you wouldn't wanna fuck in the first place." And now, you too can know his origins in 24 smashing pages of art delivered by Bluewater up and comer, Apriyadi Kusbiantoro. Reed writes as well as he letters. This is just the first in a series of "Comics" books to be written by Jaymes Reed. I think it's a great idea. I mean we pay attention to the star of the moment, and by we, I mean most simple minded people who can't remember last week, that we forget out roots. What brought us to the dance. Or, what happened last week.
So in summation, the writing was crisp. It told the story. Much in the advent of writing an actual biography. Reed did a lot of research into this piece. And you could tell. You could tell that Carlin is one of his heroes too. And even though the artwork was totally not what I was expecting, Kusbiantoro did a great job. I am not sure the media used, although it looks like either water colors or Copic Markers, I gotta say I pleasantly surprised. Sure there were points when the pace slowed down a bit more than I might have liked, and it was weird that a young George Carlin's eyes seemed to be crossed an unusual amount, but fuck people, I draw tits and ass and a guy who tries to look simian when he fights crime. There's also a gingerbread like sidekick in the mix. But that's a story for another time. Comics: George Carlin is a quick readup on the history of the all time greatest standup comedian of ALL TIME! If you don't buy it, you're probably a terrorist. Look I've had a couple of Pabst Blue Ribbons and I know it's only nine thirty in the morning, but I refuse to apologize for something you up tight conservatives pretend you don't do. That and the wife swapping parties. You people just need to come out of the closet. You'll feel a whole lot better. I do. And I'm not even gay. Or whatever the fucking PC vernacular is these days. You gotta pick up this book. It's history. That's what all comics are, history. A visual form of storytelling that is still here over a hundred years later. Passed down from the cavemen who painted on walls, to the Renaissance where everything was a fucking painting or a sculpture. To now, where comics aren't just for kids. And they can actually be a form of art.
Now, for those of you who know this review, and for those of you reading it for the first time. This is not your ordinary review where I give fucking thumbs up or stars or even a letter grade. With public education the way it is you're lucky I can spell at all. But I grade based on hardcore moments in professional wrestling history. The more hardcore or classic the moment the more I liked the thing I am reviewing. And usually, with the exception of the birth of the "nWo" promo, anything involving Hulk Hogan is pretty weak by comparison. This review rates something close to one of the creator's hearts. A moment from World Class Championship Wrestling involving two of the biggest tag teams of the era.... The Von Erichs and the Fabulous Freebirds. The match was Kevin and Kerry (I think) Von Erich versus, Terry Gordy and Buddy Jack Roberts. The stipulation was, whoever lost the fall, was out of WCCW. Loser Leaves Town kinda things. Fuckin' A I like it. I forget who lost the actual fall, but I do remember, P.S Michael Hayes showing up wearing a Santa Claus costume and attacking the Von Erichs after the match was over. Classic 1980's moment. In a side note, the Freebirds also attained tag team gold several times during their tenure. But due to a great rule that was later dubbed, "The Freebirds Rule" any two of the three Freebirds could defend the titles in a match. It's been done to death since then, but it originated with Michael Hayes, Terry "Bam Bam" Gordy, and Buddy Jack Roberts.

Batman Mad Love & Other Stories; A Hardcore Review *SPOILERS*

FINALLY Harley Quinn and her origin have come to the Hardcore Review. The ultimate story about Harley Quinn is such a treat to read and this is actually the second copy I have gotten of it. The first being a second print of the prestige format edition from the mid nineties. I traded a bunch of Lady Death comics to my friend, Dave, who is now my tattoo artist.
The story is drawn in the amazing style of the Batman the Animated Series by Bruce Timm and written by the enigmatic Paul Dini, both producers of the show that raised me on comics. BTAS is probably my favorite all time cartoon of ALL TIME. And to have a hardcover account of Harley's origin is pretty fucking spiffy in my book. I actually got to meet Bruce Timm at my first ever convention, Wizard World LA 2005. He drew me a Batman head and I got to tell him how much the show meant to me. The guy in line before me had the first volume of BTAS and had Timm sign every disc in the set. It was kind of funny, cause even then (my first con) I didn't really linger around the Big 2's booths. And now at SDCC I try to avoid them if I can.
The story goes like this, Harley Quinn wasn't always the Joker's sidekick. At one point she was a standout athlete in gymnastics who got a full ride to Gotham University. She excelled in her courses, but not due to hard work. She romanced her professors into making her a straight A student and a seeming prodigy in Psychology. Wanting to cash in and write tell all books about her case work, after graduation, Quinn, then Harley Quinzel, became a head shrink at Gotham City's most notorious facility, Arkham Asylum. Here she met the prize and prince of crime, Clown Prince that is, in the Joker. Falling victim to the Joker's charm and hard luck story, Doctor Quinzel let her guard down and Joker knew he had her. From that point on, there was nothing Harley wouldn't do for her Mr. J.
Bouncing back to present time, Harley is busy planning for the future, while Joker is determined to put the Batman on ice. After failing at her attempts to seduce the Joker, and being tossed out of a fifth story window, Harley decides enough is enough. But not in the way you might think. Harley has a plan to get rid of the obstacle between her an Mr. J once and for all.
Enter the "Death of a Hundred Smiles." What an awesome possible scenario. And the fact that this story, proved that Quinn wasn't just a cheap female Joker knock off. Harley had a mind and a demeanor that allowed her to be just as psychotic as the Joker, even more so, since her motives were purely based upon her "love" for her Puddin'. Harley wasn't just a flaky female foil for Batman. Sure she still has her moments of ditziness, but she is also in control of her destiny. And being that she was formed in an abusive relationship, and being that I have seen what abuse can do to the victim and their family and friends makes this story that much more important to me. Sure, fists can hurt someone. Usually those bruises and broken bones heal, but the psychological ramifications and scars run deep, and sometimes never allow the victim to heal.
This story, being so important to me and relevant to comic book history I have to give it a grade worthy of an equally important moment in wrestling history. A moment, that I believe was not recorded for posterity. It was the early 1990's and it was in Germany, a country known for tyranny and a butcherous nature. The match was Cactus Jack and Vader. Vader whipped Jack into the ropes, and Mick (Jack) took the move like a pro. He ended up in what was called a "hangman," where the wrestler gets his neck intertwined between the top and middle ropes. The move isn't normally dangerous, but in a match preceding this one, Too Cold Scorpio requested that the ring ropes be tightened. The tighter ropes caused Mick's ear to be torn from the side of his head. Being the ring warrior that his is, Foley kept on wrestling, while the ring announcer picked up the dismembered ear and ran it to the back where it was put on ice for a trip to the nearest hospital to have it reattached. And in a promo a few years later, Mick revealed that because he didn't know the German word for formaldehyde he wasn't able to ask for his ear back, as the nurse dropped it into the trash and said, "It's all a big joke."

Tank Girl Apocalypse; A Hardcore Review

So last night some fucking guy thought he was a badass and tried shitting on my comic book. Which he has no doubt, never read, and is seriously jealous of the fact that I can eat whatever I want and not be a fat pathetic loser like he is. I don't give a shit that you're getting married Poncho. You're still a fat fucking clone who's become what he thinks he has to be. You can say shit about me and my hair, the fact that I hang out with a sidekick and that my "comic book that's not going anywhere." But you're a fucking tattoo artist. That's not exactly a tough profession to get into. Hey I have a bunch of friends with ink and friends who are tattoo artists, but let's be honest, it's not rocket science, and you're not saving the fucking world either. Plus I would think, a grown, fat man who dresses up like a Ghostbuster on the weekends would shy away from trying to talk shit. Cause, the pigtails, sidekick, comic book, all a part of who I am at a fucking genetic level. You, you fucking play dress up on the weekends. You're like the goths who haven't realized that the goth movement is long dead. But on to bigger and better things...
Much in the spirit, of Tank Girl, I felt that rant was not only needed, but fucking necessary. I am after all the Hardcore Comic Book Icon, and pigtails or no pigtails, you're still a fat piece of shit who couldn't get laid if he wasn't getting married. So go and fuck yourself, while I run you over with my tank. By which I mean my thighs, which are bigger than your fat fucking head, because I work out porky. Maybe you should take that tattoo gun and ink on some abdominal muscles or something.
So the other week, I read the Apocalypse trade of Tank Girl, where Tank is being hunted by doomsday cultists. Supposedly there comes a messiah. And with it, possibly the end of the world. Tank Girl is restless, doesn't want pizza, beer or sex, and is in a malaise like state where she vegges out and watches daytime TV, the most evil of all evils.
She then leaves the confines of her home, fires off a shot in her tank and continues on till she meets up with a "standing on one leg guru" in a funky top hat who tried to get Tank Girl to join her in her one leg standingness. After which the leaders of the world, including long thought dead, Hitler and recently thought dead, Princess Diana show up. And Tank knocks Lady Di the fuck out. Not to mention Jet and Sub Girl show up to ride the rocket to Utopia. How the fuck a submarine travels in a desert is beyond me, but it's a comic book that has never made sense and that's why people love it. One of the all time most respected indie characters of ALL TIME still hasn't lost her edge, even when Hewlett and Martin aren't working on the project she stars in hits the racks. Tank learns she is pregnant, and after hitching a ride to Utopia, her and her friends party like rock stars, and then she gives birth to a half baby/half tank. Turns out Tank Girl cheated on old Booga with her tank? But she was drunk and I'm sure that makes it justifiable.
Tank Girl is the kind of comic book we need more of. Bizarre, fucked up and just plain strange shit with an edgy attitude that has always been is something we need more of in this world. I know if you're reading my reviews, you know I get tired of the run of the mill primary color boy scouts running rampant on your local comic store racks. When you're unhappy with the the regurgitated characterizations that lost their luster decades ago, take the money out of your wallet, AND BUY SOMETHING ELSE! We vote with our money. Money that is hard to come by and is very precious in today's world thanks to the powers that be. And I don't limit that to your "elected" government officials but more so directed to the corporate giants who only want your money and are currently gouging your pay check. Living pay check to pay check is tough, and we need something to raise our spirits in times like these where bullshit like a Royal Wedding is headline news, movies being Americanized from amazing International ORIGINAL versions, music that I wouldn't wipe my ass with and story lines from twenty years ago pass as brand new, edgy and best selling on the comic scene. You say, "FUCK YOU, I'm gonna read, watch, listen to what I wanna listen to." Your money and more importantly, time is much to valuable to waste on common, trivial shit like that. Show your support to the little guys in the industry who bust their asses even harder than the regular pros, cause quite often to support ourselves we work a full time job, AND then put out REAL cutting edge stories and art that gets swept under the carpet cause we don't have marketing bank like Disney and Warner Brothers backing us up.
In 2002, a monster arrived on the wrestling scene. He was a former NCAA heavyweight wrestling champion. His name, Brock Lesnar. Yeah, that Brock Lesnar, the same one who at one time was the youngest WWE World Champion at 25 years of age. Although Vince has never acknowledged Mikey Whipwreck winning the ECW World Heavyweight Championship in 1995 at less than 22 years of age from the Sandman and then defended it against the future Stone Cold Steve Austin. Anyways, after winning the WWE title, Lesnar set his sights on the most respected veteran in the locker room, The Undertaker. Pushing the "Dead Man," to his emotional limits by attacking him in front of his then pregnant wife Sara. You know the little blond who got Taker to ink her name across his throat. Beating Taker to a bloody pulp and breaking his right hand, then Smackdown general manager Stephanie McMahon, order the two behemoths to fight for the belt inside Hell in a Cell. And to up the ante, she ruled that Taker would be allowed to keep the cast on his broken hand for the match.
The match went off and there was a bucket of blood spilled, mostly from the Champion Lesnar and his manager Paul Heyman. There was nothing but utter chaos in the match, including Taker's cast being ripped off of his hand, Lesnar foiling Taker's move of "old school," and the bloodied, beleaguered champion hitting the F-5 to finish the Dead Man.

The Quitter; A Hardcore Review

This has been a long fucking time coming. Harvey Pekar's, "The Quitter," another autobiographical look at the life of one Harvey Pekar. After writing a litany of his life, and working with his wife, Joyce Brabner (who will be at this year's San Diego Comic Con)n "Our Cancer Year," Pekar has decided to grace us with his WHOLE life story, up to, and including his run on American Splendor. Pekar delves into his youth, where he was a street fighter at a very young age, to a young man who had an impeccable recall of memory in high school and college.
Pekar takes us through his work in his families grocery, to his stint in the Navy, to his run in college, to the part in his life where we all met him. When he met Robert Crumb, and was enamored with the idea of comic books. But the whole time we feel like we're a part of Harvey's life. Pekar is a spinner of words unmatched by few others.
Obviously, as I have said, "The Quitter," is written by none other than Harvey Pekar. And it is illustrated by the incomparable Dean Haspiel. I purchased this book, when I was still going to a local shop that I had not yet run a foul of (for the comic I work on and supposedly my aggressive sales tactics to the the staff) years ago. And I saw Dean Haspiel at a signing at Isotope Comic Book Lounge back during the weekend of APE Con 2009. Sadly, I did not know about it in advance and did not bring my copy of the book along with me.
Haspiel's artwork rendered in a series of varying styles, brings Pekar's life to, well, life. The visage of a young Pekar rumbling through the streets of Cleveland from his youth through all the times he quit. And that's what makes this book so fucking compelling. Pekar, is just like all of us. He's quit the majority of his jobs, and his thought up futures. All day long we're inundated with the stories of mother fucking LeBron James, who's never once given up on his road to the NBA. But, he did give up on the Cleveland Cavaliers in his quest to become this generation's Michael Jordan. We've been indoctrinated with the visage of Donald Trump, who never gave up on his path to being the 2012 Republican nominee for the presidency. However, he's failed at being a business tycoon, a casino owner, a reality show star and making us believe he has hair. We're all quitters. Whether we admit it or not. Whether we know it or not. And Pekar and Haspiel make it ok to be a quitter.
Pekar is one of my heroes. He's made me a believer. Because of Pekar, I have found a love for the autobiographical comic book, as well as the "slice of life" comic book. And Haspiel has made me love the line work and variation one can scribble in one story. It all makes me feel like what I do is good, and a part of the comic book industry. Pekar gives me strength towards working on my own creations, and allows me to look proudly into the masses and say, "FUCK YOU" to all of those who just don't get it. He makes me realize that not everyone is going to like my work, and I am fine with it. My work, like that of Harvey Pekar's, is not for everyone. And if it was, it would most likely be drivel and tripe for the masses. Sure, it would make more money, but it WOULD SUCK, cause it would be cookie cutter in format and characterization. And I'm not looking to be the next Spider-Man or Batman. As much as there are stories I love, FUCK THOSE MOTHER FUCKERS! FUCK THOSE TIGHTS WEARING DOUCHEBAGS! GADGET HAVING MOTHER FUCKERS! PEKAR DON'T HAVE WEB SHOOTERS! NASH DOESN'T HAVE A FUCKING UTILITY BELT. In terms of writing the everyman, Harvey Pekar IS GOD. And that's saying something, cause Pekar is Jewish and I'm an Atheist.
There's little that can compare with this amazing piece of work that encompasses the entire lifetime of a man, not only who I admire, but respect. And Harvey Pekar's, "The Quitter" gets an amazing piece of hardcore wrestling history... the very first Hell in the Cell. At the then World Wrestling Federation's October 1997 pay per view, In Your House: Bad Blood, the then European Champion Shawn Michaels fought the Phenom, The Undertaker in a match that had a massive cage, complete with a top encompass the entire ring. It saw, Shawn Michaels drop an elbow, land Sweet Chin Music, and beat the shit out of a cameraman, all in order to escape the Deadman. Michaels got color and became a veritable Frankenstein in the days following, and went through the Spanish Announce table. In the end, the Deadman, lay dead after taking a Tombstone Piledriver from his "little" brother Kane, who debuted by ripping the door of the Cell off its hinges allowed The Heart Break Kid to gain the pinfall. All while wearing the "Crimson Mask" and being near unconscious.