Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #39 – “These Brothers of Destiny”! In the previous installment, Thomas the Texas Rangin’ Hunter was able to fanagle his way into sniping the shit out of John Freeman VIII with the help of his ruthless father. Ruthless! Without ruth! Ruth’s not here, man. That’s for sure. No ruth to be seen anywhere.

That’s about it. These issues can usually be summarized in one sentence, such as “Xiaolian crushes her sister’s head” or “Bel Solomon farts out his baked bean dinner”.

How will this one be summarized? I can’t wait. I predict “Andrew Archibald Chamberlain sticks Bel Solomon’s head in a deep fryer”.

East of West, Issue #39 [October, 2018]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“These Brothers of Destiny”

War is pretty hot. I mean, not temperature-wise (although who can say?). Too bad she spends most of the series as a little boy and then as a little man. A shame, really.

Flashback to a small meeting of the Chosen. Ezra Orion is mad at Hu Mao, Xiaolian’s older sister, for showing up. Her father was supposed to come, not some kind of pissant offspring envoy. “The Premier will never return here. To you. I am all you get,” she says to him. Hu’s the Chosen now, bitch. What up? What up?

Cheveyo asks her if she’s thinks she’s sooooo clever. She responds that it’s just how things are. So can it.

Cheveyo argues that a perception of how things are might entirely be how things are. Illusions and tricks and sleight of hand. “Are you sure you have a place here?”

She tells him to “get fucking bent, old man.” John Freeman VIII likes her fiestiness! Curiously, she introduces herself as the only child of the Premier. Freeman gives her a word of advice: you can trust cranky old Cheveyo and Ezra Orion, but don’t trust these two fuckers over here. *jabs thumb in the direction of Archibald and Bel Solomon, lookin’ like members of ZZ Top*

Archibald calls Bel an “exquisitely rumpled specimen”. I’m moist in the loins.

Break out those fuzzy guitars! “Sharp Dressed Man”! “Sharp Dressed Man”!

Speaking of cranky, Bel wants to know why they’re all wasting their time meeting again. Working on bringing about the end of the world due to the Word of the Message and all that other dipshittery. Bel’s the skeptic, remember? Every group of Chosen needs a skeptic, I always say.

They all watch a projection of the Message, sliding by like a marquee sign. Here’s the major takeway phrase: “The end of all things.” Debatable that an end doesn’t mean a new beginning. We could agonize for hours – days – over that one! Join us in the agonization, Hu. Join us, goddamnit.

Hu thinks that this new beginning nonsense is a load of… well, she likes it. The rest don’t. Bel argues that the Message is just a guide, like the Bible or Zagat’s restaurant books! They all actually answer to a higher power, and the higher power is dead. “And it happened right in front of us,” says Bel. “We all watched.”

So, ergo, don’t talk to Bel about the Message and the end of times. It’s all hooey. Peace out.

“How things were is not how they always will be.”

“How things are is not how they will end.”

Flashforward to the present, where things that were are not how they are now and it won’t end that way either (see, I’m paying attention). Wolf wonders if eating Ezra Orion has caused the Word to end up in him. At any rate, he can feel it squirming around in there like worms in dirt. He recites some Words from the Message, and Crow thinks it’s all hooey. Peace out.

Wolf would smile if it were nonsense, but he will not smile. He will never smile again!

I think this might be one of them Taylor Swift songs.

A floating orb drone swings on by with some information for them. “Seventeen minutes ago we received a proximity alarm from a perimeter drone. There was a breach fifteen miles southwest of here.” Shit, not Gary Busey again! That guy’s always trying to get through!

Wolf uses the orb as binoculars and sees Mao’s army at their door. And it’s sizeable enough. Lookin’ pretty hale and hearty, actually.

“So… what do you want to do about it?” asks Crow. Well, it depends on what Xiaolian Mao wants to do, innit? Let’s go pay the heartless wench a visit…

Elsewhere, Our Favorite Incompetent Three Horsemen of the Apocalypse approach the dead Psalm that was hired to kill Babylon way, way back. A dozen issues ago or so. “Well, if you were wondering how bounty hunters would fare in our fair city of Babylon… There’s your answer,” says Conquest. He steps on its skull. “Look here, dummy. You could have died for something that mattered.” Like Scientology! Or Trumpism.

They can feel Death in the air. Literally. Death and his son. They’re nearby. The air is thick and heady. With Death, you see. He wears some of that good Old Spice stuff. Very pleasant. Anyway, are we all ready to meet up with him again?? Who brought the Chex Mix? Famine, you fuckhead. Did you forget the Chex Mix?

“I suppose you have some sort of plan for how to deal with him?” Conquest asks War.

“…” War responds.

“That’s what I thought.”

Famine, meanwhile, picks up the metal Psalm helmet and takes a look at a prompt on the screen.

Hmm…getting that chip implanted in our brains may be a better idea than we thought…

“I might have some ideas we could noodle on…” Famine says. “I think you’re going to like this.”

Woop woop! Resurrect the Psalm. That’ll do what, exactly? I don’t remember! Something! Man, I gotta reread through this whole series again some day… catch what I missed the first time around.

What’s Archibald up to??? He’s watching his many security cameras. “What do we have here?” he says, taking a big puff on his stinky cigar. “It appears to be a bounty for a man already possessing an embarrassment of riches.” He watches as Mao and Wolf approach each other. “I have done plenty. I have earned this. For I am blessed with fools for enemies and now they gather… Kindling for the fire.”

He continues patting himself on the dick and asks himself if he should indulge himself one last time. One last time…

And then there’s Death and Babylon riding their beasts of burden, telling jokes and swapping war stories… then suddenly Babylon sees a giant bird in the sky. Balloon scans the suspicious creature. “Don’t bother. That ain’t no bird,” Death says, readying his pistol. It’s the Psalm robot thing and it’s buzzing up a frenzy!

NZZZZZZ! PSALM’S GETTING ANGRY!! NZZZZZZZZ!!!

Death shoots the thing right in the face and asks Babylon where this little fucker came from. “I thought there was only one of these things left and you killed it?” Balloon suggests that maybe some of the 150 Psalms went dormant during the Union purge. At any rate, not good. Death realizes this, because about 30 more suddenly descend from the sky, all NZZZZ-ing all day. Death screams for Babylon to get the CUNT out of there as fast as possible. And don’t look back! Go find a Dairy Queen or something, kid. Beat it.

“Don’t worry, Babylon,” Balloon says as they book it away. Death is getting swarmed and it doesn’t look good. “Your father will be fine.”

It doesn’t look good.

“He’s Death itself. What can stand against that?”

It looks like the Psalms killed him, lol

“I dunno… a buncha weird cyborg cult people?” Babylon watches the carnage from behind a rock, far away. Even Balloon is pessimistic now. Babylon wants to go back, but Balloon urges him to stay put. Let’s go find that Dairy Queen…

Nope, the red guy and the blue guy and the greenish-yellow guy show up. “Hello there, Babylon…” War looks quite smug. “Are you ready to become what you were born to be?”

Final Thoughts

Is Death dead? Did Death die a death. Did Death am become death? This is a wild series, ain’t it? When Death can die?

I have no other commentary. Death death death death death.

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: East of West, Issue #38 – “It’s Time to Start Paying in Blood”! In the previous installment, Thomas the Hunter recovers from his many Archibald-induced gunshot wounds and continues his quest to see all of the Chosen dead. Next up is John Freeman VIII.

That’s all. It was fairly uneventful.

East of West, Issue #38 [July, 2018]
Written by: Jonathan Hickman
“It’s Time to Start Paying in Blood”

Thomas has already made his way to the Kingdom of New Orleans. He just took his decrepit, injured ass and walked all the way there in two days. Fuckin’ A, man. What a powerhouse! Woop woop!

Thomas has a standoff with a Royal Member of the Kingdom of New Orleans’ Kingdom of Royal Members. He talks tough, he talks rough, and he likes his Oreos Double Stuf.

After exchanging some words of intimidation like a couple of Rude Boys, the New Orleans guy, likely one of the other John Freemans, asks who Thomas is and what he wants. Thomas says he’s a bad guy who wants to watch someone bleed out. And yes, sounds good, right this way, sir!

“And why in the world would you think what you want has anything to do with what you’re going to get?” responds Mr. Kingdom. “Who lives their life thinking that way?”

Thomas pretty much sneers at this and says that he does, dingbat. “I am the law,” he says, flashing his Texas Rangers badge. “And today – come hell or high water – I will deliver justice to the Chosen, John Freeman.”

Buh-what? You’re here to kill John Freeman #8? With what? Love Potion #9? Get your fucking face outta here. Haha! Oh wait, John Freeman #3.14 is like “why didn’t you say so in the first place” and invites Thomas to follow him.

And follow him he does.

“He stole what was yours and gave it to your enemy.”

At the Royal Palace of the Royal Kingdom of New Royal Orleans, John Freeman’s fat old dad is perusing his personal library. “Father,” enters one of the more lowly John Freemans, “we have an interesting guest.”

Is it Bette Davis?! Oh wait, she’s been dead for 77 years.

Hi Justice, I’m Dad! *snicker*

Father isn’t alarmed at all. He’s just annoyed and confused. Then he tells John Freeman #0.0001 to get the fuck out of the library so that he can talk to Uncle Justice over here.

“…Did I strike a nerve?” Thomas asks menacingly. King Freeman informs this… special guest… that he is completely aware of everything his shitbird Chosen son is doing or has done. For example, he’s pooping as we speak. And he’s not even on the toilet!

Now look here, Hunter. The Kingdom of New Orleans is still a country. The Republic of Texas? Hardly. Now get the FUCK out of my face. “You’re not the law here, ranger. You’re just the face of it. I am the law. Judge, jury, and all that follows.”

Thomas, frothing at the mouth now with petty my-dog-is-dead rage, tells him to do something about it then. Or get out of his way.

King cannot give him justice, but he can allow him to live if he packs up his guns and gets out of the Kingdom tout suite and leave his weapons behind. Thomas accepts, tells the King that he’s got way more weapons than what he’s packin’ right now, leaves behind some weird geodesic figure on King’s desk, and storms out.

“How can you call this man your son?”

The next day, John Freeman #8 gets ready to attend a meeting of his whole family. He asks his vizier fuck buddy if she knows what’s going on, and even though it’s her job to know what’s going on, she has no idea what’s going on. All she knows is that the whims of the king are not to be questioned. So stop asking, Junior.

lol, nice outfit, Prince. Sing me some “Purple Rain”.

“Yeah, I’m going to hold you to that when I’m on the throne,” he tells her, probably in a weird, rapey way. He asks again if she really has no clue, and she doesn’t. “But is it that unusual for an old man in the twilight of his life to want to spend time with his sons?” she asks, fixing Freeman’s lapels. “Have you met my shitheel brothers?” he responds. Then he asks her if she wants to just run away from all of this and, you know, buy a house in Norway and feed the penguins and shit. She very nicely, and in many more words, calls him a child.

A lavish feast has been laid out on a very ornate dining room table in a room overlooking the city. 14 sons sit around the table. The King at the head, the vizier standing next to them. Everyone looks bored as shit. “Tell me again, Vizier…” the King says, sighing. “How many sons do I have?”

One dead, fourteen left. “And how many are worthy of this throne?” he follows up.

She very nicely, and in many more words, tells him that nobody is, really. Just two. The King is ashamed of this. His disappointing sons. Oh, why is his brood so weak and flimsy like wet noodles? They don’t even look like they’re aware of what the fuck is going on in the world. They don’t even look like they know how to velcro their own shoes.

The sons gossip amongst themselves. Did you hear the Xioalian Mao’s army is approaching a resistance soon? Sucks to be her! Freeman #8 ain’t worried about no Mao. Her shit’s weaksauce. And when asked how he knows this, as if he has some inside knowledge, Johnny “One-Leg” #9 pipes in and says that #8 is all talk. All talk all the time. He knows nothing, like that Jon Snow guy. They get into a bit of a verbal tussle, and King slams his fatass fist onto the table.

Let me shoot the other one to even it out.

“Enough!” he bellows, filling his lungs with fluid. “I ask you here to get the measure of you and what do I see? Nothing of any weight. No one of any consequence.” His sons stare at him with alarm. He orders everyone except #8 to leave his sight. They make him sick!

King has allowed #8’s “indiscretions” for far too long! But the time has come to make a decision. Put aside all this nonsense with your religion and Message and Word and hoo-hah and bling-blah and piffle-fliffle!

“It’s not nonsense. It’s real. It’s what I believe,” #8 says coldly.

“I am real. Believe in me, boy! There is war in the air and it is fueled by fanatics and true believers of all stripes. Including your own. You will put this aside for me. Because I am your king and you will obey.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will… and I will have it no other way – you will fall in line.”

Because, and listen to this you little whippersnapper, you’re going to be King when Daddy Dearest kicks the bucket. On that day, you will learn that you can’t just BELIEVE anything you want to. You will need to keep your country together and act like an adult. I mean, Jesus Christ. Is that so hard to grasp?

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon…

Vizier tries to stop #8, but it’s too late. King sighs and slumps further down in his chair, looking mighty obese. This time when he asks why his bloodline is so weak, Vizier is left speechless.

Later, King checks out the geodesic object, which is apparently some sort of Zoom Meeting device! Thomas is on the line, his hologram looking blue and angry. “I want to talk to you… about justice,” King says. Ooooh, boy. Two in the chest and one in the mouth. That’s how you fill someone with bullets! Looking forward to it!

Next is the Black Towers, where Archibald is sitting next to Constance’s hospital bed. She’s in bad shape. Comatose, it appears. He smokes a cigar two inches from her face. “Mister President,” say a couple of guards entering the room dragging a sad sack of a disheveled husk of a man, “here’s the prisoner you requested.”

Bel Solomon tells Archibald to go to hell. Archibald tells his men to leave, “for there is no danger here… just mutual respect and undying admiration.” There’s sadness in Archibald’s eyes. He takes anothe drag of his cigar.

Fellate that thing with gusto, sir.

Archibald looks down at his niece and daresays that it seems some higher power will need to intervene to save her life at this point. Bel lightly tells him that, maybe, just maybe, if he cared, he would’ve kept her out of all this in the first place. “You knew what you were doing… and you knew how bad it could get before you got what you wanted… But all that mattered was you becoming president.”

Gee, that sounds familiar, just like this sad real life that I Iive in.

Archibald narrows his eyes. Surely, Bel, you should know that there was more to it than just that. Why, this doesn’t stop at the presidency! Come on, man, you’ve known Archibald for decades and you still don’t get it? “I’m just getting started, Bel. And I will lay down the lives of all I hold dear to win. Just you watch… I have something special planned for this world. Something special indeed…”

Bowling party? I hope it’s a bowling party.

Back in New Orleans, Freeman #8 returns to his home. It’s dark, perhaps no one is home. He tries to apologize out loud to the vizier Sharra, but he suddenly hears the sound of a gun being cocked. He stops dead in his tracks.

“What do you think you’re doing, love?” he asks as Sharra approaches with her weapon. “Please don’t move, John – not one inch. And put your hands up, away from your gun.”

He complies and asks why she would think he would ever shoot her. She tells him to keep his hands up. “And for the record, my love… I’d never shoot you either.”

BLAM!

He gets shot, lol.

But it’s a snipe hit by Thomas the Texas Rangin’ Hunter.

“There,” Thomas says to himself, looking at photos of Archibald and Bel Solomon. “And now only two more to go.”

Sharra drops her gun to her side and stares down at the floor mournfully. She gets Skyped by King, who asks her how many sons he has.

“Thirteen, my King… Thirteen.”

Final Thoughts

What a story! Chosen are getting picked off one by one. Who will be left? What’s the end game here? Is Superman going to swoop in and save the apocalypse? Because if he does I’m going to fuck that bitch up.