Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

Death Note, Vol. 1, Chapter 3 – “Family”

* Part 3 of 7 of Vol. 1 – “Boredom” *

Welcome to Manga Cum Loudly Presents: Death Note, Vol. 1, Chapter 3: “Family”! In the previous installment, there’s a super secret unknown detective guy named “L” who has taken on the case of the mysterious dead criminals. L bats 1000 on every case. He’s the best.

And he already knows Raito is located in the Kanto region of Japan. And since he is only known as “L”, Raito can’t murder him with pen and paper. This really sticks in Raito’s craw, and he vows to find this douchebag and kill him.

It all seems so very psychologically healthy.

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3
Written by: Tsugumi Ohba
Illustrated by: Takeshi Obata
“Family”

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

This chapter begins in the location of…a frightening, spiral tunnel of dead trees and skeleton pals? It must be other Shinigami, gossiping around the water cooler about that dumbfuck Ryuuku losing his Death Note and having it become instantaneously retrieved by the worst human on Earth who could have found it.

So now Ryuuku has to wait until the human dies OR the notebook gets filled up completely before he gets it back. And, as we all know, Raito writes in teeny, tiny, feminine scrawl. It’ll take decades.

Rumor has it, though, that Ryuuku has two notebooks. Plus, this guy wouldn’t be one to “accidentally” lose Death Note. This smooth operator probably did this on purpose.

Back in Raito’s homestead, they sit in silence. Ryuuku stares at the lad with reverent fixation. Raito doesn’t feel like doing anything about his situation just yet; he’s going to wait and see what the police come up with first.

“All you hear about these days is talk about L and Kira. I can’t escape it,” he mumbles, perhaps a little bit proud of his notoriety. He thumbs through a couple magazines that all claim that L and Kira are fictitious entities. Merely inventions of the police in order to scheme their way through assassinating political enemies. Yada yada yada. Raito’s just gonna take it easy and let it play out.

“‘Take it easy’?” mocks Ryuuku, “For somebody who’s got the entire world’s police force hunting for him, you sure have some confidence.”

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

If there’s one thing a Shinigami knows… *sunglasses* …it’s confidence, Jack.

Confidence! That’s the ticket. Confidence is what Raito’s got in spades, son. Confidence is why he knows he can fight back if the authorities start closing in on him. Fisticuffs! That’ll be a sight to see: Chapter 48, Raito flailing his limbs at the police in between breaths into his inhaler.

The knob on Raito’s bedroom door starts rattling. “Raito, why’d you lock the door?” asks his cloying, overly-happy sister. I think. The sound of the locked door rattling displays the following onomatopoeic cadence: KACHA KACHA KACHA! My favorite dance.

Raito panics. “Oh, Sayu. What is it?” he scrambles to hide his Little Black Book, a real Nixon’s Enemies List. “Help me with my homework!” she says. Whines, possibly. When the door is unlocked and Sayu makes her appearance, she looks annoying. She wears leggings and a frilly hip-level dress. “Quadratic equations!” she chirps. Raito accommodates. Ryuuku tells him to be careful. “If a human touches the Death Note, they can see me!”

Ha! That complicates things, doesn’t it! Looks like you need to find a fantastic hiding spot for your Book of Grim Death, poopypants. Might I suggest your cavernous butthole?

Raito smirks amusedly at the Shinigami, wondering why this important kernel of knowledge waited until now to make itself known. Sayu is being Mrs. Snoopy and prowling around Raito’s room.

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

Oh my, these ladies are doing unspeakable acts with sea creatures!

She happily discovers some porn on the floor. “So that’s why you locked the door! Any dirty pictures?” she interrogates with rapt attention. No way, sis! Gross! Raito is Japan’s most persisting incel and you know it! “I was taking a look at the article on L and Kira,” he claims, concealing his little teenage erection.

Sayu believes the story. After all, Raito has spoken on numerous occasions of his ambitions to become a police detective someday. Even Ryuuku starts to get nervous about this display of dishonest confidence. “But how long does he think this can last?” the smiling death fairy asks himself, “What’s he thinking?”

Elsewhere, the man know as L ruminates over his thrilling encounter with Kira. He plays back his recorded conversation with Mr. Death Note murderer, wondering aloud why, exactly, Kira wasn’t able to kill him. What’s the secret? What’s the angle? What’s the scoop? What’s the biz? What’s the skinny?

This L cat looks like a teenager too, honestly. Long, greasy hair. A t-shirt. Baggy jeans. “Did he just not try because I’m not a criminal? No…in that situation he definitely must have tried to kill me. So it must have been because he didn’t know what I look like.”

Wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG! He didn’t know your name, dingus! Haven’t you been reading this story?

Trenchcoat Man comes in on the laptop screen. Watari, L’s only contact. “The investigator’s report is about to begin,” he informs this disheveled L of a possible child. “Good, patch me through,” instructs L. He’s one accidental “Display Video” button away from revealing his super-secret identity. He should be wearing a bag over his head.

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

In other news: rain is wet!

The VICIOUS CRIMINAL SERIAL MURDERS SPECIAL INVESTIGATIVE FORCE (seriously, that’s the name of the department) briefs L on what’s what. It’s nothing groundbreaking.

OK, here’s some business: all the deaths occurred between 4pm and 2am, Monday through Friday, Japan time. Oooooh, a daily 10-hour window? That really narrows it down.

On weekends and holidays, there’s no consistent pattern.

Cool, bro. Not helpful. What else you all got? Sparky! You’re up!

The department has received 3029 calls from the general public. Most of them were inquiries about the legitimacy of the L broadcast, the legitimacy of L, the legitimacy of Kira. In short, the general public thinks this all a stupid, limp-dicked hoax.

14 calls were by individuals with claims that they are close personal friends with L or Kira. Butt buddies, if you will. None of them are credible.

21 people claim they ARE Kira! They’re looking into that.

Cool, bro! Not helpful! Still not helpful! What are y’all doing all day, daydreaming about getting that Marilyn Manson rib-removal surgery? Who’s got something useful to say?

Matsuda might. This guy stands up and gives his opinion that Kira killing all the criminals has brought crime down tremendously. Good for him!

*crickets*

OK, end transmission! BUT WAIT, ONE MORE THING! L has something to say, specifically to the Victims Unit, the Media Unit, and the Internet Unit. “I’d like you to carefully examine how the Japanese media reported information on these victims. I need to know whether or not images of the perpetrators were shown. Thank you for your cooperation.”

End transmission! What a big garbage bag of nothing. The Director of Murder Affairs, or whatever, tells his people to either “keep working or go home and rest up”, which sounds like a spineless display of leadership to me. Keep working! Or don’t! It doesn’t matter to me, I get paid either way!

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

Hey, wait a minute, I think you’re onto something here, sir!

The Director of Murdery Murders leaves the building and starts heading home, but this Matsuda guy catches up with him. “The announcement I made…’crime is falling’. If you think about it, everyone already knew. Do you think I should have kept it quiet?”

Director Spielberg tells him not to be ridiculous! All opinions are worth expressing, even the stupid ones! Just don’t…don’t, like, be TOO enthusiastic…like…outwardly, you know?

MEANWHILE, Raito is being quite the helpful, yet porn-addicted, older brother. He seems to be helping Sayu with her homework with poise and grace. Much like Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis! If you don’t get that reference, you need to watch more Seinfeld and read less fucking manga.

The doorbell rings. “Looks like Dad got home early,” Sayu observes. I don’t know about you, but when I come home from work I’m not ringing the goddamn doorbell to my own house.

“You’re back?” asks Raito.
“Yeah, I’m back,” answers his father.

His father is the Director! Oh snap, yo!

The family eats their evening meal while Ryuuku leers over them like an even more autistic Edward Scissorhands.

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

Would you like to join us for dinner? We have plenty of black squid ink California rolls and Mountain Dew.

The family has a very boring family conversation that isn’t even worth transcribing. Even the manga fan who translated this shit from Japanese to English shouldn’t have bothered.

“Dad, you seem tired,” Raito observes.
“Yeah, I’m working on a tough case, that’s why. It’s like trying to catch a ghost,” he mumbles tiredly. Like a tired man trying to catch a ghost, he is!

They’ve got a breakthrough in the case, though! Bitches being killed between 4pm – 2am on Mondays through Fridays. It’s possible the perpetrator is a student.

The room goes silent.

“Let’s not talk about this at dinner time,” urges Raito’s seemingly 19-year-old mother, but Dad presses on. “Raito’s helped me on cases before,” he adds.

IT ALL MAKES SENSE! Well, the confidence part makes sense, according to Autistic Edward Scissorhands. Dad’s a police detective. Director of Only Murders in the Building! The plot thickens like so much sweet, sweet gravy.

After dinner, Raito excuses himself and tells his mother not to enter his room. He’ll be cleaning. Yeah, cleaning. Cleaning his testicles completely free of semen, that is.

Mother is suspicious. She cleans Raito’s room EVERYDAY after dinner! Curious.

“Looks like my big brother’s growing up!” exclaims Sayu with misguided admiration.

Raito looks like he’s seen a ghost! That ghost his dad’s been chasing. Ryuuku eats this up. “Well, well, not only do they know you’re in Kanto, but they also know you’re a student.”

Death Note, Vol. 1, Ch. 3

Eat shit, Pops. I’m killing you next. You and every other police detective on Earth, bro.

Don’t worry, Raito’s always one step ahead…after he finds himself three steps behind! Confidence. Time to up his game. He rereads the Death Note rules to Ryuuku. The whole thing about not writing the cause of death within 40 seconds means it’ll be a heart attack, but writing the cause of death within 6 minutes and 40 seconds means it’s be whatever you want it to be: drowning in ketchup, masturbation fiasco, prolapsed anus, launched into space, choking on a rat! The possibilities are endless!

Nah, he gets boring with it instead. It’ll still be “heart attack”, but now he can add some conditions to throw everyone off the scent. Now people are dropping every hour on the hour, like clockwork. That shoots all sorts of Swiss cheese holes right through the student theory. Everyone at the VICIOUS CRIMINAL SERIAL MURDERS SPECIAL INVESTIGATIVE FORCE (or the catchy acronym “VCSMSIF”) is up in arms over this, but not L. This L fella tells everyone to cool their jets. “He’s trying to tell us…he can kill whenever he wants,” exclaims L over the laptop.

“He’s challenging me directly…” thinks L, the disheveled whipper-snapper.

At Casa de Raito, the little felon congratulates himself on throwing the feds off the scent. “However, there’s still another problem to face…you’re visible to whoever touches the Death Note right?” he asks the leather-clad death clown. That little tidbit of info scares Raito. He hasn’t taken the notebook out of his sight since, but he’s also incredibly nervous carrying it around town. One theft and it’s CHAOS. He’ll still need to keep it at home.

“If Kira isn’t careful…he’ll end up…KILLING HIS WHOLE FAMILY.”

*jovial end credits*

Final Thoughts

I hope Raito kills his whole family. Gonna have to kill Pops eventually! He’s like Walter White’s brother-in-law Hank, gonna have to go at some point.


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Black Country, New Road

Black Country, New Road
Look at these dorks. They look like kids in the marching band. They look like science majors. This was one of the first things that endeared me to Black Country, New Road: they look like regular, unassuming, young people. There’s never anything too flashy or overly artistic about their official band photos; they always look like friends hanging out in a park, or on a college campus, or in front a stage. Sometimes a couple of them are hugging, or a few have arms around someone else’s shoulders. They’re almost always smiling, not goofing off too hard or joking around or trying to look cool. The above photo looks like it was taken at grandma’s house. I find this simply wonderful.

Black Country, New Road is an ensemble cast of musicians from Cambridgeshire, England. The group formed a new band in 2018 after their old band splintered following a toxic band member’s history of sexual misconduct, and no one wanted to be associated with that asshole anymore. Isaac Wood (guitars/vocals), until February 2022, was their reluctant, fan-appointed frontman. He’s gone now! Mental health issues are a bitch. The remaining six members are continuing; they are Tyler Hyde on bass, Luke Mark on guitar, May Kershaw on keyboards + mallet percussion, Charlie Wayne on drums, Lewis Evans on saxophone + various other wind instruments, and Georgia Ellery on violin/mandolin/cello. They all agreed to split vocal duties following Wood’s departure, so now they have to get their chops up to speed.

As of this writing, they have two fantastic records under their belt. Now that Wood is gone, the band’s reinvention is simultaneously optimistic and unpredictable. Time will tell.

Black Country, New Road’s Bandcamp Page

JUMP TO:
(2021) For the first time
(2022) Ants from Up There

For the first time (2021) – Rating: 10/10
Click Here for the Full Album Review

Black Country, New Road - For the first time

The more I listen to this album, the more steadfast I remain in my position that it’s a modern masterpiece. I say that without hyperbole. Do you see that 10/10 up there? I ain’t foolin’ around.

I’ve already said quite a bit about For the first time, but an extra year of constant listening under my belt has allowed me to appreciate every nuance, every new element discovered each time I spin the record, and every member’s contribution to the project. From the bombastic klezmer “Instrumental” opener to the bombastic klezmer closer “Opus”, there’s almost nothing I can criticize…save for some of the slightly immature lyrics and namedropping, but it’s not enough for me to bring the score down. The music is too damn good.

At forty minutes with six tracks, the album’s structure is obviously a direct homage to Slint’s Spiderland, with the musical tension also comparable. However, Black Country, New Road has their own voice here. Between Isaac’s trembling baritone stream of consciousness ramblings and the post-rock progressions, this is definitely not the Steve Albini-style vocals and guitar-forward angularity of Slint’s effort. I will say this: BCNR are likely the first band since Slint to display mastery of the art of cathartic release.  I can’t think of many other bands in the last 30 years on the same level.

Isaac Wood brings most of the personality to the record, but the undisputed unsung hero of For the first time is Charlie Wayne on the drums. He knows when to maintain restraint (the constant, robotic cadence throughout “Science Fair”), he knows when to surprise the ear with elaborate drum fills (the whole “Instrumental” opener), and he knows when to hit that hi-hat pedal at the perfect moments (countless examples, but I like the ones on “Sunglasses”). Not to say that anyone else in the band is a slouch, but keep your eye (and ear) on Charlie Wayne. That kid is going places!

For my money, “Science Fair” and “Sunglasses” are perfect songs, from beginning to end. The former slowly builds tension the entire time. For six straight minutes! The progression of this track reminds me of the Swans krautrock exercises on their more recent albums like The Seer or To Be Kind. Chugging guitar, two passages of free jazz guitar/saxophone freak outs, immaculate crescendos, ominous keyboard loops, and a lot of Isaac Wood’s pained yelling. The best part is that the subject matter of the song is (from a big picture perspective) completely mundane and low-stakes. Just a pathetic, insecure, white guy point of view. But to be able to project the narrator’s real-time mental collapse about sometime mundane with such palpable, scary restlessness is genius. Genius! GENIUS!

Then “Sunglasses” is a just a beautiful piece of art during its entire 9:50 runtime. You get the first half, the slow fuzzed-guitar breakdown and pastoral post-rock whimsy as Wood contemplates his place in his family’s dynamic — in society, really. Then you get the second half, which weaves Wood’s untethered insecurities through the most catchy, atonal, ugly catharsis you’ll hear in your lifetime. Let’s not forget the album’s best line: “LEAVE KANYE OUT OF THIS!”

With a debut like this out the gate, with such a varied range of tones and emotions, it was impossible to know what was to come next. And that made the wait all the better.

Ants from Up There (2022) – Rating: 8/10
No Full Album Review Yet

Black Country, New Road - Ants from Up There

Don’t me wrong, an 8/10 is wonderful! An 8/10 is something to strive for! An 8/10 is nothing to sneeze at! And, in my gut, Ants from Up There is a solid 8/10!

I’ll cop to it. I had hyped myself up so hard for the second album that I think I was destined to be disappointed. HOWEVER, don’t let my personal tastes get in the way! This album is great! You’ll probably like it better than the debut, and that’s ok. I don’t, and that’s ok too. Two main reasons for my opinion: 1) there are very little, if any, moments of the kind of ugly catharsis that gives me that “oh wow” reaction, and 2) there’s a lot of filler.

Let’s start with the first point! Free jazz build-ups like the bridge in “Science Fair”? Sardonic, even mocking, saxophone responses in “Sunglasses”? Not here. All the catharsis is pretty. That first time the band revs up in “Chaos Space Marine”, with the fluttery flutes and Wood’s peak vocals (“So I’m leaving this body/And I’m never coming home again, yeah…“), the whole reason that the band has now been compared to Arcade Fire, is probably the best moment in the entirety of Ants from Up There. Those surprising, dynamic upper-register sax and piano phrases in “Haldern”? Absolutely exquisite! The last two slippery minutes of “Bread Song”;  the pathetically crushing romanticism of “Concorde” conveyed in one flawlessly delivered line: “I was made to love you/Can’t you tell?“; the final crashing denouement of “Basketball Shoes”. Hell, the entire seven minutes of “The Place Where He Inserted the Blade”, an ode to the vulnerability of a new relationship with a lot of baggage attached, is breathtaking. The instruments are woven together with the kind of positive energy that paints an immaculate, picturesque, sunny day. The vocal performances from Wood are emotive and run an impossibly genuine, wide range of feelings. From top down, this song is the album’s peak! …but, while this cherubic indie rock with a somber, almost sinister side is perfect on paper, I can only find myself admiring it from an analytical point of view. It just doesn’t hit me in that sweet spot.

The second reason for my slight disappointment? Filler. This album is almost twenty minutes longer than For the first time and it shows. Not bereft of musical ideas by a long shot, but many tracks meander or feel tacked on (I’m looking at you “Mark’s Theme), showcasing lulls that just weren’t present in the debut. The first album didn’t waste a minute; the second album is not as innocent. “Concorde” is a lovely song, but you can trim almost two minutes. “Good Will Hunting” is a middle-of-the-road offering, and while I like the cool buzzing synth imagery of, perhaps, the burning starship traversing the Milky Way, and the humor in the “Billie Eilish-style” refrain, nothing else stands out as particularly notable. “Snow Globes” is entirely disposable, I’m sorry. Even that intro track feels weak and pointless, like it was hastily recorded at the end of their sessions to get something to lead into “Chaos Space Marine”.

The positives overwhelmingly outweigh the negatives. I don’t think Isaac Wood peaked at all with this release, not even close. He had the potential to single-handedly define an entire generation of young musicians with his one-of-a-kind poetry and unmatched vocal performance. But, that’s not the path he wanted for himself. I hear he works in a cake shop now, keeping it real, working on maintaining a healthy mental wellbeing, and the world doesn’t need him to tough it out in the music business just to entertain dumbasses like me. I wish him the best.


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Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3 – “A Legacy Reborn”

* Part 3 of 12 of the Superman: Birthright limited series *

Welcome to Loneliness & Cheeseburgers Presents: Superman: Birthright, Issue #3 – “A Legacy Reborn”! In the previous installment, Clark Kent does a pretty poor job of keeping Kobe Asuru safe and he gets knifed in the gut. Abena is pissed, but Clark thinks he did the Ghuri a great service! Oh well.

Clark Kent goes home to his parents’ farm. After a small how-do-you-do, he tears up the barn to find his famous crashing-on-Earth-as-a-baby space pod. There he finds the large piece of fabric with the trademarked Superman logo on it (all rights reserved). He asks his mom to sew him a costume.

And the rest is history!

But no, we still have ten issues to read.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3 [November, 2003]
Written by: Mark Waid
“A Legacy Reborn”

Superman: Birthright: Issue #3

I think it’s nice that Clark’s mom sewed a costume for him at Age 25. If the guy’s so fucking super, you would think he’d be able to handle this task himself. Women’s work, I suppose, right Clark?

“It’s not like I can just take this project to a tailor. No… I think we’re wise keeping this all to ourselves,” muses Clark as he and his mom walk down the farm. A guy in the shadows is listening to all this. There’s always a Guy in the Shadows, isn’t there? Even when there really shouldn’t be any shadows to speak of.

Clark is positively excited that this is all coming together! Pants are moist with anticipation! He’s even got DRAWINGS and SKETCHES laid out on the kitchen table for the costume design and colors! And that dastardly Guy in the Shadows, he’s peeking in on this part too.

Never fret, dearest readers, the guy lurking is only Jon Kent the Chainsmoker. There’s a look of sadness in his eyes as he peers at his family in secret. He takes a trip to Clark’s childhood bedroom, which looks untouched since the day his boy left home…

There’s also a large hole in the ceiling, no doubt a relic of one of Clark’s early-aged misadventures.

“Son,” Jon comes back downstairs and tells his beefy hunk ‘o junior that he needs help with a few farm related farm chores. Clark is all yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah just a second pops.

Clark and Martha boot up Clark’s endlessly-charged Kryptonian iPad to view a picture of a few superheroey-types for reference. They look stupid in their costumes. Perfect!

Clark is currently wearing a “got milk?” shirt, lmfao.

They both start oohing and aahing and strokin’ and fawnin’ over all these really hot Kryptonian scientists and warriors. “They wanted me to carry on for them here…like it’s my calling, my birthright.” Ha, sounds familiar. Maybe they should make a limited series about that. Ooops! I completely forgot about Dad! He’s probably upset that I forgot all about him and his stupid farm work.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Sorry, Pops! The last two minutes and fifteen seconds really got away from me!

“Pretty soon, you can go play-acting in your little costume. That’s great,” Jon huffs as he walks on through.

It’s like, look dad. You should be happy I even bothered to come back. I was having way more fun in Ghana getting shot at.

Martha gives Clark a look like “BRORRT”, like “BZZZRT”, like the artist doesn’t know how to draw eyes or faces or noses or expressions.

Later that evening, Martha confronts her passive aggressive husband about his weird, closed-off behavior ever since THE LIGHT OF THEIR LIVES came home.

“Got no axe to grind. Don’t see the problem,” Jon grunts with a frown and tries to continue with his bedtime routine of bottling up emotions until he’s killing cows with his shotgun in a murderous rage.

Now’s not the time to shut down, sir. Clark is home and he’s at a very crucial turning point! Maybe talk to him and bring him back down to reality. Make him see that he’s still just like us!

“Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? He’s not.”

Martha freaks out at this and tells him to hush his goddamned mouth.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Whoops! Heh heh, super hearing! Look on the bright side, at least the bed springs aren’t squeaking.

The next morning, Martha talks about an early school memory where a science teacher posited the notion of alien life. The whole class laughed and laughed at this. Even Martha! Well, ever since Clark’s ship crashed, she wishes she could go back in time and apologize to that teacher. “Hardest secret I ever had to keep, Clark.”

Clark is barely listening. He’s snooping around the barn. “Found out last year that I could focus my vision like a microscope, and it’s been a while since I’ve examined the rocket.”

Martha starts guilting the lad about being away so long and visiting so infrequently. It’s not Clark’s fault that his dad doesn’t like reading emails! The old man can barely work a calculator. And not even one of those TI-83 Plus graphing calculators! Like, the solar powered ones that ain’t need no batt’ries.

“You’d think someone who didn’t get along with his own father would be a little warmer to his son,” Clark grumbles as he shoots eyeball lasers at a shoe for some reason. What he should know about Jon’s dad, Matthew Kent, is that he was a “spiteful, needy man who worked hard to make Jonathan feel stupid and insecure.” And how dare you entertain the idea that Jon feels any differently toward you now than he ever has before? Now go to your room, young man, or you’ll get such a spankin’.

So what’s up Dad’s butt? Martha doesn’t really know.

Jon walks into the barn and they’re both like “HA HA WE WERE JUST TALKING ABOUT YOU! Hehe, not like that, it’s all good! Hey, wanna see the progress on the costume?

Jon’s like “nah.”

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon/Little Boy Blue and the man in the moon…

Martha and Clark leave the barn to Jon. When they’re out of sight, Jonny Boy picks up a sledge hammer and starts bashing the rocket. Just wailing on it for about nine panels. It doesn’t scratch the thing one bit, but wooden pieces of the barn start splintering and breaking, effectively exposing the outside.

“Uh oh…” Jon thinks before the rocket blasts the fuck off outta there, punching itself through the barn’s framework and turning what was left of the structure into kindling.

Next thing Jon knows, he’s up in the air, safe from the harm of the collapsing barn. A frazzled, shirtless Clark holds his dad about 80 feet in the air. “What on Earth was that about?” Clark demands. Guess who has leverage here? Literally. Don’t anger the kid, he’ll drop you like a rock.

“No good reason,” Jon gibbers, referring to his insane outburst, “Pretty damn fool thing to do. Won’t happen again.” The dude is sweating bullets.

It dawns on Clark that he’s never actually taken his dad up to the sky before. He didn’t think Jon ever wanted to, but Clark was wrong about that. “Fly? Why wouldn’t I [want to]? Guess you don’t know me as well as you thought, huh? Don’t feel bad, Clark, that’s my fault…and now I’m paying for it.”

Clark starts taking the man back down to the ground, all the while Jon moans about not being a real dad and how big of a failure he is. He tried, OH DID HE TRY! But it was no use! Things are weird! Waaaahhh!! “A dad’s job is to give to his son. Pass along what he knows… and enough of who he is to matter. That’s their bond. And if ours was that strong, seven years apart wouldn’t wipe it out.”

Clark tries to start with a big “aww hell no, pops”, but Jon cuts him off again with another pile of speech balloons. Jon’s been quiet because he didn’t want to believe shit is broken between them! But when you, YOU, *shakes angry finger at his degenerate son*, you little snake, you want to CHANGE YOUR NAME? YOU WANT A NEW IDENTITY? What the fuck, kid??

This old man is reminded that he, too, left the house at 18. He, too, spent time as a young man trying to find his place in the world. He, too, embraced a journey to find a sense of self rather than let others decide who he was.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Who gives a shit about your courage, son? I certainly don’t! I’m a bad dad! Waaaahhhhhh!!!

So we’re a lot alike! Remember when you said that I wasn’t like you? No, I fucking HEARD you say it while I was jacking off 70 yards away from the house at 1am. Don’t try to backpedal on that one, Dad.

ANYWAY, Clark doesn’t want to find a new identity, per se. He doesn’t want to stop being Clark Kent. He just wants to find out what else can be incorporated into the whole Clark Kent package! And if that means sexy blue tights, then it means sexy blue tights.

And that also means NO MASK. “If I want people to trust me, they’ll have to be able to see my face.”

No mask?

NO MASK.

So, you’re anti-mask?

YES.

Son, you should wear a mask to protect yourself and others.

NO MASKS. I’M AN AMERICAN AND I HAVE THE FREEDOM TO REJECT THE TYRANNY OF THE MASK.

Ok then. I guess we have to figure out how to hide your real identity then if you won’t wear a mask. You’re making this hard for yourself.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Assless chaps are off the table, then.

First of all, no t-shirts. I can see your 40-pack abs. Every woman on the street will be drooling. Put on this sweater.

Next, let’s brush your hair. Can’t have a disheveled, homeless-ass-looking superhero.

OK, say something out loud…yuck, your voice sucks. Bring it up a notch and speak a little softer, you’re scaring the kids.

Slouch a little bit more, you’re standing up too straight. You look like some military asshole. Put on this suit jacket. Now you look like Don Draper! What do you think?

…

Not quite. Also, your eyes are WAAAYY too blue. You look like a creepy alien. Here, put on these nerd glasses. There, now your eyes are less… well, it looks better.

Superman: Birthright, Issue #3

Nice look, Four-Eyes. Did your mom dress you?

No one will ever guess that the tall, buff, dark-haired, blue-eyed man with the glasses is Superman! Very camouflaged. Incognito as all get-out.

Martha advises him to work on being a boring white guy, which means Clark really doesn’t have to change too much about himself. No one will think twice.

One last thing: working as a reporter? That’s just asking for trouble. You’ll be hanging with piranhas for eight hours a day. You’ll be around a bunch of people whose job it is to expose the truth. Do you think that’s wise, Clarky old boy?

YES! AND NO MASKS!

Fair enough. Now, hanging around a small town is no place for a guy like Clark. He has to be anonymous, and what better place to be anonymous then a large city? New York! Los Angeles! Even Gotham, ha ha! Where do you want to go?

No better place than a fake city like Metropolis!

Final Thoughts

I’m glad that this story started picking up a little bit. I was afraid Clark was going to be hopping around to different exotic locales just to accidentally screw things up for an endless cavalcade of innocent civilians.

I also like seeing more of the human aspect of Superman. He always comes across to me as some dimwit who brute-forces his way through every problem, but it’s nice to remember that he had a somewhat mundane upbringing. I’d like to see a lot more of the Smallville years someday.


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Paper Girls, Issue #4

Paper Girls, Issue #4

* Part 4 of 5 of the Paper Girls Volume 1 storyline *

Welcome to Ghostliness & Nerfherders Presents: Paper Girls, Issue #4! In the previous installment, Erin got shot in the gut with a gun, and I definitely haven’t seen a young girl get shot in the gut with a gun since Kamala Khan got shot in the gut with a gun! A futuristic dude in futuristic armor patrols the neighborhood killing “stragglers”, and he gets shot in the head with a gun!

The weirdos who stole Tiff’s walkie-talkie seem to be friendly. They’re teenagers!

Who knows where this is headed? I’m excited! Are you excited? Well, keep it in your pants, homeboy.

Paper Girls, Issue #4 [January, 2016]
Written by: Brian K. Vaughan

Paper Girls, Issue #4

An old man, wearing a Public Enemy t-shirt, wakes up to a phone call in a bedroom that better befits a child. The call comes from a woman dressed in futuristic armor, and she has her own Halo Energy Sword. “Aye up, Cardinal here. Maxima for callz, sir, but troubles. Alister’s ben unmoored.”

Cardinal is referring to Mr. Shot-in-the-Noggin’, who was hitherto unnamed. He lies dead in the street, in front of the now-abandoned car the girls were driving, with his faithful giant pterodactyl dragon buddy by his side.

“& de masters what did him hav ghosted. Badder, they maytooken stragglers,” continues Cardinal, peering into the empty car. This displeases Public Enemy Man greatly! Maytooken stragglers, you say? Unspeakable! “Best call down an Editrix,” he tells Cardinal, which she finds quite alarming. Apparently, an Editrix is a rather drastic measure indeed.

Public Enemy No. 1 is positive that the Editrix must be called down, as it were. So Cardinal radios the Editrix maybe? Hard to say, here are the dumb words she utters: “Tasking 1 to the rhymescene now. R killers canst run… but they willn’t get far.”

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Ay, yo, Chuck, I don’t understand this, man. Yo, we gotta slow down man, you losin’ them.

Enough of this, what are the titular Paper Girls up to? Aha! They’re having fun traipsing through the sewers! A perfectly safe place for Erin to be, just inches away from a river of fecal matter while she has an extremely infectable open wound. One of the mutant teengers cradles Erin in his arms. The three not-shot-with-a-gun girls bring up the rear, looking rather uneasy and suspicious.

“What’s the holdup, ladies?” says Mutant #2 through his Rosetta Stone decoder coin, “Let’s keep moving. Unless you want to take your chances out there with the old-timers?”

No, that’s not how it’s going to go at all. KJ’s gonna hold up the gun again is how this is going to go. “We’re not wading through another inch of this diarrhea until you tell us who you are and, and…and where you’re taking Erin,” she demands. Well, look, girl with the gun, you can hold everyone up if you want to, but the longer they all dawdle, the less of a chance there will be to save the dying girl. Word on the street is that there’s a device that can save her! By the way, Mutant #1 is named Heck. Mutant #2 is named Naldo. These are terrible names.

“That’s what the last guy promised us…before you murdered him,” says KJ, who makes a fantastic point.
“I didn’t murder anyone. I executed an evil son of a bitch,” says a rather self-righteous Heck, “Murder is what he did to my boyfriend.”

These 1988 girls ain’t very woke about that.

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Dudes kissin’ dudes? Not in Reagan’s America!

Heck brushes the reactions off. After all, 1988 was a fucked up time.

“Hold on,” begins Mac, “If this is all for real, why don’t you just turn back the clock to save your…whatever he was?”

Sorry, Mac, this is Lost time-traveling rules. Whatever happened happened!

Tiff asks where these dudes are even from. The answer is Thirteen. They’re from the year Thirteen. “We kinda rolled back the odometer after the Calamity ended all the–” says Heck, but he’s cut off by a mumbling, barely-conscious Erin: “…papers…please don’t forget…my papers…”

Mac is like, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, your newspapers. Who gives a shit? Newspapers don’t matter anymore. People are disappearing. Shit’s wack. Whatever.

A mysterious “AAAAOAAAAOAOAO…” echoes through the stinky sewers. Heck and Naldo are like awww hell no. Not the Editrix! Shit! “How could it even find us?”

It’s that translator decoder coin. Fuck, man, it’s been tracking them. How could they be so stupid?

And whatever an Editrix is, it looks like a large green orb with protruding robot eyeballs. It shows up. It starts attacking.

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Don’t you hate it when you’re traipsing through the sewers, minding your own business, and you get hunted down by the Editrix??

Welp, Heck was taken out. Naldo runs ahead still cradling Erin. The other three girls start freaking out. KJ aims the gun at the Floating Eyeball Orb.

“Shoot it!” yells Mac.
“I can’t!” yells KJ.
“You definitely can!” yells Tiff.

KJ admits, with wide regretful eyes, that she didn’t bring any bullets. So she can’t. It doesn’t look like a bullet would hurt this thing anyway. Might as well just throw the gun at it, maybe she can knock a robot eyeball unconscious.

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Ooooh, quite seductive. This floating eyeball orb’s got some moves.

The Editrix starts eyeballin’, as it were, Tiff. As you can see, it wraps a tendril around her neck and stares her down a bit. This cause’s Tiff’s pupils to become square, It looks like she starts flashbackin’.

A long montage is shown of Tiff in her living room playing Arkanoid on her NES. Summertime, after school, late nights, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, snowy days, springtime, rainy days, summertime again. Level 18, Level 21, Level 29, Level 35, getting better and better, obsessively breaking her own high score records…

I’m sure this will mean something later on, right? Hello? Anyone?

“LET GO!” KJ screams at the Editrix of Nostalgic Reminiscence. Mac tries to stop her, but KJ barrels forward anyway. She shoves Tiff down, which rips the cord right out of the orb. It starts emitting that AAAAAAOAAAAOAOAOAO sound again as it sprays red blood out of the new hole the girls just tore into the thing. Tiff snaps out of it. The Editrix seems to be temporarily incapacitated; long enough for Naldo to start spraying the fucker with laser gun lasers!

Now the Editrix is dead, if it ever was alive in the first place. Now it’s just a bloody lump on the sewer floor, looking like a Cacodemon carcass from the Ultimate Doom. Heck sits up and says something in his gibberish language. Mac is completely astonished that no one died.

“My…my life just flashed before my eyes,” says Tiff in a daze. “Most of it was just me playing the same dumb game. I didn’t even think I liked it that much, but now I realize I…I basically wasted my entire existence.”

Well, I’m glad we all came out of this experience a little bit wiser!

With everyone accounted for and definitely not dead, not even the girl who was shot in the stomach with a gun about two hours ago, the crew finally makes their way out of the sewer through a storm drain outlet in the woods near a small creek.

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, ladies.

Mac lights a cigarette. War is Hell, man. “So are we really following two perverts into the woods at night? You know how this joke ends, right?” Mac nudges KJ, but KJ is starting to get sick of Mac’s negativity. These perverts just saved their lives, all right? Mac’s not quick to trust these guys. Whoever they are, they’re still teenagers. Teenagers can’t be trusted. “Even my brother says they can’t be trusted, and he is one.”

So should you trust your untrustworthy brother about trusting teenagers? We’ve wrapped ourselves into quite a riddle here, haven’t we?

“So go back to the nightmare tunnels if you want, but I do trust these guys,” KJ stands her ground. We’ll see how that works out for her here in the Pervert Woods. Maybe they’re going to show the girls the box of porn they found.

Nope! Not a box of porn! The group comes across a very large object that looks like a front compartment of a space shuttle, just like one they found in a basement back in Issue #1. This is supposedly the device that will fix Erin; some type of healing chamber. Heck sticks his arm in a sphincter-like hole on the side of the machine, and a door opens with a vacuum-sealed hiss. The interior looks like Jabu Jabu’s Belly from Zelda: Ocarina of Time.

“This is mentally deranged,” observes Mac, cigarette now barely hanging onto the edge of her lip. Naldo carries Erin into the chamber. Heck follows. They say a few alien words to the girls and close the door.

That doesn’t seem foreboding at all!

“Now what? We’re just supposed to wait out here while they play Seven Minutes of Heaven in there?” yells an indignant Mac, but KJ still trusts the plan. Perhaps the three of them can keep lookout while the healing process takes its time.

Suddenly, the machine emits a burst of pale, pink light. It spins and contorts itself into a tornado of dimension-shifting fluid before disappearing completely in a wisp of pink smoke right before their eyes.

Paper Girls, Issue #4

Healing’s finished!

Oops!

“Did. Did they…?”
“Those lying assholes bailed on us! They kidnapped Erin!”
“Oh, fuck.”

“I fucked up,” KJ laments pitifully.

The three of them are alone in the middle of the woods. High above the trees, looking down on the three girls in the center of the clearing, are three manned pterodactyl creatures. One of them is Cardinal, readying her giant Halo Energy Sword.

Final Thoughts

Everything keeps breaking bad for the Paper Girls! Perhaps they should have all just slept in late that morning. Nothing good can come from trying to solve a mystery, I always say.


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Sucky Funnies for June 19, 2022

Happy Father’s Day! I spent the day doing dad shit like eat a carburetor and hitting golf balls in the grocery store.

Hey, the Sunday Funnies section also celebrates Father’s Day! Join me, will you?

Luann

Luann - June 19, 2022

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Yo Brad, I don’t know how to detail a car either, but I’m pretty there’s more finesse to it than slapping a large, wet, soapy sponge on it. Maybe. I have no idea.

I’m not sure how old Brad is, but I’m going to guess he’s at least 31, so fifteen years ago he was 16. Which means he REALLY fucking sucked at spelling! I’m sorry, you have to really suspend your disbelief for that joke to work. Still doesn’t change the fact that Brad should have probably moved out of the house by now.

I can’t wait to see all the boring old white people talk about their own adventures with car detailing in the comments.

Brdshtt: “My old man was a real schitt. He never let anyone else drive his car, and as a result, my Mom never drove a car her entire life. When I was young, I was allowed to wash and wax it though. The day before I was to start driver training in high school, my Mom pointed a finger at him and told him to get his azz in the car and let me drive. Prior to that, no one else was even allowed to put the key in the ignition and start it.”
blunebottle: “Old Car Sunday in the Park today in Mission, BC, in honour of Father’s Day. Hoping the rain holds off…”
w16521: “On this Father’s day, we mostly think of mom. Because lets be honest, dads just aren’t that important. This is why this day doesn’t get nearly the attention that Mother’s Day gets.”

Well, I was close, but it’s that final comment that really gets me. “Because lets be honest, dads just aren’t that important.” Well then, how I about I just disappear into the Japanese Suicide Woods and see how not important my daughters think my absence is! All I gotta do is get a plane ticket, and… ugh, that sounds like way too much work. I’m bored already.

Baby Blues

Baby Blues - June 19, 2022

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♪♫♫And the cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon/Little boy blue and the man in the moon♪♫♫♪♫♫
Look, I’m no professional comic strip writer kinda guy, but today’s Baby Blues would have been much better if they removed the last panel completely. OR, ended it with Darryl frowning in his chair with a thousand-yard stare in his sad eyes. Comedy!

Aladar30: “My phone talk with my father are all like that. Sometimes I wonder if this is beautiful or terrible.”
HappyDog: “Talking is women’s work, it seems.”
Bill the Nuke: “IF either of my sons call me today the conversation will be very similar to this at first. Then the oldest will hit me up for money.”

How depressing! And, in one case, unnecessarily misogynist! Looks like some of you need to learn how to be better dads and/or better children. Not anyone’s fault but your own.

Mallard Fillmore

Mallard Fillmore - June 19, 2022

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The writer(s) for Mallard Fillmore are more than happy to consistently pander to the Grumpy GOP demographic, so I find it ironic that the whining crybaby is the one who defends himself by using the phrase “tells it like it is”. That’s basically a republican credo. That philosophy is the reason they elect horrible loud-mouths with no filter.

It’s interesting to see the phrase in a context where the punchline involves a guy using these words against himself and his obviously subpar parenting. I consider this very telling.

ianoguy24 “Want to know why we (Conservatives) don’t trust the MSM? Example: Taylor Lorenz of the Washington Post. Another example: Gabriela Miranda of USA Today. Yet, Libs will still defend them even AFTER their fabricated quotes and stories are proved to be fraudulent.”
rayg: “NAACP and BLM demand that Father’s Day be moved to some other month than June because it now falls too close to Juneteenth. In fact, this year they fall on the same day. NAACP and BLM says that having Father’s Day so close to Juneteenth is racist because it makes absent black fathers look bad. [Did I make that up or am I just prophetic?]”
sherlock1234: “Walmart decided to stop selling MyPillow products in its stores. Walmart executives said they just found out that My Pillow was made in the US by US workers and not China. We have rules about where our products are made, they opined.”

God, I love the Mallard Fillmore comments section. Just a bunch of purple-faced cranks who go to a comics website to rehash all the points they already made over at Truth Social. It’s summer, go outside.

Garfield

Garfield - June 19, 2022

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BONUS STRIP! I don’t usually put four strips in these features because I’m lazy as all get-out, but today’s a special day! It’s Garfield the Cat’s 91st birthday! Happy birthday you fat piece of shit. Snarf indeed.

I find today’s strip extremely offensive, and I get more and more offended as each year passes by, because there is not ONE mention of Juneteenth to be found! At all! Far be it from me to expect any representation of people of color WHATSOEVER within this stuck-in-the-past comic strip, but to not even acknowledge the holiday at all? Disgusting.

Храм С.О.Д. (Templo S.U.D. ucraniano): “no cake, cupcakes, nor punch (or limeade or even Mountain Dew?) for Odie, Liz, and Jon?”
baleyeman42: “Happy birthday, happy birthday, whoopdy doo whoopdy doo, May your day be pleasant, open up your present, just for you, just for you!”
huntingforgarfield: “Happy 44th Birthday, Garfield!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I used 44 exclamation points.”

Wow, what a surprise, a slew of bigoted individuals with their heads in the sand. If this is where America is headed, then I for one can be counted out. Good day.


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