In this instalment of The Hardcore Review I will be taking on the first 4 issues of Red Lanterns of DC's The New 52, and I am NOT DRUNK. "How is that fucking possible?" you ask. Well, I'm writing this at work, and I am pretty sure this would be frowned upon. Kind of like masturbating on an airplane. Thanks a lot Bin Laden!
In my mind possibly the sleeper hit of the relaunch (and as we know I am never wrong), Red Lanterns, with the creative team of writer Peter Milligan and art by Ed Benes KICK SOME EISNER DAMN ASS! Benes is famous for his work on Gen 13 and his tour of Birds of Prey which was written by Gail Simone. My first exposure to Milligan was "Girl" back in the mid 90's from Vertigo/Veritie along with equally British artist Duncan Fegredo. Milligan would later go on to write at least one mini series of Tank Girl. The Red Lanterns were no doubt the most popular corps in the Blackest Night storyline from last year. They also inspired in the first series of Blackest Night figures, an Atrocitus that immediately drew large money in the secondary market. In fact, I had one on order from my dealer Charlie Harris, who graciously kept the figure for me, in spite of myself not coming into the shop for some time. Charlie even told me that it was the last Atrocitus in the shop and he had been offered $50 for it. I told him, I would not have begrudged him if had sold it for that size of a profit. But Atrocitus proudly hangs on my wall, along with Earth 2 Superman, Red Lantern Mera with Dex Starr and Yellow Lantern Arkillo. The Blackest Night series of figures IS some of the most detailed and best looking figures I have seen. But I digest, onto the book.
The artwork is gracious, although somewhat sparse at times. It reminds me of early Image art, with the lack of backgrounds in quite a few of the panels. And at some points it feels that some poses and faces are a bit rushed. But there is an amazing amount of detail in each of the characters. And Benes does a great job differntiating the emotions characters express as their non rage filled earlier selves (such as Bleez and Skallox). But Milligan's word smithing is nothing short of amazing. His choice of vocabulary has me transfixed in ways I have not felt in some time. Books that are this well crafted are the reason I love this industry. DC did an amazing job of employing some of the best teams to make sure the relaunch was successful. I have heard from one or two people who claim Red Lanterns will probably be the first of the New 52 cancelled. I don't see how it could, as it's on time (Jim Lee) and Milligan and Benes are probably the best creative team of the relaunch. Atrocitus commands the Red Lantern Corps, all while holding constant conversations with a dead Krona the dirty bastar who killed all of Atrocitus' people (whatever fucking species they're supposed to be). For some reason, Atrocitus feels at peace talking with the corpse of his nemesis. Atrocitus has become a new type of vengeance that is not a green cape wearing ghost nor a flame headed motorcycle riding asshole portrayed by Nic (Copolla) Cage in an shitty movie that getting a fucking sequel. Good call Hollywood! He feeds on the rage felt by others, and acts upon it accordingly. By the second issue, Atrocitus has waged war on the universe and it's inhabitants for their destructive ways. For some strange reason, most of these attacks take place on Earth (the fuck you say).
In issue 3 Atrocitus (fuck I wish I had alternate names to call him) feels he needs a second in command to help keep the motley and ill tempered group in line. He choses Bleez, who's origin is revealed as Atrocitus throws her into the Blood Ocean. The Blood Ocean inhances her intellect but during this, Bleez is forced to relive her beginings and tortured past. She survives, but as she reveals, just barely. Atrocitus and Bleez visit her assailants and deliver rage filled punishment upon the two who claimed to be victims of Bleez's beauty. The two claimed they had no choice in their efforts to have her killed. For some reason they weren't white (c'mon it makes sense if you think about it).

After helping Bleez gain vengeance on her "suitors" (read the story), Atrocitus gives chase to Skallox. Skallox is present during a potential coup meeting held by Bleez, and Atrocitus begins to get paranoid. Unable to make sense of the mashed potatoes that make up Skallox's rage filled mind, Atrocitus tosses the horned Red Lantern into the Blood Ocean. Here we witness Skallox's origin, which I can only assume will continue into issue 5. Finishing the issue has me salivating for the next. It also has me wishing DC did the blank sketch-able variants the Marvel is doing. I not only love the Red Lanterns, but a plethora of DC characters as well.
The grade for this series, is the construct known as The Gangstas. Originally from Smokey Mountain Wrestling, New Jack and Mustafa moved to ECW in 1995, and began destroying tag teams. The combination of Mustafa's power and more technical skills, and New Jack's insane penchant for violence, his ability on the mic and willingness to "dive" from any height (as long as he got paid), made The Gangstas a force that battled with every tag team from the Public Enemy, The Eliminators all the way to the Dudley's. Getting color with almost every single match the wrestled in ECW this one was one of the worst, or best depending on how you think. "The Mass Transit Incident" (which almost made sure the 1997 pay per view Barley Legal didn't happen) involved a minor named Eric Kulas who doctored his papers to be able to wrestle in the place of Axl Rotten who wasn't able to make the event. A lot of wrestlers in the locker room state that Kulas, who was billed as Mass Transit, who not one one mother fucker had heard of, was telling The Gangstas who he was going to be in the match. Later, according to New Jack, Kulas asked him to blade him, as he did not know how. This fucking kid was stupid as he was fat (you'll find out why it's in past tense). During the match, Jack took his trusty instument, which he said was a surgical scalpel fixed to a thin piece of wood, and cut Mass Transit all the way across the forehead, causing Kulas to bleed profusely and have his father sue ECW. According to Kid Kash, Jack and Mustafa had to split right after. Jack was acquited of all charges. This was possibly due to the *fact* (according to New Jack) that Paul Heyman testified at his trial that Kulas had called Jerome "New Jack" Young, "nigger." And I didn't make any of that shit up.

Zombie Tramp vol. 1; A Hardcore Review

Recently, I ordered Dan Mendoza's Zombie Tramp volume one from Super Real Graphics. I follow Dan on DeviantArt and have been admiring his pics of the Zombie Tramp, Janey. It's actually a light hearted tale about Hollywood's best call girl, Janey. Her Madame, gets blackmailed by a crooked cop and is forced to send Janey to the cop's home. Janey gets forced into the basement where the crooked cop's son is waiting, and hungry. For some reason, the cop's son is a zombie and he takes a chunk out of Janey's supple bod. Afterward, Janey dies.... and re-emerges, with the help of the equally busty Zombie Voodoo Priestess, Xula as The Zombie Tramp, the hottest, not completely clothed, large breasted zombie EVER!
This book is fucking great. It's done mostly in black and white, with splashes of color, mostly red. But damn it's fucking great. Who doesn't love some scantily clad goodness with extra large jublies all around. And there is nudity. I was fucking waiting for that through the whole book. And Dan finally delivered at the very end of the book. Zombie or not, there's a ton of comic book fans, male and female who would risk their humanity for a piece of that ass. And Mendoza is working feverishly on volume two. More ultra large zombie titties, bouncing around as only saline can deliver.
Zombie Tramp reads, much like a late 80's early 90's really low rent zombie flicks. B-Horror is one of the all time best genres of movies ever. I mean look at the great things we've gotten from it: Bruce Campbell, a naked as fuck Linnea Quigley, Sam Raimi, Liam Neeson, Bruce Campbell's chin and so much more. And this whole concept is as fun and fucked as anything could possibly be.
Zombies have become a staple of pop culture. Here in Tucson, we have Zombie Walk, and there's a Zombie Ball, at Phoenix Con we get Zombie Prom and the Zombie Beauty Pageant. Zombies have taken the world by storm, something piss poor vampires never totally could. And Stephanie Meyer, if you ever think to write a story about sparkling zombies, I will find you and sing annoying songs at the top of my lungs until your ears bleed.
Now for the grade. As you may or may not know, I don't use some sort of lame thumbs up my ass, a piss poor letter or number grade. No, this is the mother fucking, original HARDCORE REVIEW. I only grade with hardcore moments in wrestling history. And this is not an exception to that rule. It was the very first episode of ECW on Sci-Fi, produced by the WWE. And I know, you're thinking nothing involving WWE's ECW was hardcore. But I hit you in the face with a steel chair with thumb tacks super glues to it. Listen up spunky, cause here we go. It's actually two moments from that initial show. The first being Paul Heyman's emergence and presentation of the new ECW World Heavyweight Championship belt to Rob Van Dam, who had just won the WWE Championship from John Cena at ECW's One Night Stand two nights before. When Heyman gives the belt to RVD, RVD says he's honored to have the belt he fought for in ECW for so many years. But he wants to keep the WWE Championship too. The quote is awesome, "Look, it spins!" God I loved that shit! The second part, was when a fucking zombie came out of the walkway and tried to cut a moaning promo in the middle of the ring. The crowd honestly didn't know what to think, when all of a sudden (not on television tho) "Enter Sandman" hits the PA system and the crowd fucking lost it. Sandman walks he way down to the ring, shotgunning beers the entire way. Stumbles over the barricade, slides into the ring and canes the holy fuck out of the zombie. They rigged the zombies shirt full of sawdust, so every time he got nailed, dust flew into the air and the crowd cheered as wrestling's Hardcore Icon beat the shit out of some poor sonofabitch who is probably a star now under Vince McMahon's infinite wisdom. Hope you enjoyed this review as much I enjoyed drinking while writing it.

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.