Star whirled, take two

IMWAN re-edit



We used to dream of a star world

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Best 25 Moments in Super Hero Comics and the Latest Million Dollar comic

Sponsored by Integr8d Soul Productions, featuring DNA: The Mountain, drawn with crisp, clear story telling by Lue Lyron and the Marc Kane, with scenes and ideas you won't find anywhere else in entertainment!! The comic for those who don't read comics! Black and White, $3 plus shipping each.
Available from C Lue Disharoon
542 6th Ave.
San Diego, CA 92101



How do you come up with the Best 25 Moments in Super Hero Comics?

Well, I didn't bother to read much of the list originally posted on Comic Book Resources, because I found "Joker shoots Barbara Gordon" from the Killing Joke as the #1 Favorite Moment and that day felt, "they don't know anything." Looking now, there's some cool stuff, too, like the Green Lantern Hal Jordan taking his first oath.

ZergNet

I welcome everyone who'd like to comment; those are rare treasures on even terrific blogs (which is sometimes true of this one). I doubt we'll come up with a vote for a final total, though; I think the fun's trying to come up with the answers, or if you've never read them, reading about some of the neat stuff (described ALL-too-briefly here). It's something fun to pass a few minutes. Some, everyone knows.

I realize a poll's difficult to organize; the first idea is to create rounds, March Madness style brackets, as a single poll for each instance yeah or nay would be true madness in March. But I like this freewheelin'
name your faves approach just fine.

25 of My Favorite Comic Book moments in Super Hero Comics (in no ranking order:)

All humans (and perhaps a velociraptor) gain super powers vs. Mageddon in JLA #41

Peter realizes he's caught his Uncle's murderer too late, complete with dot eye Amazing Fantasy #15, his origin (This story is in a comic that just sold, in almost completely perfect condition, for $1.1 Million Dollars. http://news.yahoo.com/s/afp/20110309/ts_afp/lifestyleusauctioncomicspiderman_20110309102809 )

Banner pushes Rick Jones to safety Hulk #1

Jean saves the universe, X-Men #108

Jean gives her life on the moon, X-Men #137



Kal-El rockets from doomed Krypton

Bruce sees the bat as an omen (the Wayne parents death will get more votes, 'cause the little boy decided to become the hero, really. The bat is an epiphany, a moment of great triumph)

Warlock returns from the jewel to defeat Thanos (wish I had that one! I never have!)
MTIO #2
Flash gives his life in Crisis on Infinite Earths

Veidt reveals his plan---twenty minutes too late Watchmen #12





Spider-Man buries the Juggernaut in a building foundation in ASM #230 (I've never had that one, either, I think)

Cap reawakens in the Silver Age amongst the Avengers (Avengers #4, 1964)


Guardian dies Alpha Flight #12

"He looked as if he'd been crying" (Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow? (Superman Annual, 1985)

Wolverine rises from the sewer to fight the Hellfire Club (end of X-Men 131)--this is the moment, IMHO, that made Wolverine






Spider-Man frees himself to get the serum to save his Aunt May(Amazing Spider-Man 33)

Death of Gwen Stacy ASM #121

Death of Pa Kent , All Star Superman #7

"Luthor ... brain beats brawn every time!" (All Star Superman #12)

Batman surrounding himself with gasoline and then striking a match, ready to take on the white martians. (JLA) (Thanks Don, those were such quirky moments, very fun)



This would be a good death, but not good enough (Dark Knight #3)

"One punch!" Bats clobbers Guy Gardner, JLI #5

The Scarlet Witch hexes Dormammu into the Evil Eye, Avengers ...#113?

Surfer decides to fight for humanity (geez...or the arrival of Galactus. What a tense mood!)

Putting Namor behind her at last, Sue Storm marries Reed Richards (a composite moment, but I love the hope, against the grain of Marvel's soap opera approach)


Thanks to the fun guys over at IMWAN for getting the ball rolling and reminding me to forget my stupid problems and escape from the catastrophes great and small a little while, to come back to my needs with a fresh approach: all with the celebration, paradoxically I suppose, of irrelevance!!!

Still, Be Chill Cease ill

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Packed Days

Four weeks have passed, since, after much anticipation, my mind rests again upon the day we packed to return to the place of our origins here on Earth, where the space ship arrived, er, where we both were born: Rome, GA, and a five house circuit of family and friends. Places to lay our heads and people to fill our days; I’m sure at least four weeks came before I zipped in the last item, and the whole time my mind wandered ahead to Georgia every four thoughts or so, as it begins to do now when I think of how much beloved shit I had to mentally pack aside to be anywhere besides right here in the solitude of the Apartment of Ideas.


I packed away inking tools for practice in some imaginary free moment of peace on vacation, still reading all of Gary Martin's book on the subject, suggested by Judge WAN, I believe. The Janson book Marcus recommended was in the mail, and already the freshly-shipped drawing table called even as I stubbornly drew on my old improvised set-up, some last panels in my mock-up copy of the Stuckwayze that I couldn't wait to show my nephews. (How would it be now, having a niece, around those rough and tumble rapscallions?)


I’d practiced and rediscovered favorite covers, songs left unfinished and half-learned, slipping guitar back into my day-to-day life after letting the need to draw take over everything! Writing made it back okay, first; aside from the messages every day, I’d indulged in reviewing The Man Called Nova and Machine Man, the Living Robot comics in their first runs under the aegis of their creators, Marv Wolfman and Jack Kirby, respectively. But listening to the street musicians outside my window made me find the time again by summer’s end ---if for no other reason than to distract from the drone of the bagpipes on Friday nights!


“Is This Love?” became the one song not my own that really resonated with me and what we were going back to Georgia to celebrate. I never want to forget what falling in love with Angela Dawn is like; I told the musician as I tipped him, we shared the same room and the shelter of our single bed, just across the street behind a window from a hundred year old brick-and-mortar hotel two floor above Fred’s Mexican Place.


Marley would cross my mind again when the fellow passed out and then, after the attendance of many there in the aisle beside me, got sick just a couple of rows back at the lavoratory. Bad night for him, bad enough for any plans to sleep, so Bob and Elvis played from my memories as I stared into the featureless night sky, with glances at my friendly row-mate’s IPad as she discovered its games. Beside my right, Angela nearly dozed a bit, having enjoyed the ten-thirty flight out of Lindbergh with the same heightened sense of our changing surroundings.


I included our two shirts, made with the Integr8d Soul "Man" sigil, just in case we needed them for anything...like, a concert I was still organizing on the hoof, trying to find a location and day best for everyone who wanted to see us.

You think of this when you pack and travel: the changing surroundings require an awareness of yourself and your belongings, so it is best to go lightly. The single carry-on bag and the one with this very laptop rested with us. If only, on the Charlotte stopover, I’d remembered how Dixie and Charlotte collect one thing: shot glasses, I would’ve had the perfect thing. As it is, a handful of copies of the home-printed version, hand-numbered first issue, of our new Integr8d Soul Comic, D’n’A , contained one of the unique presents with which we’d leave our presence in their home, the first morning we awakened in Georgia---Cedartown, to be exact!


Before that, the Sunday was bound to begin in Rockmart, as my Mom seemed to orchestrate, in a fuzzy manner, a homecoming day for us at the 2012 Bowman residence where Angela lived when I accompanied her and Dixie home, where we shared a second kiss and more than I’ll here elaborate. David, Austin and Ciara would bring the very most enthusiasm in its energetic form, as they fully planned our kidnapping on arrival. I stayed at 2012 during the time Ciara came into the world, the conception and the birth both, during two layovers on the way to Columbus, GA and finally San Diego by Cinco de Mayo, 2005, or 5-5-05. I remembered when her impending arrival was announced to the household, and had lived in California virtually since she was born, Feb. 15, 2005. Now CiCi awaited the impending arrival of Angela and I, two people she really only knew in gifts and legends. Her brothers had kept our memory alive, as had their parents and 2012 as well.


No plane trip’s complete without an airport, and without a hitch, the last person in our first day rode down to pick us up with her brand new husband, our new friend Eric. I had a t-strap shirt packed for her artistic and individualistic daughter Darby, one designed and ironed by the Marc Kane herself. The other two shirts---for I’d figured out there was no way to pack the eight or so I had in mind for people, barely enough room to take some iron-on pages---celebrate the Gypsy Cave, a place I knew I’d have the hardest time leaving, and this day, everyone was gathered, by Mom if no one else, to receive us in the same house where Papa Bowman took our wedding vows.

My love for her sky photos had blossomed into a most powerful friendship, and “Bean” as she is sometimes known texted her way into our days, sharing the chaos and sweet observations intimately. Her enjoyment of our devotion to Integr8d Soul arts included not only enthusiasm, but actual contributions; her first request of me had been to aid her in creating the poem chronicled on the two shirts, and here at this link as well.

http://ceaseill.blogspot.com/2010/01/welcome-to-gypsy-cove.html
Her lovely friendship and smartistic ways involved a fascinating look at local lady cop, down-to-earth mother and endlessly inventive enemy of boredom. I felt privy to the widest multitude of her facets, yet she had an incompletion fostered by her very power to love. She clearly needed two more people, in addition to the cast she shared with us, some of whom became our fans, too. What could we do about that need, so far away?


Her ability to attract what she needed soon caused her oneness to become three: a new husband and a new life and a way to connect her artistic and intuitive perceptions means people to love and understand, very close to her, a boy and a girl, companions of the sort that we ourselves would agree assure nothing about the wonderful Bean goes to waste, least of all any of her time!

So now she sports a belly supporting a tiny life named Tupelo Lyric, and it’s just like I’ve emerged texting from the shuttle between concourses at Hartsfield-Jackson to claim our baggage and unite my Dawns, as these two friends, the closest ladies in my life this fine year, physically met for the very first time.


Eric turns out to be so funny, inventive, rebellious, and kind, the four of us can’t help but have a great ride from Atlanta to Rockmart. Already artistic plans are hatched, as our intentions we’ve been saving to share bleed through the raucous conversation. They are friends we could easily spend the entire week with, and we’ll be gone just as soon as we in fact warm up! They are Southerners to the core, in that best of ways marked in every household we visit there: you are loved, welcomed, and invited to fit into the life there however you like. Come in and sit a spell!


They decide they’ll be close enough to pick up daughter Darby, so they drop us off at 2012, and by eleven o’clock our conversation with Vick and Ron has transformed into my tour of the neighborhood, led about by boisterous boys and much gladness.


By the time Mom actually arrives with the lasagna to bake, I’m sleep deprived and hungry and let me tell you, with neighbor Christina sitting with me as the Falcons game played, I was feeling the physical aspects of my road trip but running on pure friendship. That’s where I got the energy to let one piggy-backed child at a time play as “Doctor Octopus’ arms” as we chased the other two through the house, in a way that must’ve evoked God knows what memories for everyone, but best of all, made new ones. Every since I’d played CiCi’s hiding game where I took off each coat one-by-one and put them on, from that third or fourth coat on, I’d won a new friend, and relating would turn out as easy as I’d hoped, after all.


Dixie and Charlie were there early, and I heard about a harrowing small plane ride ahead of a Wyoming winter that makes my flight a walk in the park---speaking of which, I have one of those, too, with the kids, as Angela visited their mother Anna and father David for coffee. Thankfully, when they were ready to disappear around sunset, I was more than glad to look at the new paint job. I was ready to watch paint DRY. My pj’s were on and I dove into my just-received copy of Miracle Man #1 by the time Angela reconnected with big sis over glasses of red wine. This was the perfect moment to enjoy something I’d packed just for me or whoever; the fantastic old story of the “Miracle Family” and the return of Miracle Man, all climaxing in a visit with one of the old family that didn’t come out nearly as pleasant as mine.

I must’ve spent the day as one of the just, because that night, I knew their sleep.

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Marginal Findings

in all of us

there is a hero, if for no one else but ourselves until the time comes.



The Plot will Move Along

Imagination, Speculation, Iteration: Existence.


Briefly I'd like to say, the feelings of the world I wished to forever more experience were clear through adolescence, but before I got out of second grade, the wonder of carrying on the stories presented in the first 30 comic books ever given to us kids one Christmas Day assured that I would ponder interconnected, mysterious and exciting happenings on the best of the rest of my days.


Last year, I began rehabilitating my work after the death of my father, Cecil, from pulmonary fibrosis, at 57. I began with about thirty pages of hand written letters to my friend who'd shown up after absent years to support me at the funeral, along with a few close-by childhood friends, who all convened at his house the night after the burial to make something amazing and benevolent. Upon his encouragement, though I did not have a computer of my own for years between 2003 and 2008, I'd signed into an online forum that celebrated comic books, so much its name was secretly meant to represent, "Iron Man With A Nose."


Our IMWAN chum Dave Toxik.


Then there were, at the library, "me e-mails from Bali in Sri Lanka," where I thought of being, half the time, and my partnership with Angela Dawn kept me somewhat interested in a thread back to the comic books worlds that inspired me, voicing all characters and sound effects and music, depending on how busy my vocal chords were, somewhere Juustt beyond sight, so I could play with abandon.

Once you've been That kid, there are just certain roots you need to revisit each day when you look at the world.

Well, startin with Fantastic Four appearing across my lucid and then R.E.M. and then lucid again dreams, within a day or so I composed the first of ten installations of my emulation of the great King-Size Annual format; a tale longer than the usual monthly comic book we readers knew as "double sized"! With it began a window from Beyond (no, nothing to do with SECRET WARS planet...that I knew of...) where three long-thought dead Viking adventurers dove into modern future, one containing the Fantastic Four as I remembered them advertised in my childhood (no issues of that from the Penguin mascot-topped salvage store, D & L Supply, out on mysterious highway through West Rome. Why, the first official comic I'm releasing is set in that area, and I even, with Dad, rode on down that road at eighteen so that I could see University of Alabama, who were offering me a paid chance to live and attend college.

From there, the core spirits of my novel TRANZ acted one version of the principles at work in the action of TRANZ itself. By taking it apart in layers, I began to understand the more absolutely fantastic part of my visions. The Defenders---particularly Valkyrie, Hellcat, Nighthawk and Hulk---WERE in that box, chosen on the grace of containing my favorite hero, Spider-Man, on the cover, not to mention, if they saw him in comic book guise down below snarling, another fave, the Incredible Hulk. (remember: these characters actually had men pretending to run around and BE them on camera, as did, for that matter, Wonder Woman. The idea adults think enough of your hero to run around pretending to BE them is HUGE when you are a child.) My Mom and DAd both knew he was my favorite. I was huge on Superman's 1950s tv series. THAT was my DAD's super hero. And he, was mine.

Now the spirit and intrigue of that comic, published four years before, in spring of 1978, brought me another set of characters---this time, about whom I felt I and most people knew very little, save for Hulk.

With them, I have worked out, to the last chapter of nuances, an additional layer of the TRANZ story engine, which already contained mostly realistic-as-possible human beings and the best science stuff I as a layman could bring along. What I had now, what I discover every day since, is a faith in myself that the PLOT will move along, so long as I keep interested. Greater design comes from the carefully considered cast.

So with these strangers, FOR strangers, I began to compose short story pastiches.
In the course of looking up the Defenders online, to seek minutiae to consider as vivid story details, I found these profound ruminations...it was as though I'd rediscovered the Letter Column again: always my way of gaining clues about comics I'd never seen, much less read. Better yet, I had to imagine the comic from their words, myself. Considering I still wasn't sure how to pronounce the creators' names when I first read of them, I touched wonder at a level that humbles me daily. Its continued expansion came, in part, from blogger Plok, quoting a strange Henry David Thoreau for his blog title, saying things that connected my adult sense of literacy with meanings I'd found in the reality of the characters blessed to me in childhood...and my father.

Dad, who taught me to love the Atlanta Braves, or ignore the game and go outside and play, it never mattered TOO much, have fun. He stayed in to watch them... even after saying one night in 1986 or so, "if the Braves lose tonight, I ain't ee-hh-verr gonna watch them agin!". You can bet that became a favorite tease--we teased a lot in good times around my house, and that one was used over a hundred times, I betcha. Dad. How many of those comic books did you pick? Remember what I bought with the first money you ever gave me for my good grades, at the end of second grade? Two comic books, cover price. One for 25 cents, one for 50. Both MARVEL TALES reprints of Spider-Man. His web adorned DEFENDERS #63, so I get the comic with, undoubtably to their eyes, the Joker and Cat Woman as a bonus. I mean, who says you have to live in trademark approved worlds? Well, not my mom and dad. Not to me in second grade.

So that comic led me into reading anything I could about and by Steve Gerber. Already my connection with Steve Englehart's mid 1980s stories had come back in the last name of our character, Celestia Faith Englehart. We brought the Faith.

Turns out, Steve, about the time I was born, brought the Celestia---harmonica, that is, blown to return the world, nay, the universe from utter non-existence, by the man who happened upon it in the course of clashes and clues: Ben Grimm. Who you may know as the ever-lovin' blue-eyed Thing.


As I found out from reading Plok's blog, and his Seven Heroes of Steve. How I read! Listen: the most meaningful stream of consciousness ruminations on so many comics I've yet to read, and from there, imagined them...as they might make me feel...as they might stay with me long after the comic is folded shut and the world calls me to lay.

I'd just discovered Doc Nebula's old letters online when somehow I clicked a link or did a search and found this amazing discussion that further, truly, introduced me to the characters I knew less and hinted at philosophies and questions and speculations involved in the conscious and subconscious equation of these creations.

What is it like to live in the margins, at the fringes of "normal" activity but still without having left the sphere of that activity completely? It isn't just a question for superheroes, obviously. But maybe it's a particularly apposite one for them: if the raison d'etre of the superhero is to be effective in protecting the greater mass of non-powered humanity, being stranded on the margins of society takes the ordinary superhero symbolism and invests it with some extra poignancy, because what it means to "help" or "protect" when you're out at the fringes is something different from what it means when you're closer to the centre. It's harder to know what to do, in other words: harder to act, and harder to succeed. Because the world of the margins enjoys its own logic, its own safeties and menaces, and for a superhero - that is to say, for any person, regardless of their empowerments - to be an effective force there, they must adapt themselves to its environment. They have to be willing to learn new things, that the people in the centre don't know. --Plok

By himself "Plok" composed a fabulous series that dealt with the mostly-missed Fantastic Four comic books (save for a year and a half spell at Liberty News Stand, with money worked for after school), examining underpinnings of the world of their making. With "7Soldiers" I found many thoughtful guests border on the downright educational, as my Defenders project drug slowly across the months, acquiring many hand-sketches and the occasional sanity check. Bet you didn't know you could get PAID in sanity!
Remember: the comics I ever DID have are nowhere around me but in my mind, where they're most safely packed. Only when I truly began last summer to pull out the boxes in my mind and read more of issues I'd half-glimpsed in a dream but never held in some form---discussion, and imagination---did the full force of the joy of creativity revisit me in my long-held burdens to compose a body of work that intruded my visions before school ended, and so, it is little surprise in that light I've turned the existence of the comic book, and the discussion of its story, into studies. Only, my notes were generally translated now into necessities and questions about my own budding set of characters, already too vast to write about except in corners chosen, like having a mansion but choosing in which few rooms you really stay.




I discovered the idea that Steve Gerber's 1970s Marvel work was generally attracted to similar themes, principles, and recurrent characters, to the degree that, were it lifted for the most part out of the Marvel Universe, it would display the coherency of a novel, stretched across, um, four years or so of writing. Incredible.

So by Christmas, I'd taken on DEFENDERS #21-25 to understand what plok and Comic Debris were on about: on Geoff Klock's blog I'd found his mash-up of poetry theory, his own BOOK on published super-heroes in our lifetime and how to read them, and his guest, primarily the Herculean Jason Powell, led me down an appreciation/ evaluation of every X-Men comic authored by Chris Claremont, over eighteen years!!! Every month!!! Those both turned out to be fun to read with Angela Dawn after dinner. ESSENTIAL DEFENDERS vol. 2 aided me with the core Gerber Defenders work, as I continued giving my own interpretation of them and my novel in weeks afterward.

And this was a productive approach: life at the margins can be very interesting indeed, especially when it's happy to stay on the margins and doesn't pine away for a richer relevance to the centre. In so doing, it makes slightly different connection with things: for just as the world of superheroes is marginal to the world of regular people, with its own peculiar rules and investments of meaning (that must be understood and adapted to) which stand in contrast to the normal praxis of living, the world of marginal superheroes concerns itself explicitly with how these tensions relate back to the world of "regular people": the symbolism of the superhero is explored in greater detail when it's seen that both the regular people and the superheroes are really all in the same boat, at least so long as they're outside the centre-places where the rules of living are handed down for free, instead of figured out at cost...so in Gerber's Defenders, ordinary people wander in and out of the action very easily, almost as if they belonged there. Even homeless baby deer are welcomed at Strange's Sanctum Santorum, when they have no place else to go. Everybody is all in this together, special powers notwithstanding - the "non-team" really is non as far as the team thing goes, because it mirrors the marginal world around it, which is always in flux.---Plok


Wandering in; imagination, realized at the margins. My school papers, these many years, always contained the hints of my unbridled creativity---most often spent developing unbelievable laugh stuff for my friends---popping up line-by-line beside the prosaic task of school, where I concentrated none the less. Generally.

Life in the margins. Accepting yourself as you must breathe from the margins.

I complete my Avengers tribute---as though I were pinch-hitting for that great pinch-hitter Roger Stern, writer of funny books---as a birthday present for my old friend David, in thanks for just reading those 30 pages. From there, with a quick primer in quantum physics and consciousness, I then add the script to my already-published plot for Tranz/ Defenders, which sounds like a cool movie or something on some alternative world, already!!! Or TRANZ GENDERS. There's a Star Man, indeed...

Steve Gerber died before he could receive a lung transplant...another ADVENTURES OF SUPERMAN fan gone of the same cause, same age, basically...two months later than Dad. Their birthdays were just days apart. Mr. Gerber was gone before I ever really got to know his work (outside the only comic book I carried with us here to California: our freshly purchased, for-the-bus trip saved, ESSENTIAL HOWARD THE DUCK. Usually followed by "which has nothing to do with the movie, nor did the creator, nor have I even seen that movie." It kept me safe from the Kidney Lady, yes.)

But the sensibility of his work---while it is not the same as mine, shaped by our considerable differences as people---will not die. And I am the part of my father who will aid its arrival again in life. This in no small part owes to those who, in that meaningful sense of signifiers, knew him best in his work. I feel lots of ghosts beside me. It is pleasant also to have you electronic spirits gathered, as well, as I draw, as I write, as I pace and lay awake in my tiny apartment. I am just someone who owes everyone he's known so much, he can't help but somehow love them all. Pitch in a misanthropic overslept mood now and then, with some underslept one, and from that chaos, you get a pretty honest answer from me about who I am.




So what does it mean, then, for an ordinary man like my Dad? Not too much education, facing the world with his family, for his family, a hero in uncertain times, with interesting vulnerabilities he would not willingly show more than he had to save around little children; humor, and courage. What is it to face change? Face the margins? Face terminal illness?

Face death?

Face: existence beyond death?
Beyond...non-existence? For whom?

The fates of such persons now embody my fictional principles and ideas, centering everything around a nebula of hearts, held by four prime forces and something incalculable in algorithm yet pertaining to conscious essence.

It is enough to make the American Flyer harmonica my Mom bought me fall apart. I can't blow it. But neither could anyone of the others.

It is more than a body can take. Yet we come to better love ourselves when we see in our joys what may in us ascend the highest heavens of invention.







be chill, Cease ill

Who watches the Whatyoumeant?

In the spirit of fun and comic books, the above involves fans having a ball at the expense of beloved Comic Book Conventions (I mean story tropes, though they might also be poking fun at the conventions). At any rate, the art is not related to the subject, but the theme; link lies below. from the minds of IMWAN---thanks, DAvid

Who watches the Whatyoumeant?

I've already shared this with a few friends: it's a refreshing side of ribs from the sacred cow of "graphic novels" the Watchmen, which of course suitably impressed me more than once growing up.

No, I've still never seen the movie, but I'll feel better next time I sit down to write my magnus opus all day and not take myself too bloody seriously. Cause life is fun and then you die.

http://www.astonishingtales.com/2003/05/4-the-secret-origin-of-megasmurf/ If you hate this, you can follow the links
to other chapter summaries you will hate.
It's the middle of this note and I'm telling you about the summary of ch. 4. of the watchmen.
It's fifteen minutes earlier and I'm laughing my butt off about things I secretly found retarded about the watchmen but forgot were retarded because I bought into the hype and was impressed as a youngster by all the adulty bits.

It's nine months earlier and someone's saying, "Seriously? this is the masterpiece of comics?"
It's nine years earlier and we're laughing at Kooey Kooey Kooey in JUSTICE LEAGUE INTERNATIONAL which is at least intended to be riduculous.
It's the end of this note and I am thinking you are going to laugh out loud when you read this.

It's two months earlier andI'm really hoping for leprechauns at the end of the rainbow.
It's the beginning of this NOTE and I am positive my friends will have fun poking fun at the super serious Watchmen.
It's the middle of this note and I am wondering how well this joke will play out, as a riff on issue four of the Whatchumeant and Jon Ostrander's time-skipping perspective.

It's the beginning of this note and I'm relieved to remove the anxiety of living up to the hype of a work that contains clockwork like precision and yet, contains so many ludicrous events that I cannot believe everything needed to be dark and depressing to sell afterwards.
It's the middle of this note and I'm still shamelessly stealing this riff, though at least I'm not plagerizing just stealing the idea.
It's the end of this note and I'm thinking I successfully borrowed this schtick, though it is not half as funny as what you are about to read.-----Ron Jostander, Professor Philadelphia



http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T_JachDW9ag/SyE74Gs4QlI/AAAAAAAAEa4/S9Ag70wUANQ/s1600-h/1260468975354.png is where I found the above cartoon on reddit.com; hope you enjoy?