Huh.  Title “optional” it says.  Weird.  But, since I’ve been having a taste of the alcoholic nature this evening whilst watching “The Rum Diary” with my beloved Sweet baby,  thought I’d share a couple of quick things.  Also, as an experiment, I’m not saying shit about this on Facebook or whatever.  Just to see how many people are actually paying attention.  Ah!  A challenge!  Of sorts, I suppose.


Anyway, here’s a neat stat.  I started this blog at the end of July, last year (whatever the fuck year THAT was) and anyway, I  have had 31,443 people read it since then.  I think that’s pretty awesome.  It’s not the most.  It’s not like I work for “Cracked.”  But I like it.  Good stuff.  Thanks.  (I say this to YOU because I know you just read it, and are one of the people that “get it.”  Seriously.  Thanks.  For all the shares, likes, etc. as well as your comments.  And for reading my fucking dreck this long!)


And something else weird, ethereal, and awesome happened to me this week.  As some of you know, I work in the Radio Entertainment Industry (one of my very FAVORITE industries!) and so I found myself at a particular New Car/Used Car Sales Lot o’ FUN, MOTHAFUCKA!  Thi is one of the places we, the lowly “rock jock” find ourselves all the fucking time, trying to suck the teat of the corporate madre in order to pay our mortgage.  No matter.  It was okay.  $150 for four hours work.  Not bad.  No matter.  Because here’s the AWESOME part.  While I’m out there, talking to some old guy with a cane who had come there (ostendibly) to look at vehicles, I learned that he had owned an original German Opel like the one driven by a chick I crushed on in High School, but also had owned an original 3-cylinder Subaru.  Dude was cool.  Anyway, his kid(?) came up later and also spoke with me.  He didn’t say one word about the radio station I work for.  Instead, he said ‘Hey!  I read your blog!  I’m “Umm…yeah!” ‘  


That.  Was. Awesome.  Did he hear about this blog on the radio?  Good chance.  But what made me smile is that he was more interested in this blog than me playing Nickelback and telling dick jokes.  That made me feel really good.


So thanks, dude.  And thanks to you.  Seriously.  I want to kiss you.  (Some of you more deeply than others.)  As a reward, here’s my wife and me on our ten-year anniversary cruise.  We had walked all over the goddam Bahamas and were tired, hungry, thirsty, and sweaty.  Perfect.


Kindness Ninjas

(4/25 UPDATE! Barry Thickk, my old partner in crime, pointed out this post on The Chive today.  Synchronicity?  Someone biting my rhyme?  A little of both?  No matter.  As long as people are getting the message!  Oh, and KCCO!!)

This particular blog is for the betterment of mankind.  Sort of.  I have, as usual, a jumble of thoughts rolling through my head and wanted to put them down on, uh…html? Anyway, my friend Kassi suggested via Twitter that I need to blog today instead of playing XBox.  She’s having a bad day, so I’ll indulge her.  BTW, Kassi is awesome, adorable, and a blogger in her own right. (And, ahem…single, fellas.)  BTW, I’m in a cursing sort of mood, so I apologize  in advance for the number of “fucks” that will likely end up in this post.

Kassi is hella cute. maybe TOO goddam cute...

I wanted to get away from the sci-fi/comicy geeky goodness that so often permeates my blog entries and get into some randomity.  The good kind!  I had a college professor named Gavin Whitsett.  He was a true hippie.  He didn’t go all tie-dye and Birkenstocks, but  when you saw his worn tweed jacket and long hair you knew who he was immediately.  Wire-rimmed glasses and a permanent smile completed the picture.  Anyway, Gavin had written a few books about “Guerrilla Kindness” and for a while in the mid-90’s you heard people saying things like “I practice random acts of kindness!”   He was great.  And for an author living in Evansville, IN his impact was huge. Dude was on Oprah, for God’s sake. He also ran a public radio station for a while.  Gavin knew how to communicate.  It is in his memory (RIP, sir) that I pass along some of things I try to do on a regular basis to make the world a little better.  And a word of warning:  if you’re doing nice things for people in the hopes that someone will notice and say “Wow!  You do nice things for people!” then you’re doing it wrong.  The acts of kindness must be anonymous.  Discreet.  You are a ninja of goodness.  Got it?

Get it? There's a Gorilla...and it's Guerrilla Kindness, so...aw, fuck it.

You know how you’re driving around the parking lot looking for a space close to the entrance?  Especially in the dead of winter or the heat of August?  Do everyone a favor and leave the good spots for someone else.  They’ll never know.  They’ll just turn up an aisle and go “Wow!  A spot two stalls away from the door!  And here am I with these twin babies that I must safely and warmly ferry inside!  What luck!”  But it isn’t luck.  It’s kindness.  Well done. Along those lines, carry some extra change in your car.  I love doing this one, but it can sort of backfire.  While doing a weekly radio event called “Bear on the Square” in downtown Ft. Wayne, I usually park in metered parking.  I pay up my maximum of two hours, then if I have any leftover change I’ll put it in the meters on either side (provided there’s a car parked there.  Otherwise you’ve just wasted fifty cents, asshole!)  The drawback is this: once, as I made to leave, I overheard a larger fellow mutter “Huh!  I walked all the way out here and somebody done fed the meter!”  He didn’t sound angry…but disappointed, either because he REALLY loves putting coins in that thing and I robbed him of his glory, or he hates walking.   At least he saved a few coins and got some exercise.  Double-win, if you ask me. You know another easy car-related piece of kindness?  Letting another driver merge.  Even (and this is the tough part) if said driver is being a douche.  There are two kinds of bad mergers: the asshat that knows the lane is about to close and he needs to get to the right but guns it as fast as he can to bypass everyone, hoping he gets in ahead and then there’s the old person who c r e e p s her car forward about ten centimeters at a time, terrified of the oncoming horde of metal and glass shrieking and honking her way.  You’ve encountered both of them.  Now and then, let ’em in anyway.  The first guy I mentioned is probably some date-rapist that reeks of Drakkar Noir.  But he could also be an undercover cop or have a wife delivering a baby in the passenger seat.  You never know.  Letting Captain Fuckstick in that one time might save a life.  Prolly not.  But it’s still a kindess. Here’s another simple idea:  say “Bless you” when someone sneezes.  Even if they never say “thanks” or even acknowledge your kindess.  Sometimes I’ll hear what I think is a sneeze and say “Bless you!” and the other person replies with “It was a COUGH you moron!”  Big fucking deal!  Cough, hicup, spasm, orgasm…I don’t care what the fuck caused your problem, buddy.  I’m being kind, so fuck you!  And bless you, while I’m at it!

However, if THIS happens, I'm calling you an ambulance.

And I guess that’s the real lesson here.  Gavin would shake his head and smile if he heard me talk like that.  But he’d be okay with it, because it proves that even the surliest, mangiest, tatted-up, swearing-like-a-sailor bastards and bitches can be good.  That guy with an eyepatch and septum piercing that just held the door for you?  He’s one of us.  That geek in the “Bazinga!” t-shirt that helped you track down the papers you just dropped to keep them from blowing across the quad?  He’s one of us, too.  He’s just wearing a stupid fucking t-shirt from the most awful show ever.  We’re kindess ninjas.  We’re usually unseen.  But we’re there…lurking…waiting to strike. There are literally thousands of little ways to make the world a little less sucky for others.  I can’t wait to see some of your ideas (hint!) in the comments section. In the meantime, have a great day, fuckers!

Super. Hawt. (Part Three)

Before we continue with the hottest ladies of Comicdom, some honorable mentions:  Characters that almost made the cut, and why they didn’t…

PSYLOCKE.  Sorry, doll…mental powers are a dime a dozen, especially in the Marvel Universe.  You wear a thong.  Awesome.  Gotta do better than that, though.

BLACK CANARY. Oh, you wear fishnets and can scream really loud?  Congratulations!  You’re a Derby Girl!

STORM. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always found ‘Roro to be stunningly beautiful.  Just not “sexy.”  Much like Cindy Crawford.  Actually, I preferred the punk-rock Storm from the late-eighties romance with Forge.  But then she went back to her Wind-Goddess kimono look and lost me.

SCARLET WITCH. That headpiece/mask thing always made her look like Count Chocula.  Can’t get down with that.

BLACK CAT.  You’re a silver-haired Catwoman wannabe.  Yep. Somebody had to say it.

Okay then!  Without further ado….as Casey Kasem would say, “On with the countdown!” Only these aren’t numbered, so…dang it.  Forgot to number these.


Confession time. I have never seen “X-Men: First Class.”  Missed it in theaters and Redbox.  It ain’t on Netflix.  Thus, I am out of the loop.  As a result, everything in this entry is from my own comic-book research and memory.  So shaddup if it doesn’t jibe with what you know. Moving on…The White Queen first showed up in the pages of the Uncanny X-Men in 1980 as part of the evil Hellfire Club.  Back then she was (like EVERYBODY ELSE, APPARENTLY) a psychic.  When they started rebooting all the story lines a few years back, a lot of characters developed “secondary mutations.”  For example, the Beast actually started looking like a large, blue cat.  Because of course he did.  Anyway, one of  the additional mutations given to The White Queen (now simply Emma Frost because she’s totally good now, you see) was the ability to harden her skin into diamonds or somesuch.   Oh, she also sometimes bangs Cyclops.  Dude has a thing for psychic women.  Weird.  Finally, Emma looks a lot like Jenna Jameson.

The left is a comic panel from 1980. The right is my spank bank, circa 2002. Uncanny, no?


Confession part two.  The only reason I know ANYTHING about Power Girl is because sooooo many chicks cosplay as this character, I had to find out how legit she was.  The answer?  Totally.  Also?  Why didn’t they just call her “TitWoman” or “Super Rack” or something?  Seriously!  She was introduced as the Earth-2 Supergirl or aw-fuck-it-close-enough back in 1976 and even then they had her jugs hanging out all over the place.  No logo or design on her costume.  Just cleavage.  As far as I can tell, she’s got all of Supe’s powers, being his Kryptonian cousin (reason number 568 to dislike Superman?  His family was apparently the 1% of Krypton.  THEY all managed to get off the planet.  Wonder how many hard-working farmers and union men did?  Not many.  Fascists.)  And Power Girl once beat down Wonder Woman. So I guess she ain’t all bad, and honestly, deliberate jug-revealing cut-out aside I like her neat, clean uniform.  It’s almost realistic.  Except for, you know…those.

Look at 'em! LOOK AT 'EM!! And keep in mind this was how they drew her 30-plus years ago!


Ah, there she is!  You knew I was gonna make you wait, yeah?  Yeah.  Selina Kyle.  One of Batman’s oldest frienemies.  Lover. Adversary.  She is the sexiest hero/villainess in comicdom.  Period.  Because she’s a bad girl.  Because she’s messed-up.  Because she displays the occasional glimpse of conscience. Because she has on at least one occasion whooped Batman’s ass.  Because the leather.  Because  Eartha Kitt.  Because Julie Newmar.  Because Michelle Pfeiffer and Halle Berry and Anne Hathaway. Because the modern day “Hush” storyline.  Because cats are sexy, and black ones can be bad luck.  Just like a woman.  Just like her.  She’s dangerous, and we love that about her.  Guys often complain about how girls always fall for the “bad boy.”  Well fellas, spend some time with Ms. Kyle.  You’ll have a new perspective.

Now KISS!!


Yes.  You knew she had to be on this list somewhere, right?  Even though the list is in no particular order, Catwoman and MJ had to be near the end.  It’s for the same reason that the milk is always at the back of the store…you have to walk all the way back to get it, and might be tempted to pick up a few other items along the way.  And no, my fascination with Mary Jane is NOT because we share a last name.  That would almost be gross. Almost.

Hey, it was good enough for the King...

No, Ms. Watson makes the list because she encompasses so many of the great things about the women on this list.  The confidence of She-Hulk.  The attainability of Gwen Stacy.  The spunk and attitude of Catwoman.  Plus, she’s a redhead.  And since day one, artists have drawn her to be as absolutely foxy as possible.

Exhibit A:

Wow...Lindsay Lohan used to be HOT!!

Exhibit B:

My Spider-sense tells me there a Chai Latte nearby...

Aaaaaand Exhibit C:

There really are no words...

Take a good look at that last image.  She’s sad, because her man has to rush off to risk his life to keep everyone safe. (Also because her Chai Latte is getting cold.  Seriously, chick loves her some hot beverages!)  But she’s proud of him, as she wears his logo on her t-shirt.  She’s also sad because the paper keeps calling him a menace when HE’S CLEARLY NOT!!  Basically, MJ is every wife of every deployed soldier, cop, or firefighter.  She’s proud of him and scared to death for him.  And she’s tough enough on her own, too.  How many bad guys have tried to use her as bait to catch ol’ Web-Head? (Um, sorry Gwen!) How many attempts have been made on her life by revenge-seeking psychos?  And yet never once does she run away or say “Fuck this!  I love you Peter, but I don’t wanna get killed by some loser with a ski mask and bad monologues.  Not worth it.  Bye.”  Nope.  A keeper, this one. She is hot.  She knew Petey in high school when he was a wimp, and maybe even loved him anyway.  She’s tough and funny and GOOD GOD, LOOK AT HER!!  She’s the girl next door.  She’s almost out of your class, Tiger.  But when she smiles at you…oh, boy.  Oh, boy.  She is love. She is sex.  She is loyalty and friendship.  She’s human.  She’s the best.

(Ed. Note: The artist responsible for that iconic final Mary Jane panel is J. Scott Campbell.  He draws Disney princesses that will make you hafta excuse yourself to your jack-sock.  Check him out here.  You’ll thank me.)

Super. Hawt. (Part Two)

Okay then.  Let’s get to it! And we’ll start with one of the greatest paragons of the Empowered Woman in any medium.  No, not Wonder Woman.  We’ve already been over this, people.  No, I’m talkin’ bout…


Yes, her name is vaguely sexist.  Considering that her debut was in 1980, after a decade of women’s-lib protests and ERA debate, they could’ve done better.  But they also could’ve done MUCH worse.  Hulkette?  Hulkina?  At least “SHE” was front and center, and very much countered the “HE-man” mentality so prevalent before men learned to enjoy quiche. Her back-story went like this: Jennifer Walters, successful attorney and daughter of an LA County Sheriff, also happens to be the cousin of one Dr. Bruce Banner.  You already see where this is going.  She gets shot by mobsters the same day ol’ cousin Bruce happens to be in town.  She needs a blood transfusion, their biological DNA and blood types match, so ta-dah!  Bruce’s blood saves her!  But then mobsters try and finish her off and she gets mad and BLA-DAMMM!!!  She-Hulk.  But what makes She-Hulk so damned cool is that she learns to control her Hulk-Out episodes and decides to STAY THAT WAY ALL THE TIME.  She ends up being literally perfect: the brains and legal smarts of Jennifer Walters, the long legs, huge boobs, and killer smile of She-Hulk.  Oh, and even though she’s not quite as strong as her male cousin, she’s bad-ass enough that she fills in for the mothafuckin’ THING in the mothafuckin FANTASTIC FOUR for a spell.  So let’s recap:  she’s a brilliant trial lawyer who happens to be tough enough to replace a guy whose catch-phrase was “It’s CLOBBERIN’ time!”  She took the job of one of the toughest men on the planet and didn’t miss a beat.  Also, the price she paid for her new-found beauty?  She’s green.  That’s it.  She’s a woman who is comfortable in her own skin, literally, and isn’t afraid to flaunt her sexuality while maintaining the respect of her co-workers (who happen to have SUPER POWERS) and pursuing legal justice at the same time.  There is no female character more complete and THAT, friends, is what makes her so damned sexy.

If only she'd prosecuted OJ...


You know that old Beatles/Elvis argument?  That you can enjoy both but always prefer one over the other?  Turns out that the same applies to the weed/booze and Marvel/DC dichotomies. I must confess that I have always preferred Marvel’s products until they go off the rails (cough! mutantmassacre. cough!) and then I dive into the DC universe and remember that they have some great titles.  During one of these spells I got heavily into the Teen Titans, and, well…Starfire.  Good God.  She’s an alien princess who can harness solar energy or somesuch to allow her to fly and fire energy bolts or what the hell ever man, TITTIES!!!  Sorry.  Also, when she flies her hair appears to be her primary means of propulsion and TITTAYS!!!  Okay, so I don’t remember as much about her back-story other than I think she was dating Nightwing. And that her skin was a golden yellow-orange, much like Snooki.   A friend of mine from college (cough! DamonMiles. cough!) pointed out on Facebook that between Orion Slave Girls, She-Hulk, and Starfire, I certainly go for chicks with otherworldly skin-tones.  To which I reply “Oh, yeah? well…” and my voice trails off as I stare down at my Chuck Taylors.  Goddammit.

And let's be clear: this is from an ACTUAL comic, not fanboy art. I would STILL spank to this. And by "would" I mean "just did."


A moment of silence, please.

Thank you.  Sometimes when I drink my Yoo-Hoo wif mah krew, I pour a li’l out for GS.  For those of you that don’t know, Gwen was not “super” in any way.  She was simply Peter Parker’s first love.  The Green Goblin (SPOILER ALERT!)essentially killed her.  Spidey tried to save her, and, um…might have caused the whiplash that killed her.  But let’s face it, after being thrown from that bridge, she was a goner anyway.  Spidey tried.  Spidey failed.  This is why I love comics. And specifically why I prefer the likes of Spidey or Batman to Superman.  They’re not perfect.  Not by a longshot.  Anyway, Gwen was beautiful, blonde, smart…and human.  A regular girl.  Obviously Peter Parker fell for her pretty hard, but, c’mon…dude was a scrawny geek.  Having been a scrawny geek most of my life, let me tell you that we still aim pretty high. Gwen was pretty amazing.  But she’s still not as hot as that other girl next door…(BONUS SPOILER ALERT!  You-know-who is on the list later, Tiger.)

Remember, skinny geeks: this could totally happen to YOU!!


Okay, here’s the thing: I don’t really know what it is about Rogue that made her one of my faves.  Maybe it’s that streak of white hair.  Maybe it’s her southern accent (“Sure thing, sugah!”)  Maybe it’s because you never really knew where she was coming from.  Her connection to Mystique…her stealing of Carol Danvers’ life essence…her memory gaps.  But let’s be honest, the hottest thing about Rogue has always been that you can’t touch her.  She absorbs powers, thoughts, etc. by skin contact.  So you’d have to have sex whilst wearing a wetsuit/condom contraption.  Which is pretty goddam sexy on its own, amirite?  Hello?  Is this on? Dang.  Rogue is forbidden fruit.  And boy, isn’t that always the tastiest?  Let me go ahead and answer that one:  yes.  Yes, it is.  Sugah.

She can steal your entire identity though skin contact. Totally worth it, really.


Super. Hawt. (Part One)

‘Bout time I got another blog out.  Yeesh!  Been a crazy couple of weeks, kiddies.  Sorry for the delay.  Now then…

A few weeks ago I decided it was high time I wrote a blog dedicated to one of my very most favoritest of things about comics.  And by “comics” I mean Comic Books.  Many folks have only recently discovered the medium (and we welcome you) through Hollywood’s current obsession with turning anything print-related into cinematic masterpieces (“Rise of the Silver Surfer” for the MOTHERFUCKIN’ WIN!!!)  This is one reason why I am not at all against rebooting the Spider-Man franchise: the more folks that decide they like that character and want to delve further into his universe, by all means!  The problem is when people watch something like “Silver Surfer” or “Ghost Rider” and are turned-off of the comics medium forever.  You can almost hear them: “Yep, I knew that was a buncha geek shit.  I was right. ”

Anyone else thinks he should be asking about the whereabouts of John Connor? Also, maybe he should put on some pants?

But anyway.  I was born in AD 1970 (by your Earth-man reckoning) and raised in a time long before the Internet.  Hell, we didn’t start stealing cable until I was about twelve.  If you’ve ever tried to watch scrambled adult movies for that one-fifteenth-of-a-second glimpse of areola, then bub…you haven’t lived.  You also don’t appreciate how good you have it now.  EPIPHANY: This is my generation’s “walking a mile through the snow to get to school” story.  “When I was your age, we had to scan the scrambled channels for hours in the hopes that Shannon Tweed would pop a nipple out and we’d be able to see through the miasma long enough to enjoy a blurry red-and-green smudged bouncing tit.  AND WE WERE HAPPY FOR THAT TIT!”  We were.  We really were.

Wait for it...wait for it...GAH!! FOILED AGAIN!!

But if, like me, you were into comics by that time, well then…It wasn’t quite porn, not even soft-core.  It was miles shy of even Playboy.  But it’s not too long a stretch to say that the babes rendered by the likes of John Romita, Jr. and John Byrne were our version of MAXIM’s “Hometown Honeys” or whatever they call that cheesecake.  It was a simple eight-color version of the SI swimsuit issue.  It was glorious.  Seriously, there was a story line in X-Men where Rogue was trying to sort out her memories from those of Carol Danvers (Ms.Marvel) and she goes on a soul-searching walkabout of sorts.  There are a few panels where Rogue is wearing…wait for it…a black bikini.  I literally fell in love.  John Romita Jr. wasn’t always my favorite artist, but the way he captured Rogue, Kitty Pryde, and Storm always worked for me.  In a very real sense.  Ahem.  I also just realized that my mom is reading this entry.  Moving on…

Ladies and gentlemen...John Byrne's She-Hulk. The defense rests.

So that brings me to this disclaimer:  this blog is, and always will be, MY opinions.  Therefore, they are not always going to be the POPULAR opinions.  So, like any ranked list, my choices are going to be different than yours.  So let’s just get this argument out of the way right now:  Wonder Woman is not, and never will be, on my top-hotties list.  Apologies to my gay male friends and to one very-perturbed Kansas City roller derby goddess.  I’ll let you shout at me for a minute, then I’ll give you my rationale.  We good?  Got yourself under control?  Okay.  My argument follows:

Wonder Woman is stupid. <ducks flying debris…>  Seriously.  Allow you and me to have us a virtual conversation (I’ll play both parts.)

YOU: Wonder Woman is awesome.  She’s an Amazon Princess, who…

ME: Like, South American?  From the Amazon River?  That IS pretty badass!

YOU: No, like the old Greek Island Amazon.  They wear togas and such.  Anyway, she’s got these bracers (don’t call ’em bracelets!) that allow her to deflect bullets!

ME: Wow, that’s some serious ninja-shit!  I like her!  Tell me more!

YOU: Okay, she also has this “Lasso of Truth.”  If she snares you in it, you–

ME: Wait – lasso?  Like, rope?

YOU: Yeah, like I was saying, when she ropes you, you have no choice but–

ME: Like “Wild West” lasso?  Is this Amazon Island near Tombstone?

YOU: What?

ME: Just figured, you know, maybe she was really a cowgirl or something.  Her backstory would be a lot better if she were actually Annie Oakley with amnesia or some shit.

YOU: No!  It’s just…a lasso!  I mean, maybe they had to break their own horses on the Amazon Island!  Anyway, she also has an invisible jet, so she–

ME: You’re fucking with me now.

YOU: No, no!  It can’t be seen with the naked eye, and–

ME: So an island civilization that apparently still ropes and breaks their own wild horses, and which has apparently been overlooked by, you know, THE FUCKING WORLD for centuries also manages to have the technology and the actual physical manufacturing wherewithal to produce the greatest stealth technology the world has ever seen?  And they make exactly ONE of them?  And give it to a Princess so that she can go to the United States and fight crime?  With her lasso?

YOU: Look, it’s not like that!  You see, she started out fighting Nazis, and–

ME: Oh, like Captain America?  Was she frozen in ice like him?  Not that his story is plausible, mind you, but at least it’s something.

YOU: Just…NO!  Just, listen!  Okay, so…fuck, where was I?

ME: Aaaaand scene.

Okay, then.  Break into groups and discuss.  When next we speak, class, I’ll have the hottest babes from comics.  And NO Wonder Woman.  Sorry.  My blog.  My rules.