Splatters of black, flowing and bubbling over rich red, floating islands where the only law is all against all. We have to keep this from getting out. Razor edge filaments tendril 'round wrists, slithering upwards and under your eyes into your mind. We have to keep this from getting in.  Contain it before it contaminates us. Contain it, if we can. "I'm chaos Mistah Kurtz, chaos--and the rest of the world won't admit that it's just like me."

Panels beckoned him, Black boarders of potential, Now blank, silent, white. Ed Piskor (1982-2024) "You're all familiar with the Z'nox scenario?"

Dollarama is the source of all cheap comics. But Dollarama is primarily owned by Bain Capital. So is it that Mitt Romney put Crisis on Multiple Earths Volume 2 in our hands? Do we have the Republican establishment to thank for bringing Dennis O'Neil deeper into our lives? Would that establishment take kindly to the message broadcast through these weird tales of sublimated sexual confusion and desire? No one can answer these questions. We know only the bounty of Dollarama and give thanks to...

What pleasure is there in waging war against the world's evils? Indeed, what pleasure is there to be found in pleasure itself? We stand impatiently or we strive, waiting for the moment of elation, hopeful that this time, just this one time, time will simultaneously cease and last forever. The high without the low. Or, even better, without the medium in between, where life is without passion. Doctors say it is good for us to drain the sack daily. Let life be the judge of that. "You spend...

Rambo won. There isn't anything more to say, is there? Rambo won. Single handed, he symbolized the fall of the communist bloc and the end of history. But, if this is so (and it is), what follows? Does it follow that Rambo is also the spectre that skewered the New Deal order? That Rambo crept into the administrations of Bill Clinton and Dubyah? That Rambo was the force pushing social services away from a 'kremlin mentality' towards the so-called free market? Yes. Rambo won and we all lost. ...

The teef be lookin' to steal somethin' sweet, mon cher. A soft kiss or golden portrait. Nothin' compare to your beauty 'do. You be the sweetest 'ting Gambit ever see.  Perhaps you discuss with Gambit over candle light? And silk sheets... Next week: Rambo III

Doom resurrects the fallen herald of an alien god, setting him loose upon his enemies, the Curious Quartet! Wait, that isn't right... Let's try that again. ...his enemies, the Heroic Household!  Wait, that isn't it either... Hold on, it'll come to me in a minute.... "How else can I plead but... guilty!"

Before the fantastic arrives like a bird on our shoulder, the world is all matter and atoms and coincidence. But then the little bird sings to us in that space between the uncanny and the marvelous, a sweet song of 'what if?' and 'just maybe'. And we doubt. Anna learned this one day, years after the death of her beloved Sean, when a copy of him emerged from the dead, seemingly intact, tantalizingly incomplete. She says that she was not responsible for what then occurred. Couple audio...

These atomic powers and super suits are like guns, maaaan. And those super science types, they're, like, working for the government, dude. So we gotta stop them from taking our powers and make sure that we're free to save lives and serve justice, you know what I mean? They take our powers from us and we're lookin' down the barrel of a freakin' police state! I mean, whose side are you even on?! "Somebody said we should go on strike if they mess with us like this. Does anybody else think...

History is the nightmare from which we cannot awake. That's what they say, anyway. For Captain America, these words are twice as true. He is a dream born of nightmare. Living in the world of here, he remains there, serving the kingdom as a paladin in a world of dark illusions. History is a long told lie in which truth struggles to be born. Luckily there is a soldier out there guiding us to freedom. "Keep your satisfaction to yourself, sadist."

Cut free from the oppressive straps of hypocrisy and cowardice. Technology will not keep you safe. Not in the jungle. You can't trust anyone out there in the jungle. To survive the jungle you must become the jungle, become the creeping vines and the mud walls and swallow up your enemies. Ideology is the enemy of truth. And truth can only be found in the mind.  "You may scream. There is no shame."

Come on in, we have no tea. You are in the house of an evil mind now, a theatre of misery, cruelty, and violence. The sword style of this house is empty. Nothing can defeat it because it isn't really there. We stand among the unfurnished interiors, all design, no content. Remember that this is the point. The emptiness is the depth. Remember and disappear. "Don't think about winning or surviving. Be prepared to die. Risk everything, and you might have a chance."

The man in the wheelchair is shot by a pervert kidnapper. He lay poisoned by the future. Later, when the threads of then and now entwine and leave the present seemingly tied, the student will show that the open hand can injure just as well as the closed fist. Is this why the big guy up there won't cut him some slack?  All we can say with certainty is that a baleful song haunts the valley of death. We'd better look after that cough. "Why has Apocalypse been awakened in an unfinished state of...

Born of destitution and sickness, he arises from the cold womb, from ice as hard as the grave of his long lost mother. This is Captain America. Living between two worlds - worlds of war and inequality; for him, every period is an ever present now. He's seen it all. He's seen it all and continues to stand, a sentinel of liberty, fighting so that no one else need ever be born from ice. "Got your master race right here, pal!"

No browns or reds allowed on set. Tonight, we are in Michael Mann territory. We are at the intersection of music videos, gangster movies, and critical literature. We are in the swirling, pastel vortex of Hollywood becoming. If one does what Michael Mann does enough times, one will become as Michael Mann is. "Did it ever occur to you, to try to work for a living? Take down your own scores?"

In what way did humanity persist within the camps? In what way after? What lessons are to be learned? Why did we ever do this? And why does it seem so likely that we one day will again? It's a bundle of laughs over at the Xtinction Agenda this week. Transform yourself into an anthropomorphized animal nationality and pull up a seat. Today, Vladek will tell us his story. "I've just gotta write this conversation down before I forget it!"

For their image to be carried swiftly around the globe, many have paid a terrible price and many will again. Dignity, privacy, humanity, everything for sale just so long as a person in line at the grocery store knows their name.  Fame and celebrity name a ritual act, a sacrifice. They are the keys to the kingdom, a means of ascension. But also a gateway to omnipotent madness. "For someone who calls himself Mr. Sensitive, that was totally tactless."

 “What, if some day or night a demon were to steal after you into your loneliest loneliness and say to you: 'This life as you now live it and have lived it, you will have to live once more and innumerable times more' ... Would you not throw yourself down and gnash your teeth and curse the demon who spoke thus? Or have you once experienced a tremendous moment when you would have answered him: 'You are a god and never have I heard anything more divine.”

Tyranny is a collage of small, empty voices, false faces that talk and talk and talk, responding constantly to each other but never saying anything, never standing for anything, never seeing. Blind perspectives and holographic authority, these are the servants of the secret rulers, the fat men and horrors. We live in the world they created.  Who will save us from this? What force can wrench us free? And where do they get such wonderful toys...? "Babes? Hey. I do babes."

He brought the war back home to them, back to all those sweaty little men who got their kicks from telling Leroy to sling that paint, boy. He brought a war like they wouldn't have believed. And the world watched. They watched when at first there were lies and then again when only the awful truth remained. They watched the colonel bring the war hero to justice, closing the loop, sealing the wound so that it could be once again forgotten. "Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don't turn it off!"

Justice before the dark mirror is not anti-justice. It is death and insanity. And every principle of goodness requires a strong man. Or, in this instance, two strong men. And a telepathic woman. Persons willing to get their hands dirty in order to set things right, to battle death and enclose madness, to save the hedonists from themselves.  "Let the dead fluidsss flow!"

The Devil whispered into the young Captain's ear, "I just want you to think big, Frank, for Christ’s sake!" The young Captain, overrun, turned his mind to the hunger inside him and to the vision set before his eyes and he said 'yes'. He thought as big and wide as one could manage and then grabbed the sixty. It was time to finish them. All of them. Every god damned last one of them. "Not every day you meet your polar opposite."

People are creeps. Just a bunch of creeps crawling around with their tongues out licking the ground for food. Frank knows this. He hunts for the biggest creep he can find and gives him what for. Tries to anyway. The man in red, overcoming the barrel roll, carries the creep off to justice. In response, Frank does drugs in Mexico. "I'll need my uzi to handle this mob."

Put on The National. We are sad dads. Sad dads who cannot be glad. Who cannot be glad about being dads.  It's dark, bro. Give us a day or two to post a new episode. Please. 24 hours. Something. Just put the gun down. We are doing it for Maria and the kids.