Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Wonder Woman (Vol. 4), Issue #4 – “Blood”! In the previous installment, Wonder Woman learns that she wasn’t actually a clay baby who became a real girl. As it turns out, her mother fucked Zeus and got pregnant from Zeus’ powerful semen, and if Hera found out about this she would have smother Wonder Baby with a pillow in her IKEA crib. So Hippolyta kept this a secret for the last *looks up Wonder Woman’s age* 5,000 years? What the fuck?

She decides to exile herself from Paradise Island. Maybe she’ll settle down in Kosovo and sell bureks on the streets in Pristina.

Wonder Woman (Vol. 4), Issue #4 [February, 2012]
Written by: Brian Azzarello
“Blood”

Uh oh, a visit from the Peacock Lady Hera is nigh! Look out, Wonder Woman, she wears that getup when she wants to murder horses.

We begin in Darfur, which is always a fun place be find oneself in, where Blue Man Woman Killer walks calmly through a burning town presently rife with gun violence. He enters a bar; the bloody bartender is slumped over the bar. An old man with blood on his pants sits on a stool with a drink. “Hello, brother,” he welcomes the almighty…whoever, who obviously just blue himself. I had to look his name up since I don’t think anyone has actually addressed him. It’s Apollo. As in Apollo Creed. Carl Weathers!

“Hell low, indeed,” Apollo responds. Very clever.
“What brings you here?”
“I’m concerned about you.”
“Liar,” says the old one, overflowing his shot glass with more liquor. These two seem to be buds! I wonder what their backstory is? Oh yeah, I remember now, it’s WHO CARES! lol

The old man is War, even though War is supposed to be a woman, and it sounds like he’s plumb tired of war! So very tired. Maybe because it’s Darfur and it’s been going on forever now. He should probably just leave.

NO! War is needed more than ever in these grim days, so get that fire lit under your ass. There’s work to do.

Speaking of work to do, Diana doesn’t seem to be doing any work right now. She’s hanging out in a London punk club with Strife, Zola, and Hermes. The former is schmoozing around seducing dudes. The latter two are talking amongst themselves at a table.

“I’m worried about her, Zola,” says Hermes, dressed in camo and sunglasses lookin’ like a real punk-ass punk. Not one of them poser-types! Hermes finds it odd that Diana can just pretend her problems away right now and indulge in the sweet, sweet crooning of Anal Cunt. Zola’s not worried! Diana needs a break from all the Amazonian pressure. That place was tense, man.

Plus, she LOVES watching GG Allin rub his own shit all over his face.

HELL YEAH. Strife is all about this, as well! The wine is incredible. “Come have a drink with me, Baby Sister,” she yells to Diana with two glasses in hand. Let loose! Let’s start slamdancing these fucking freaks, throw them against the bricks.

“Well, we’re family now,” Strife says in response to Diana’s chiding, “and in this family there are two kinds of members: those against you, and those against you.” She smiles, pouring a drink, toasting to family.

Back at Paradise Island, where it’s not quite so paradise-y all of a sudden, Hera causes a torrential storm upon her arrival. Dessa, one of Hippolyta’s advisors, summons the guards. Hippolyta tells her to shove it. She can handle this.

“Hera has good reason to make herself known on Paradise Island. While you and all our sisters do not. It’s best for all if I face Hera alone…” she says, grabbing a large axe off the wall. Time for Hippo to guillotine Hera. Poetic justice!

“She can be a real bitch, that one,” Strife says in the bar, referring to her bitch sister. Ms. Bitch.

“Takes one to know one?” Zola responds casually. Strife is starting to like this young woman.

“I wouldn’t trifle with the Amazon, Strife. Not now,” Hermes says, white knighting all over the place. Pfft. Strife’s doing Diana a favor! Fuck Paradise Island! Fuck her mother! It’s Chinatown, baby!

*swig*

Hermes is still concerned. All this meddling will surely come to a head, and he doesn’t want to be around when it happens. “Hera will have her pound of flesh…” he warns.

Strife strokes Zola’s bare midriff. “Indeed. So perhaps if we extracted it for her…”

Oh now you’ve done it. Diana suddenly appears and grips Strife’s arm tightly! Angrily! Bitchily! She holds her hand down on the bar and jams a broken glass right into it! Hell yes!

Oh man, how bad is it? Is it bad? I don’t want to look.

Strife doesn’t do much more than wince and pout. “That pound of our flesh is mine to protect,” Diana snarls. Strife removes her bloody hand from the bar, licks it, and holds it up to Diana’s cheek. “I promise it won’t happen again,” she tells her sister, but this time there isn’t a hint of joviality on her face whatsoever. It’s personal now!

I’ve seen a lot of blood so far. They should probably name this issue “Blood”. Or perhaps the whole storyline. It was my idea, I thought of it first.

“You have offended me,” Hera coldly tells her baby momma.
“That was never my intention, Goddess,” Hippo hangs her head in shame, intending everything.

Snarl. Growl. Hippo hangs her head in shame again. “I did it to protect my daughter.”
Growl. Snarl. “–MY husband’s daughter! MY HUSBAND’S!”
Snarl. Growl. Snarl. Snarl. “I am the Queen of the Gods,” Hera backs off a little bit and starts getting mopey, “The Goddess of Women…ultimately, yet, a woman.”

“Why, Hippolyta? Why would you do this to me? To another woman? What did he say to make you love him? What can I do to make him…”

Well, Hera, things seem to be getting a teensy bit awkward now that you’re pouring your heart out about your failing marriage. BUT, she trails off because Hippo’s Paradise Island Warriors of Anti-Paradise are starting to close in. “We will protect our queen to the death,” declares Aleka, the Jousting Superstar.

Well isn’t that hunky dory, but Hippolyta SPECIFICALLY STATED THAT THIS IS HER BATTLE TO FIGHT. You fucking jerks. Go home and find something else to do. Take a break for once in your pathetic lives! It’s not all defending queens and maintaining honor, you know. There’s, like, gardening and building computers and knitting and woodworking and stuff.

“You inspire their loyalty,” Hera says with a slight sneer, “You should be proud.”

Well, fuck you lady. Diana left the island because of them. They laughed and called her names. Wouldn’t let her join in any reindeer games. Anyway, Hera, please forgive Hippolyta for fucking your husband. He was pretty good. You should be proud. Heh.

“Queen Hera… My goddess… Forgive me,” Hippo begs solemnly on her knees.

There are about seven panels that show the Amazons drawing their arrows as Hera raises her axe in a head-chopping manner. At the last second she decides not to guillotine anyone today.

It’s ok dear. I wasn’t really gonna kill you, I swear. I was just gonna, you know, shave a little meat off a cheek or something, haha.

“Queen Hippolyta… I wish I could.”

London, after the wild club party, Zola stops by Diana’s room to thank her for the good time. Diana agrees that it was a good time, but she feels uneasy. But Zola is worse. She falls backward on the bed, gripping her head on both sides in the universal sign of “oh god ughh shiiiit”.

Can I at least get my stuff? Changes of clothes? My phone? I got peanut butter in the cabinet.

Diana can’t let Zola go home. Zola genuinely asks her why not? It’s easy. Just be like “here’s a plane ticket, go home”. Diana makes it about her instead, tells Zola that she left her home too. It’s not like she can go back either. She didn’t really belong there anyway, made out of clay or conceived by actual gods or whatever the real story is. She felt like a black sheep. Zola makes it about her again, tells Diana that she didn’t even have any sisters, let alone an island full of them! No real family to speak of. Her dad’s in prison, for God’s sake! Ever since she was a baby! Do you know how that feels? He robbed Clarence Thomas in 1989, stole his TV dinner.

And her mom? Well, she sucks. Who cares about her, Zola hasn’t seen her in years. Plus she died, that probably didn’t help the not-seeing-her part. So, honestly, maybe leaving that house is a blessing in disguise! A blessing dressed up as a ghost! Boo!

Diana decides to walk away from this sad-sack and talk to the other sad-sack in the house. He’s got a remote control in his hand. “Hermes, I’ll trade you,” she smiles, holding out her sword and shield. Hermes smiles too and accepts the trade agreement. Did she get the remote control? Did she want to watch The Masked Singer?

No, she’s got Hermes’ staff. It looks kind of like that medicine symbol with the twisty snakes. She returns to Paradise Island where, wouldn’t you know it, there are a million snakes writhing around on the ground. Hissing and squirming. If Wonder Woman thought she was uneasy in the London apartment, well ma’am, check out some snakes.

“Mother…” she talks to the empty downtown square, “I made a mistake. I reacted to what you did. Instead of listening to why. And… I’m sorry for what I did. For hurting you. You deserve better. I’m your daughter. Your blood. It’s something I always wished I was, and I am now.”

And it’s too late!

Atonement isn’t in the cards anymore, Snakey Slithers.

Why is it too late? Because she is talking to her mother in the square. Her mother is made of stone now. She’s the brown thing in the above picture.

That’s the climax of the issue, right? So we need a proper cliffhanger. In lieu of THAT, here’s the next scene anyway.

“I have some surprising news about our father, War,” says Apollo. He’s missing. This is what he learned in Issue #1 before murdering three women and turning them into unsexy, fiery skeleton bones! In fact, he doesn’t exist at all.

“Murdered?” asks War, interest piqued.
“It would take his own blood to do so.”
“Ah. Now I understand the pleasure of this visit.”

War assures that all this blood all over his slacks, the bar, the small Darfur town, none of it is Zeus’. For reals, dawg. This is civilian blood! Sorry to disappoint you, bro.

Ha! That’s not why Apollo’s there, you silly goose! But others in the family might think it’s Zeus’ blood. And now you, War, are on the chopping block. You know how their family can be, right? Fuckin’ rude. Thanksgiving is going to be super awkward. So Apollo says War needs his help. Allies, see?

Ha! Apollo, you silly goose! It is YOU who needs the help, my kind and virile sir.

Hey Mr. No-Eyeballs, you’re wasting 148-year-old scotch!

Throughout this conversation, Apollo doesn’t really know which side his brother is on. He’s jerking him around a little bit. “Our fate, it’s not up to us. It’s always been in mortal hands. Open your eyes and see what they hold… the world will be ruled by war.”

“It’s inevitable,” War finalizes, walking away.

Final Thoughts

This really does feel like the East of West endtimes shenanigans. And I’m not sure exactly where they’re going with this, except maybe everyone wants to kill Zola’s baby, but they all want to kill each other too. Some shameful pettiness is afoot. I hope it ends with Wonder Woman saying “screw this” and getting shitfaced at the bar every night.