In the paper yesterday, there was an article about a boy who had his prized possession stolen from him on the very night before he was going to use said possession to win big at a national competition. It was one of those tear-jerker articles that's supposed to make

you shake your head and wonder what's happening to society. It was the kind of article that makes someone want to start a charity just to try and ease some of this poor boy's pain. This isn't some lucky catcher's mitt we're talking about here, however, or his poor dog Mr.Scruffs with the one blind-eye. No, it's a $13,000 Go-Kart. This little fucker had a $13,000 Go-Kart he gets to race professionally all over the world and he had it stolen. Think about how much fun Go-Karts are. Is there any young boy who would turn down the opportunity to participate in a Go-Kart race for cash and prizes? No, there isn't, but those little boys don't get the opportunity because they don't have their own fucking Go-Karts. Some kid's dad won't even shell out a couple of hundred bucks at Christmas to buy them a new gaming system, but this kid's dad got him a $13,000 Go-Kart. MY FUCKING REAL CAR ISN'T EVEN WORTH $13,000. It was barely worth that much when it was new! 

Now, I don't know this kid personally, but I KNOW HIM. He's that spoiled little rich bitch down the block, that has you over to his house to show you all his awesome stuff, but he won't let you play with it. If you tried to touch his Go-Kart, he would freak out. He'd probably hit you. If you even got too close to it, he'd tell you not to touch it like he's having a tourretes outburst. Then he'd make you watch and do nothing while he drove around in it for two hours. His mom wouldn't even let you use the bathroom.

That's why, to the people who stole this Go-Kart from him, I say, "Good work." You're probably not a modern-day Robin Hood. In fact, you probably already sold his Go-Kart for crack, but I'd like to think you're that kid's hanger-on friend who decided, "Enough is enough. Why should this little bitch have everything he wants out of life while I had imitation Corn Flakes for breakfast?" This spoiled little fucker needs to know about real life. He needs to know that his daddy isn't going bail him out the rest of his life. Life doesn't give a shit how many trophies you have from how many races.

That's why, to the robbers, I say, "No matter how much you conscience is eating at you, no matter how bad you feel, no matter how much trouble you get in, never give the Go-Kart back. If you have to kill yourselves to keep him from having it, do it. Kill yourself. Sit yourself in the Go-Kart, douse yourself with keresone, and drive into the nearest brick wall as you light the match."

I hope that sometime, during the next week or so, something even worse happens to this kid. I hope he breaks his ankle, or his grandpa dies. I hope they put a picture of him crying in the paper, so I can laugh at him all day.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

It looks like Batman is getting another new cartoon series, entitled "Batman: The Brave and the Bold." This isn't an angst ridden cartoon drawn entirely on black paper to make it even darker like the Emmy Award winning Batman: The Animated Series, and it's even kid friendlier than The Batman. No, this is a throwback to the Adam West and Superfriends days. In short, this is a Batman who doesn't think about his dead parents as he wipes blood off his face and then throws a bad guy off a roof. Seriously: to give you some idea about how dark Batman's gotten over the years, you have to see the new Dark Knight movie. Dark Knight is daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaark. Like uncomfortably dark. Like terrorist video on the internet dark.

I'm not saying the Frank Miller rendition of Batman and everything that's come after it is pushing the envelope too far, but it's intentionally pushing the envelope away from what Batman use to be. Too many people have looked back on the old Adam West days with disgust, without remembering how cool Batman was back then. He was kid-friendly, and not in a, "Hey kids, but my action figure kind of way." He was Saturday Morning, and honestly, I don't care how many serial killer plotlines you stick Batman with, at the end of the back-crippling fight he's still a guy dressed up like a bat using boomerangs called "Batarangs" to catch villains before he hops in his "Batmobile" and drives back to the "Batcave." That's what Saturday Morning super heroes do. Even if you look at Dark Knight, you'll see that Batman has a formula. Heath Ledger's Joker and his various plots really amount to the same as what the Joker did in the old Adam West TV show, where he's setting up overly elaborate traps with a Joker theme and then giving various clues to the people trying to catch him. After a while, you have to question how one man finds the time to wire so many explosives, especially considering the high turnover rate of his gang.

So Batman's gotten back to his roots and with a new theme not seen on TV before. If you're not familiar with the Brave and the Bold DC comic series, (and odds are you're not), it basically pairs up two DC super heroes each issue seemingly at random (the brave and the bold), to stop some evil villain together. There's usually a plot running through a series of issues that culminates in every hero featured in that series joining together at the climax. In a few recent issues of the Brave and the Bold, we saw Hawkman and Nightwing pair up along with Deadman and the Green Arrow. The cartoon series follows the same formula, only Batman is a permanent fixture in the impromptu duo (I don't know if he's the brave or the bold), and he's back to wearing his old costume again. The trailer shows him paired up with the new Blue Beetle (who looks so good in the trailer he should probably get his own series), Plasticman, Aquaman, and the Green Arrow. The show's not supposed to be focused on Gotham, and there's not going to be much, if any mention of Alfred, Robin, or otherwise. As for villains, I saw Batman and Aquaman fighting Black Manta.

Now this is what super hero cartoons are supposed to be about: favourite heroes teaming up and beating the snot out of a bad guy. Plot never really made much of a difference to me when I was watching super hero cartoons like X-Men, Spider-Man and Batman: The Animated Series back in the 90's. After all, the TV shows were never as good, or as true to the comics as we'd like them to be, but we'd get really excited when we saw our favourite characters make their first appearances on screen. That was especially true of the X-Men. With such a large cast in their comic books, it took some time to cycle around to the characters you actually wanted to see, like Cable, Bishop, or Omega Red. That's why I got so irritated with plots about Sentinels, and anti-mutant lobbyists. As for Spider-Man, when other super heroes like Captain America, or the Punisher showed up, it was like Christmas. That's why the prospect of seeing a new hero every week is so exciting, and I'm sure it's going to tie-in well with whatever toy-line they're going to release alongside it.

Ricky James sat up straight from his prone position on his overly plump couch as the doorbell buzzed insistently. From the way it rang, he could tell that the buzzer was being abused in a most aggressive manner. The person outside his door was trying to be as rude as possible, with as little effort as it took a pigeon to crap on a freshly washed car. The buzzer would end abruptly, and then instantly begin again before the listener could even properly register the break. It denied the habitant from even envisioning a point at which the doorbell would cease ringing.

"Mike," Ricky grumbled under his breath as he agonizingly removed himself from his comfortable stoop and shuffled towards the door, his socks sliding across the none-too-clean linoleum floor, and past his small dog with it's dire need of a haircut. It was the kind of dog that should some catastrophe occur, and dogs would have to once again take upon their ancestral role of hunters, it would be considered the prey. It's master was much the same. Many years ago, one could easily envision Rick at the alpha male of a pack, but the wrong sort of hormones had seeped into his once pristine physique as well as too many potato chips and cheap beer. That explained the odd, unbending movements of his fat legs as he ascended the single step into the main hall, where he yanked open the door. "Would you stop that?" he asked.

"Yo," was all Mike said as a greeting, and then flashed a metal canister at him. His finger did not leave the doorbell for a few seconds more to drive his point home.

Ricky observed the grungy tin for a moment. As Mike continued waving the cylinder before him, he eventually caught on the fact that Mike was waiting for a certain reaction. His reaction was expected to be nothing short of utter amazement. Ricky had to disappoint his long-time friend with a scowl and a, "What do you want?"

"This," Mike present the tin anew, as if Ricky could have missed the objecting hovering before his face. "I found this today. I think it's the new Strangeman movie."

"What gave you that idea?" Ricky asked. "Is it the word, 'Strangeman,' written on it? Where'd you get it?" Realization preceded Mike's answer and Ricky said for him, "Let me guess: you got it from, 'work.'" When Ricky spoke you could hear the quotations marks. If you got too close to him, you could almost feel them tickling your nose from their invisible word balloons.

"Come on, you're not interested?" Mike barged in. It was his habit of barging. He thought of people like obstacles to be slid past without much aplomb. Kicking off his filthy old sneakers more for the sake of his feet than the floor, he entered the living room where Ricky had left the TV on. The dog peered up at him from it's wicker basket bed as if guilty of some great sin and facing judgement at the Pearly Gates. "This is our chance to see a movie before it even comes out."

"We have that chance all the time," Ricky reminded him. "It's called the interent. Perhaps you've heard of it. Hell, I probably have it on my hard drive right now. I probably downloaded it without even looking at it. That's how much I care about this movie."

"Don't be like that," Mike protested. "I know you have some Strangeman comics still stashed away in a tupperware bin out in the garage."

"It's in my bedroom closet, and that doesn't change the fact that I'm pretty pissed off at the trailer I saw for the movie. I'm twenty-eight now, Mike. I don't get as excited about this kind of stuff anymore, especially since it's happening every week now. There's been like fifteen movies like this since the season started. They keep plumbing our childhoods for the money they didn't get when we were five-year olds playing with action-figures in our sandboxes."

"I lost a lot of good figures that way. Sometimes I think of getting a shovel and going out to the old sandbox to see if I can find any of my old Space Raiders, but I don't think the people living there now would appreciate that very much," Mike mused as he went into the kitchen and pulled out one of the cheap beers Ricky always had in stock.

"Yeah, people don't like waking up in the middle of the night and seeing some dude in their backyard digging what looks like a grave," Ricky mentioned.

"Okay, to get us back on topic, I think it would be so awesome if we had ourselves an ol' school movie viewing right here, right now, in this very room," Mike told him.

"And how do you propose we do this? This is a movie reel, not a DVD," Ricky pointed out.

"What about your dad's old projector? Do you still have that around?" Mike asked him. "Please tell me you didn't sell it at your mom's garage sale."

"She wanted to sell it," Ricky admitted, "but I just could go through with it. My dad use to love that thing, in a weird way. It's like he always wanted to make movies, you know, but people don't really get to live their dreams, do they?"

"Do you remember those movies we use to make?" Mike remembered fondly. "We'd spend all afternoon with backdrops we made out of cardboard and felt pens, pretending we were corny space heroes, and your dad would film it all using those antiques of his. Then we'd all sit in the living room with a bucket of popcorn and watch ourselves hit each other with cardboard tubes from Christmas wrap."

"Well I'm sure that if we had any kind of budget, we'd edit in some lightsaber effects. It'd still be better than this thing," he glared at the canister where Mike had left it on his crowded coffee table. "I mean: have you heard the reviews for this thing? It's supposed to be pure poison."

"How bad could it be?" Mike shrugged. "Now go get that projector," he prompted him as he planted himself in the couch and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"And I assume you're not going to be helping?" Ricky asked.

"I wasn't in the A/V Club," Mike snorted.

"Neither was I," Ricky reminded him.

"Oh yeah," Mike hit himself in the head, "you were on the football team, and you and all your jock friends use to beat the crap out of me every day and stuff me in lockers until your jock buddies found out you were gay. Then you were the one getting beat up."

"Hey, shut up," Ricky snapped.

"Relax," Mike told him, "it's all as far in the past now as our mid-afternoon movie-making days."

"Not that far," Ricky complained. "Can you believe our tenth anniversary is coming up?"

"What anniversary?" Mike blinked in confusion. "I don't recall marrying your fat ass."

"Our graduation. Remember? You actually graduated, then you dropped out of college and started working crappy jobs," Ricky jibed.

"Hmm..." Mike rubbed his chin, "who does that sound like? Could it be... you?" Mike pointed an accusing finger at him like he was the grim spectre of death in a bad play.

"At least I can afford my own place," Ricky snapped, his voice becoming high-pitched the way it did when he got angry. Fuming, he bounded up the stairs.

"Your mom gave you this place when she moved out," Mike called out. "What the fuck are you looking at?" he asked the dog in the corner, who hung it's head.

Minutes passed, during which Mike could hear a lot of crashing and bashing upstairs, but he was distracted by talk-show guests in slinky dresses on the plasma screen. Ricky descended the stairs, carrying a heavy load and visibly straining. "This thing weighs a tonne!" he complained as he set it on the coffee table, crushing a pizza box in the process. As he stood up again, he held onto his back.

"Is your back still hurting?" Mike asked.

"Yes it's still hurting. It's always hurting, all the time. It doesn't go away," Ricky told him as if he should already know.

"That's weird. I mean, you'd think it'd heal at some point," Mike said.

"Well it hasn't," Ricky complained as he set down to Mike.

Mike looked at him for a little while. "Well aren't you going to set it up?" he asked.

Ricky looked at him, then the projector. "I don't know how to use this thing," he insisted.

"You... are... worthless..." Mike sighed as he opened the canister and removed the movie reel. Looking intently at the projector, he finally settled on a placement of the reel, and began stringing it. After several failed attempts, he got the reel fed into the projector and flicked the switch. Nothing happened.

"It's not plugged in," Ricky reminded him.

"God damn you," Mike muttered as he got the cord and searched for an outlet. Unplugging the nearest lamp, he plugged in the projector, which sprung to life with a dusty roar. Light shone upon the nearest wall. Carefully, Mike adjusted the projector until he found a near empty patch of wall which wasn't occupied by fold-out posters and rubbed the lens clean. "There!" he shouted triumphantly as the opening sequence began. A silver, "S" flashed across the screen as the sound boomed like mighty orchestra.

-

"Stop," Ricky demanded after one hour of viewing. "Stop it. I can't watch any more of this. This is beyond terrible. I actually want to hit someone in the face because of this. This has got to be the worst movie ever made."

"Oh come on," Mike argued as he popped another buttery popped kernel into his mouth. "It's not that bad. It's kitchy, true, but I kind of dig it."

"Then you're probably the only person in the world who does. I'm out. I'm going to go take a shit and forget I've ever seen this," Ricky said as he left the room.

"You do that," Mike said under his breath as he continued watching. Out-of-focus orange explosions blossomed across the wall as the title character leapt from them in slow motion. It was odd, but considering his makeshift setting, the scene was frightfully realistic. A moment later, Mike realized why. The projector was on fire. "Oh shit!" he shouted, and tried swatting at it with a newspaper flier he picked up from the end of the couch. The flier served only to add more fuel to the fire as the tip caught flame. "Shit!" he swore again, as he stomped the paper out onto the floor. As he did, the fire alarm went off, and Ricky burst out of the bathroom with his pants still around his ankles.

"What the fuck?" Ricky swore as he saw his living room aflame. "Put it out!"

"Where's your extinguisher?" Mike asked, looking around desperately.

"Under the sink," Ricky struggle with his pants and fell over as a result.

Running to the kitchen, Mike threw open the sink cabinet and found the extinguisher. Racing back, he tried spraying, but found the pin was still lodged in the handle. Pulling it out, he tried again and a thin, weak stream of foam dribbled out the end of the hose. "What the fuck?" Mike swore as he tried to get a bigger stream. "How old is this thing?" trying again for a few more seconds. he threw the extinguisher away and looked for another option. The rest of the coffee table was now aflame and the fire was licking the ceiling. The dog was barking madly from it's bed.

One of the most difficult tasks in this, the Twenty-First Century, is coming up with an original name for something. At this point in history, every good name has been taken. No where is this more evident than with comic books. If you create a character, you're charged with giving them a name that suits their powers. Some names are easy, based on the character. For instance, a man with spider powers becomes Spider-Man, however, he's not the first Spider. There was a Golden Age noir character named the Spider. He was one of those old school gun toting detective heroes like The Shadow, as at home in the comics as on a suspenseful radio broadcast. The same can be said for the X-Men. There was Golden Age character named the Man Called X who was basically another hard-boiled detective. Then there's Daredevil, a blind hero with amazing agility. Way back when in the Golden age, there was mute hero named Daredevil, who has since been renamed the Death Defying Devil for his public domain revision in Project Superpowers.

The there's super heroes with names like "Superman," "Captain Marvel," etc. Captain Marvel has had more incarnations in Marvel and DC Comics than can be properly documented considering restarts and alternative realities. Two very different heroes in two different comic books. This bizarre situation with two different companies both using the same name for their character was best illustrated in a JLA/Avengers crossover mini-series in which both Captain Marvels respond at the same time to hearing their name called. If a character is popular, it's a good bet there's going to be other heroes in their clique bearing the same name. For instance, with Superman there's: Supergirl, Superboy, Krypto the Superdog, Ultraman, Superwoman, etc. Taking the example of Captain Marvel (DC) again, there's: the Marvel Family, Mary Marvel, Captain Marvel Jr., Captain Carrot, etc., whereas with Captain Marvel (Marvel) there's Ms.Marvel, Mar-vell, and Marvel Girl (no relation).

Basically, if you can take the name of any adjective, (Super, Power, Wonder, etc.), animal (Bat, Spider, Panther, etc.), location (America, Britain, etc.), or colours, (Black, White, Green),  and put it next to a title, (like Captain, Man, Woman, Knight, Dr., etc.), there's a good chance there's a character with that name already. Take the colour green, for example: there's Green Arrow, Green Lantern, etc.. As for Dr., there's Dr.Doom, Dr.Strange, Dr.Sleepless, Dr.Weird, Crime Doctor, Doctor Manhattan, Dr.Mid-Nite, Dr.Octopus, Doc Samson, Doctor Light, etc.

So I'm not that surprised when after about a week after releasing an excerpt from a story entitled "The Unparalleled Strangeman," I find a comic book called, "The Strangmen," issue #1.

Now of course I know about Dr.Strange, and Dr.Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, but the name, "Strangeman," is really a play on the old line, "Who was that masked man?" One might even ask, "Who was that strange man?"

Strangeman is actually someone's last name. Sounds Jewish if you ask me, like Goldstein. Oh well, I'm going to keep on using it. It's not like I called him Mickey Mouse-Man or anything.

-Editor's Note: There is no, "The Strangemen" issue #1. I had it confused with zenescope's "The Strawmen." Phew!

I saw The Dark Knight and Stepbrothers back-to-back tonight at Silvercity. It was quite the pairing.

I'd heard nothing but positive things about Heath Ledger's rendition of the Joker, and I wasn't disappointed. Nothing short of seeing the movie will give you the sense of his lip-licking, hunched-shoulders persona. There's several speeches he gives in the movie about why he is what he is and does what he does, and the best part about them is that they're utter bull-shit. With a knife at someone's face he goes on at length about why he has the scars on his face, and it makes you want to shit your pants. Then later, in the same knife-wielding situation, he gives another version. His origin is a lie, because really, no one truly understands where the Joker comes from. There's nothing set in stone. It's not like with Batman, where he witnesses his parents get shot and vows to protect an entire city. The Joker's just the Joker. Batman's Batman, but Joker's bat-shit crazy.

In DC comics, there's a couple versions on how the Joker came to be. Both involve vats of acid. In the original Batman movie, the Joker's a gangster who falls into a chemical vat during a botched raid, then he undergoes surgery which further disfigures him. This version doesn't really account for his dramatic personality change. Most people, upon experiencing such a trauma, don't usually tend to float poison gas balloon floats down Mainstreet.

In the other version, the Joker's a failed comedian who gets stuck helping out a couple thugs break into a chemical warehouse to steal the company's bankroll. He's disguised in a red hood to protect his identity, which doesn't really help protect his face when he fall into a chemical vat. Earlier in the day, he finds out his pregnant wife (whom the gangsters have threatened to harm if he doesn't comply), was killed when the boiler in their apartment blew up. In reality, she was killed. After emerging from the tank, the Joker's mind has become completely twisted, and he devotes himself to a life of crime.

If there's a lesson to be learnt from these stories it's this: don't have gunfights on narrow catwalks suspended over giant open vats of disfiguring chemical ooze. If you do have the urge, however, you should always use protective goggles.

The Dark Knight has a running time of 2 hours and 42 minutes, which is up there in the Lord of the Rings status. It's like two movies in one. There's a point in the movie where you think the movie's over, and then you remember that Batman and the Joker haven't had it out yet. The whole Two-Face angle of the movie has been downplayed a lot by the media. He's in there, and he's definitely got a bitched-up face. You'll seriously want to throw up. Without Two-Face, the movie would have lost a lot of it's emotional element, as well as it's message. Scarecrow's there too, but it's more as if they just needed an anonymous crook for Batman to beat up in the beginning so you know you're in the right theatre.

As for Stepbrothers, it's a swear-laden outing that's full of those wacky off-script moments you only get with improv. I think it has one of the best comedy movie endings since Wayne's World. I don't want to give too much away, but pirate hats and Chewbacca masks are involved. Basically, they're 39-41 year-olds who're acting like they're five in a Brady Bunch scenario. Here's a quote from the movie, "I want to roll you up in a ball and put you in my vagina. You'll like it, it's so warm in there. I'm going to walk around all day with you in my vagina, and I'll feel this little tingle inside my vagina, and it'll be your hair tickling my insides."

 

With the announcement of Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2, the sequel to the game that lets you build your own dream-team of Marvel super heroes, I was wondering how one would best go about doing the opposite. I mean really suck. New Warriors suck.

So let me create my own roster.

Leader:

 

Ant-Man

No, not the original Ant-Man, or even his second comer, both with years of experience with leading the Avengers. Not his wife-beating Ultimates counterpart either. Eric O'Grady, the new Ant-Man. Some dude who basically just stole the Ant-Man costume and used it to spy on Ms.Marvel in the shower. That's leadership material. What's Ant-Man's power set? He can shrink down to ant size and talk to ants. That's about it. He recently discovered he can change to giant size too. That's right, he had a super power he didn't even know about it. Never bothered to check the manual. So why should Ant-Man lead? The same reason his predecessors did: he can't do anything else. Might as well let him bark out orders to people much more qualified than him.

Tank:

Thunderbird

You need someone strong. You need someone who can take some punishment and dish it out. Possessing super strength and not much else, Apache warrior Thunderbird has the distinction of dying on his second mission. There's been hundreds of X-Men, most of whom have died at one point or another, but Thunderbird has stayed dead longer than any of his fellow teammates. When Charles Xavier dies, it's a good bet he's going to be brought back to life after a few issues through the power of B.S.. Plus, as an added bonus, he'll magically be able to walk again.

Thunderbird is so dead even his alternative reality-hopping counterpart in the Exiles is dead. Yes, even in other dimension where any possibility can be a reality, he's dead.

Whereas most mutants have a hard time dealing with their powers, Thunderbird would have a hard time actually convincing someone he has powers. There's nothing Thunderbird can do that good ol' 'roids can't. It's a good thing that he died before resentment from the other X-Men set in.

Dwarf:

Puck

Every good team needs a midget, so why not one that's offensive to Canadians? His power? Summersaults. Get it, he's Canadian and he spins around like a hockey puck? Like all dwarves, he's only there for comic relief. Why not Howard the Duck? 'Cause Howard the Duck at least has his own damn movie. On the plus side, it's easier to pull off a boss move like the Fastball Special if you're using a midget. Just as Colossus.

Loudmouth:

Scarlet Spider

Every team needs some wise-ass to fill up the word balloons with something other than long disposition about nonsensical plots. None fit the bill better than Spider-Man. Spider-Man, however, is awesome. We need someone who sucks. Ergo: a Spider-Man clone. He's got all of Spider-Man's powers and even a few new tricks like impact webbing, but one of the worst costumes ever devised. He can crack jokes while the other members ponder his convoluted origins. Is he the real Peter Parker, or not? The only way to be sure is to kill him and see if he dissolves into a pile of clone-goo.

Hot Chick:

Sharon Carter

If your super hero team doesn't have a hot chick on it, you're missing the point of being a super hero. You need a female to divert people from the homosexual undertones of what you're doing. No one wants to be the guest of honour at a spandex wearing sausage party where people are going to comment on your sexuality like you're Batman and Robin sliding down a pair of matching poles into a deep, dark cave. As Captain America's former girlfriend (although he probably didn't even get to second base because the dear, departed Cap'n' is the 1940's-Year-Old-Virgin) she has experience with S.H.I.E.L.D., which is a plus in the post-registration Era. On the downside, she'll be brainwashed into shooting you point blank while you're deflecting bullets like the human meat shield you are. She has no powers, but she makes up for it by... I've got nothing and neither does she.

The Money:

Angel

Now that you have a team, you need someone to help bankroll it. Angel's got the money to put where your mouth is and he has no problem with funding terrorists like the X-Men or X-Factor (they're unlawful combatants, that's the real reason why everyone hates them). For powers: he's got wings and can fly. Again, he's sort of on the short end of the mutant power stick, but he's one of the founding X-Men. He's also a little crybaby who hates his wings and he's stupid enough to let Apocalypse trick him into turning him into a pimped out goon.

Prologue:

The city of Hollow stretched out before him through the thick pane of glass. It was wide, it was vast and it was grey with concrete walls and asphalt streets. Overpasses passed over overpasses like colourless veins in a long dried circulatory system. The sun was somewhere, but the clouds concealed it's light. It was as lifeless as a tombstone slab. The cars crawling down crowded streets could have been spiders weaving their way across a crypt. To him, there was a certain beauty to it. To him, it was like clay he could mould, shape and form. It was his. The city may not know it, but it belonged to him, Lou Fantana. It might not be a name that was read on the cover of a magazine, but in the right circles, it was a name that held with it fear, respect and admiration. It was a name that could open doors for some and shut them for others. More than anything, it was a name in lights. Lou made movies. Some good, some bad.

Right now, he was more concerned with the bad.

Lou was grey. His hair had long since silvered, although his years had not. Some women found it charming, even if they didn't think the same about him. It was drawn out by the suit he wore. There were people in his employ who'd have to save for four months to afford such a suit. He still considered them overpaid. "One hundred and fifty seven million," Lou said to those assembled around the meeting table behind him. "That's how much this movie cost."

"With all due respect..." the producer, Herb Westington began to say as he leaned forward on rich mahogany of the table.

"Never say, 'with all due respect,'" Lou cut him off, without bothering to face him, "when you deserve none. You made this flop, Herb. We flew in the greatest director China has to offer for this film and now he's too afraid to step on our American soil. The reviews are terrible. We can't even pay people enough to say something positive about this movie. Not even that hack Kurt Brown. He gave Baby Brigade four and a half stars, and he won't even shell out two for Who is the Strangeman?" Lou sighed deeply as he turned about. They cowered before his gaze, drawing back like the tide. "Why? Why is it so terrible? We used a formula. We took a hip comic book character, gave him the big screen treatment with all the special effects that entailed. We brought in the best talent the studio could get it's hands on and for all the money we spent, we could have tried to build out own atomic bomb. That is what we're left with people, a bomb. This film is already destroying our reputation and it's not even out yet."

"I know it looks bad," Herb protested sheepishly, "but it you just give it a chance."

"We pumped an additional seventy million into marketing this movie," Lou told him. "If the marketing department had it's way, we'd spend seventy more. Kids who've never so much as seen a Strangeman comic book are wetting themselves in anticipation. What do you think is going to happen when they see it?"

"We can make the money back with the sequel," Herb argued.

"Sequel?" Lou's voice echoed throughout the cavernous room. Herb visibly winced along with several of his counterparts. "Sequel?"

"We have a solid script in the wings," Herb hastened to add.

"You do, do you?" Lou said sarcastically. "Then why, pray tell, didn't you use it for the first film?"

"It's not as bad as everyone's making it out to be. It looks spectacular," Herb promised him.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'If looks could kill?'" Lou asked him seriously. "A man in our test audience died."

"Of unknown causes," Herb added with an upheld finger of proclamation, which quickly shrank into a hook. Defeated, he ran his fingers through his thinned orange hair and tugged on the collar of his green turtleneck.

"Perhaps, but I'd like to think that our movie was so bad that it killed him. At least that's what the family's lawyer tells me," Lou pulled his plush chair back and sat down. From below the desk, he pulled out a flask and poured gin into a crystal glass before him.

"It's an isolated incident," Herb insisted.

"Is it?" Lou slammed the empty flask down on the table hard enough to make the opposite end, fifteen feet away, shake. "Another member of our test audience hasn't spoken since she's seen the movie. She either refuses to, or she can't. That was seven days ago."

"Give her another couple day," Herb said dismissively.

"Another member," Lou continued unabated and he took a long swig, "cried for three consecutive hours. He had to be sedated."

"See? It's an emotional movie with a lot of depth," Herb said positively.

"You're right, because I nearly cried too when I saw it," Lou agreed, "because I thought about how much it damaged my reputation and the reputation of this studio I've been trying to build up for the past seven years. This was supposed to be our Blockbuster. This was supposed to be our Golden Boy. We won't even make our money back on the DVD."

"What about the video game, or fast food chain novelty cups?" Herb asked.

"Shut up, Herb!" Lou snapped. "You're lucky I don't come down there and strangle you to death through your damn turtleneck. I swear to God I'll do it to. I want to. I dream about it and then I wake up with a throbbing erection." When Simon Powers, the co-producer snickered, Lou added another, "Shut up." Leaning deeply into his plump leather chair, he said, "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to scrap the project."

"Scrap?" Herb laughed out loud. "It's already done. It's ready to be shipped out to theatres."

"Not any more it's not," Lou shook his head. "Earlier today, I put out the call. It's been loaded onto a truck, alright, but it's not headed for the theatres. It's going to a God damned landfill, where it'll be buried with the rest of the trash."

Herb laughed uproariously, along with a few other, although there was a tinge of awkwardness to it. "You're kidding," Herb wiped his eye beneath his heavy glasses. "Aren't you?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"No," Lou shook his head as he stared up at the vaulting ceiling.

"What?" Herb laughed again nervously. "You said it yourself, Lou, we've sunk one hundred and fifty seven million into this project. We've got to get some of that back no matter how bad it stinks."

"How much do you think this would cost us if viewers boycott the studios? Fanboys of the Strangeman comic have already threatened mass suicide based on the reviews. Thank God none of them have actually seen the film," Lou mused to himself.

"We could still tweak it," Herb insisted, still not entirely believing him.

"Tweak? How? We could turn it into a disaster film, I suppose, since that's what it is. A disaster. My God, I s

till have nightmares," Lou shook his head.

"This is unbelievable," Herb exclaimed as he stood up. "You know what, I quite. I can't work for a studio that has no vision."

"By all means, quit, because it saves me the trouble of firing you," Lou told him. "For what it's worth, I'm glad we're ending our relationship so painlessly. One day, you'll be thanking me for what I've done. You'd never work again if anyone actually sees this piece of garbage."

_

Chapter One: Into the Fray!

Michael Hurst scooped up a fistful of wet something, and hurled it boldly into the air with the proclamation, "Fuck you, seagulls!" It was a daily ritual, of sorts. It made him feel better, at least, and he was certain that it made the birds feel better too. It added that flair of excitement in their otherwise meaningless lives. Every day was the same for them: fly, squawk and eat garbage. Having the garbage come to them, as opposed to them going to the garbage was a revolutionary concept.

Mark turned as he heard the familiar beep of a garbage truck backing up behind him. It was familiar because Mark had the unique thrill of working at a garbage dump. This was what his degree in Communications had earned him.

Mark breathed deeply of the disgusting stench, because there was nothing else to breathe where he was standing as the truck unloaded it's goodness into the area before him. He gave a kurt salute to the garbage truck operator as he headed towards his trusty bulldozer. As he marched, however, he noticed an odd glint in the disposal of what the garbage truck had left behind. There was nothing unique to seeing such a glint, of course, since all matters of various junk found it's way into his dump, but it caught his eye nevertheless. Curious, he approached, even as the pile grew larger as the truck unloaded more of it's payload. There was almost something familiar about the site, but it was gone before he could properly recognize it.

Shrugging inwardly to himself, he boarded his vehicle and started up the engine. As the garbage truck pulled away, Mark pulled in with his bulldozer. The scoop did as it's namesake intended, forcing a mound of garbage towards it's awaiting pile.

As a belch of black smoke broke into the air from the bulldozer's exhaust pipe, Mark hit the brake. He saw the metallic glint again before him. Through the morning mist, he glared at it more closely. It looked almost like the lid of a garbage can, only half the size.

Since there was little else to distract him, Mark disembarked his bulldozer and approached the slope of trash. The object in question was just within reach and with some struggle he wrested it free. Dirt fell from the object as he wiped it clean with the palm of his leather glove. It's shaped became clear, as did the finer detail. Although it was slightly bent, it was clearly a metal canister. With the lid already half bent, it was easy to pry open and look at what was inside.

A film reel, with the word, "Who is the Strangeman?" written upon it looked back at him.

Of course, like most people, Mark had heard of the movie. He had even seen the teaser trailer, even though it was disappointing. He had read the comics as a kid and what he had seen on screen was nothing like he had remembered. Still, he knew that what he held was pure gold. The movie had yet to come out, and if he was right, he now had possession of the film. He could make copies and upload them onto the internet. He could make a fortune, or be an underground hero.

Still, he was puzzled. If the movie hadn't come out yet, why was it in the trash? He assumed it had been damaged somehow and unusable. Still, he should be able to gleam something of the original from the print he hand. Pulling off his gloves between his thighs, he unrolled a strip of film and held it up to the overclouded sun. Through one unclosed eye, he carefully observed what lay upon the thin strip of film. Indeed, it seemed like the real deal. The figure of a man in a mask became clearer the more he looked.

With his suspicions confirmed, his next thought turned to where he could procure a film projector.

I've been uninspired lately, but I thought I'd delve into a concept I've been tinkering with for a little while. In case you haven't figured out by now, my online name is, "Strangeman." Now who is the Strangeman? Nobody knows.

UNTIL NOW!

I've decided to create a novella based on this character. This isn't the good news. The good news is that I've decided to publish it live, here, in this blog. Which means you, the reader, can read it. After all, reading is what readers do and writing is what writers do, so it's a match.

The Cassandra Cain "Batgirl" comic book series has just been renewed, starting again at issue #1 after having been cancelled a couple years ago before the Infinite Crisis crossover. Her first run lasted over fifty issues and ended rather abruptly. The character herself has been around since 1999, meaning she's lasted through quite a number of Batman cross-overs, such as Cataclysm, No Man's Land, Bruce Wayne: Murderer?, Bruce Wayne: Fugitive, and so on.

What's made Cassandra Cain so distinctive as Batgirl is her lack of social skills. She was a mute, but had the innate ability to read body language like you'd read a book, which would give her precognitive abilities in a fight scenario. However, her difficulties with both spoken and written forms of language made it difficult for her to communicate with those around her. In the Batgirl comic, she had the speech centre of her brain unlocked by a telepath she helped saved, meaning she could now speak, but had trouble forming proper sentences.

She was also still illiterate, which meant that when she would find a clue on a slip of paper while investigating a crime scene, she would need help to read it. This made calls between her and the original Batgirl, Barbara Gordon (Oracle), who acted behind the scenes during her outings, a gruelling process. Cassandra would often have to drawn crude diagrams to explain what she had seen, or draw in the air what each letter of a word had looked like. So Batgirl had to learn to read, but never quite mastered the art. She was never a leader, either, she basically took all her orders from Batman, or Oracle, but was never considered part of a team. So when she was out on the scene, she was constantly checking in to see what her next move would be. There was a sense that even with all of the her loyalty and devotion to the cause, that no one in the Bat Family quite trusted her because of her checkered past as an assassin.

She didn't really have much of a secret identity. She never cared for making a life for herself, even when prompted by those closest to her to get out and enjoy all that life has to offer. The sad thing is, even within the Bat Family, she was never that close to anyone. Oracle considered her something of a burden and eventually abandoned her to concentrate solely on the Birds of Prey. Batman never officially revealed himself as Bruce Wayne to her, she had to figure it out on her own. Alfred was probably the only one that truly cared about her well-being as a person. She also wasn't popular with the boys, despite having a killer body. She never had a serious love-interest, even though she was a teenager who could never quite deny her own hormones. She had a make-out session with Superboy, but Batman put a stop to that. She had a crush on one of her own Asian villains, but he sacrificed his own life. There were insinuations that she and Robin might fall in love, but the series ended there and she disappeared off the map.

When she did come back, she had gone 180, becoming a super villain rival to Robin, and framing him for murder in order to lure him into the League of Assassins as her personal boy-toy. There was nothing recognizable of the old character in this Robin comic book arch appearance, and many fans were confused. They tried to explain it away by saying Deathstroke had drugged her. She joined Deathstoke's Teen Titans East to combat the real Teen Titans and get another shot at Robin, but vanished in the end after overcoming her drug dose. The first issue of the new Batgirl tries to fix these serious plot-holes and out-of-character faux-paus, while using her time as a Deathstroke/Cain lackey as the base for a new revenge plot. However, during this off period, she broke the cardinal rule in the Bat Family circle about taking another life. Batman apparently forgives her for her actions, and even Robin does the same, although she did frame him for her own murder, but Nightwing is still wary.

It looks to me like they're trying to fill in the character a little more and make her more rounded as a person, while setting up the final conflict between her, Deathstroke and Cain. I'm all for it.

Here's my thesis on Batman, based on this comic panel:

1: Origins: If you've ever wondered what makes a super hero a super hero, here's how it typically happens: sometimes you're bit by a radioactive spider, sometimes you're given a ring from a dying alien, sometimes you find a stick inside a cave with a magic inscription on it. Those scenarios explains how a super hero get his or her super powers, but that still doesn't explain why they're all so fucked up in their heads. There's another factor that contributes to that, and it usually relates to their parents. Batman's parents are dead. They were murdered in front of his eyes while he was just a boy, and he hasn't shut up about it since. If you read five Batman comics, three of them will mention this fact in great detail. Never mind that his parents were rich and the second they kicked the bucket he basically became a boy billionaire ala Richie Rich, the incident traumatized him so badly that he had to go and become a super hero. So every time he punches some thug in the face, or Batarangs the Joker, he's doing it to that anonymous perp who robbed his dumbass parents who were walking around the bad part of town at night with about a million dollars worth of cash and jewelry on them. Some people just have it coming to them.

Batman's not alone in this orphan business. Superman lost his birth parents when the planet Krypton exploded, and then lost his adoptive father to a heart attack. Spider-Man's parents were killed in a helicopter accident, and then his Uncle Ben was shot by the a crook he let escape. Green Lantern saw his dad die in a plane crash. You'd be hard pressed to find any of the X-Men's living parents as well. Take Cyclops for instance: He thought his father, mother, and brother all died in the same plane crash, only all three escaped with their lives, only his mother died in some alien slave pit. So yes, it would seem that being an orphan is an essential part of being a super hero. After all, you can't go around saving they day when you're expected home by 6:00 for dinner.

2: Fatherhood: Batman's not the best father figure. Letting your young "ward" dress up in tights and follow you around as you fight bad guys and get shot at isn't the best parenting. Robin's parents are dead too, not that Batman cares. There's always been the sense that Batman would permanently cripple Robin indefinitely with the grill of the Batmobile if he ever so much as missed a throw with the Bat-Bolos. That's why it was no surprise how little he cares when Robin 2 was beaten to death with a tire iron and then exploded, and how underjoyed he was when that same Robin magically came back to life.

So if both heroes lost their parents in nearly identical origin stories (except one involves the circus) then why is Robin such a bitch? The answer: Because Batman wants him to be. He wears the daddy tights in the Batman family, and he won't let Robin forget it. Robin can change his name to Nightwing and start his own superhero team with hot orange-skinned space alien bitches, but Batman's still going to call the shots.

3: Batman Kicked My Ass: Batman will beat the shit out of you for any reason, but especially because he loves to do it. He's spent his life training in every fighting style known to man just to put the hurt on you. He's wearing enough bullet-proof rubber to stop a cannon shell, and there's no way you're getting through that. You could be Superman, and he'll pull out a kryptonite ring to bitch up your face.

4: Contol Freak: Batman is a control freak. Something bad happened to him once, and he's not going to let it happen again. He basically wants to be God, and rule over you, and he has the money and friends to do it. If Batman decides one day that everyone should wear scaly green speedos and say, "Holy Toledo!" then he's going to make it happen. With his level of psychosis, you'd think that someone touched him on the penis when he was young. Maybe it was Alfred.

With the new Batman movie coming out... probably at this exact second if I bothered to look at a calendar... perhaps an introduction is in order for viewers some not yet acquainted with the titular character.

Yes: this one comic panel explains everything you need to know about Batman.

Now: I'm not one to clip out comic strips from the newspaper or such, but it's like Mad Magazine holds a mirror up to our world and it's reflection is Alfred E. Neuman.

I bought a two-pack of DC Mini-Mates at Toy Traders in Langley, which included The Flash and Gorilla Grodd. The accessories that come with this pack was orange Barry Allen hair (no relation), and an alternative skull head. Now: my thinking was that this was an alternative head for the Flash figure, and I'd be able to take off his red Flash mask and put it over the skull head, thereby recreating the death of The Flash from Infinite Crisis, where he runs backwards in time until he's nothing but a skeleton in a Halloween costume, thus making it the most awesome accessory ever made. BUT NO! The skull head's too large, since it was designed to fit the oversized Gorilla Grodd. It doesn't fit  The Flash figure properly, and I can't fit the mask over it. I don't even understand why Grodd needs a glowing skull head, other than to illustrate his psychic powers. My plans for making a dead Flash figure will not be abated, however, as I shall endeavour to find a skull head to fit him. Perhaps if I can find a Ghost Rider Mini-Mate.

I need more Lego, or Mega-Blocks sets to display my Mini-Mates. I'm uncomfortable with my DC and Marvel figures co-existing in the same set. I'm uncomfortable with my Marvel/Marvel Zombies fighting each other. Such a battle is not meant to be. It could tear the universe apart. My Star Trek Mini-Mates are welcome in any setting however, as it's obvious that Kirk could wind up in that kind of scenario and emerge unscaffed.

I noticed they also had Lobo/Ambush Bug, Cyborg/Raven, Nightwing/Starfire packs. I was very tempted to buy them all, but I must restrain myself. Still, owning 4/5 of the original Teen Titans is hard to pass up, and I already have Deathstroke the Terminator for them to fight, but a giant sized Trigon would be more awesome, and I can switch Nightwing with my Robin for the cartoon series Teen Titans. I think I might even be able to piece together my own Beast Boy from Hulk figures. That's part of the fun of Mini-Mates: the mixing and matching.

Anyway, I was more interested in buying a long-haired Aquaman fro DC Classics, but they only had short-haired, and some douche got there two seconds before I did and bought a whole five pack, but I don't think he picked up a long-haired version either. Aquaman's hair is magical, as it seems like it instantly dries upon exiting the water, just like Superman's hair regains it's poof despite flying around bare-headed at Mach-8 with the wind slicking it back the entire time.

Anyway, I was at Nando's yesterday and order an extra-hot chicken sandwich, but I asked for it inside a pita bread, because that's the option on the menu. So the girl at the register gives me a weird look, then when I get my order, she's given me a chicken sandwich in a bun, with a pita bread separately with a "Special Request" sticker on it's paper envelope. WTF? How does anyone get that confused with an order? I don't recall anything in my order request that would have insinuated that I wanted a pita bread on the side.

Sheesh.

Anyway, I'm thinking of drawing comics again. Let's see how that goes.

I've been playing Final Fantasy Tactics Advanced 2 for the Nintendo DS for about 60+ hours since I got it two weeks ago. I don't think I'm even halfway through it yet, since I'm not that deep into the story. In fact, the story just seems to be starting. I think there's entire continents I haven't been to yet.

I got a raise at work, but it's only 50 cents more than what I was making. So now I'm making as much as some people make starting out. They have like three tiers of pay for starting employees. People with no experience make $9.50, people with more experience in retail make $10.00, people with related experience make $11.00. So here's my problem with this bull-shit: I use to run a hardware department. For real. It's a hardware store. You can't say that's not related experience. Now: I have over five years experience in retail, all in fields that relate to departments at the Home Depot, like Sesonal, Home and Garden, BBQs, patio sets, hardware, electrical, lighting, etc.. That's over half the fucking store. There's a guy who just started, who has less than two years experience in Housewares, which isn't a related field, and he started in the same tier as I am. That's not what makes me mad, however, it's the fact there's a guy I used to work with who started out at a dollar more than I did, and his only experience is the fact he used to work for some kind of cabinet manufacturer, which isn't a related field at all. WTF? All I really want is a liveable wage, (something in excess of what I could be making flipping hamburger patties) and I'm obviously not going to be making that at the Home Depot. There's about zero options for advancement for me with the way the switch around their supervisors and departments  every two weeks, so basically I need to start doing what I should have been doing about a year ago when I started working there, which is to look for another job somewhere. I have a B.A., for God's sake. It was an embarrassment at my High School Reunion to tell people what I've been doing for a living, even though it seems like no one else made it very far either. Bah!

I just finished watching Batman: Gotham Knight. It's one of those pre-release anime-style straight to DVD movies that have become so popular as of late. Van Helsing had one, Riddick had one, and now Batman has one. Grouping Batman with Van Helsing and Riddick angers me in ways I've not thought possible, but that would make a kick-ass super-team. Plus: Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman have already worked together.

My question after watching this pseudo-movie is: what purpose does it serve. It's artistic, certainly, giving animators a chance to strut their stuff. It also whets audiences appetites for the next movie, which is being released the same month. It's basically a commercial you have to pay for. It's no different than the collector cups you get at McDonalds.

The movie itself is a collection of stories, each displayed in it's own animation style. A few of them vaguely flow into each other, but you have to be paying attention to pick up on the segue. For instance, Batman finds a stash of guns in a pile of trash, and in the next chapter, you see Alfred dropping the guns on a table. These stories seem to pale in comparison to the old Batman the Animated series, which was award winning. They're basically a retelling of the origins of Batman, and a few of his villains, like Killer Croc, Deadshot, and Firefly. Scarecrow's in there too.

I also saw the trailer for the Clone Wars animated movie being released soon. The animation I saw in it was terrible. The characters looked like they came out of a PS2 video game, with slack arms. They were basically puppets, mouthing the words, but not much else.

In the wake of recent theft and vandalism of outdoor art pieces across BC, I've developed a couple of new ideas to replace these works.

First: a giant target on the ground. Overhead, a bird perch. On the Bull's-eye will be the words: "Shit here." If a bird is going to shit on a sculpture anyway, why not make it part of the piece?

Second: Heavy bronze plaques all over the city with the inscription: "STEAL THIS," on them. For extra fun, have some electrified!

Also, I think it's imperative that we start making giant statues of George W. Bush immediately, not ten years from now. We need to start making statues that people will step over to vandalize while the subject is still universally hated. For extra fun, have a second, smaller head inside the original, so that when some tries to cut the old one off, they'll be like, "WTF? A tiny Cheney head?"

I just finished my 10 Year High School Reunion. Out of a grad class of about 250, about 70 people showed up 50 of which actually went to my school and 10 of which I recognized. My old friend Gordon Maahs was there with his wife and if he hadn't shown up I probably would have left even earlier than I did. It doesn't help matters when you're at a social event and you can't hear for squat. My hearing has gone South of Dixie. Things were awkward all around, with people talking to me and all I could do is nod in response, because I can't understand what they're saying. It took upwards of fifteen minutes in some cases to recognize people I use to see every day. I was seated right across from a girl I was in the same English class as, but I couldn't remember her until she mentioned she had an eleven-year-old, meaning she had a kid in high school ala Juno. Dustin, whom I used to drunken wrestle with on a trampoline in a mutual friend's backyard, I couldn't recognize because he'd lost a considerable amount of weight, got glasses, and was dressing conservatively. Gordon had gotten glasses, grew a beard and several feet as well. Somehow, I ended up shorter than most of my colleagues, when I was considered a giant getting out of elementary school. At least three of my former classmates were heads above me. Heads.

In any event, I wasn't feeling all too social, so I booked it out of there so I could get to bed and wake up for my thankless job. From what I heard during the speeches everyone was giving, people didn't get too far. Most of the women bunkered down and started families. One guy was a chef in England, but I didn't even know him. A few were teachers. Many mentioned bouncing around from job to job. Some were unintelligible. I was hoping to schmooze around and touch base to see if anyone had an in for a more interesting job, but it was clearly not the crowd to be doing that in.

I spent most of the afternoon beforehand waiting for my sister to come home to my parent's house so I could see her and my niece. I got about five minutes of face time before I had to head out to the reunion. I mistakenly went to the wrong hall next door, where they were prepping a wedding reception. It looked like they had better food than our banquette, however, so I probably should have crashed it. I could kill for some BBQ. I really could. Like, an orphanage, if I had to.