If you’ve ever come across Peter Popoff’s show, you’ve seen him shill his “Miracle Manna”, which is supposed to cure everything from paralysis to crabs, so when I wanted to give good ol’ Bible Thumper a sidekick, a Preacher Man Popoff-knockoff seemed to fit.   I went to Coney Island this summer, and there I actually did see a “Shoot the Freak” attraction, with an armoured-up break-dancing 16 year-old black kid.   I also saw a homeless fella with Henkl’s false leg, which was pretty damn cool, I thought.  Ah, New Jersey…. 

  The singers lyrics were from a band that opened for Ani Difranco when I saw her in March, they had a Sun Mother, Breast Milk Mother and Ovary Mother thrown in there too.  The punk amputee’s face was inspired by this image I saw from an award-winning Spanish billboard from the 50′s, he was real lean and striking, morose intense eyes.   Finally, when I was 18, away from home in Red Deer (the armpit of Alberta), and starved for any gay contact, I looked up “homosexual” in the phonebook –  this was Red Deer remember –  and the only entry was for “Homosexuals Anonymous”.  I dialed the number and got a message that informed me of a 12-step program, not a place to get “kicks”.  Thankfully no one picked up, although I can almost guarantee I would have gotten laid with one of those sad men. 

For those of you unable to view “Hike Into Horror II”, the problem should be solved now… The seeds of this cartoon were planted back in 1998, the year that a young, virginal Miss Spears appeared on the music scene, and some of the critics started to whisper of “a new Madonna”.  A good friend of mine, Adam, was ga-ga over this transparent tart, and he made me gnash my teeth and foam at the mouth as he began to switch alliances from Madonna.  It was then that we made a bet: that in 10 years, Britney would not have the same career that Madonna had 10 years into her career, not only that, but I said she’d be a washed up has-been.  I’m so smart…but in 2008, Adam refuses to pay up.   In reality, I’m a huge folkie, and Thomas’ favourite album is also mine.  What Myles used the CD for is also an opportunity to segue into an important issue for me – choosing the right CD with which to snort coke from.  Because I hardly ever touch the stuff, I approach it with some awe, like you did a joint when you were 14, and I think there should be some pomp and ceremony around cutting up a line.  It’s a self-important, ego-inflating drug, and the surface you snort it offa should reflect that.  A Joni Mitchell CD or a plastic cutting board?  Naw, y’gotta go with a black marble countertop, the cistern of a bathroom-stall toilet, Guns & Roses’ “Appetite For Destruction”, Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid”, or any Whitney Huston album.  That last one kinda makes me think, maybe that’s how Britney’s descent into “Fat Elvis” mode started: the bad choice of snorting a line off of “Baby, One More Time”…

On this night, the dead creak and shift in their graves, the Vampires sharpen their teeth, the witches polish their caldrons, and the WereHetros prowl the premises of Hooters…     This story was adapted from a 1950 “Vault of Horror” comic book.  A lot of people don’t realize that the entire horror and crime comic genre was wiped out by the U.S. senate in 1954, who blamed violent comics for delinquency, a lot like video games are fingered today.  The Comics Code Authority was created at this time, which dictated that Good had to be shown triumphing over Evil at all times, no profanity or violence, and so on.  It relegated comics to a neutered status until the mid-sixties, and stunted their growth into adult fare for even longer.  These days however, I’m allowed to show body hair and boobies, such as in this offering…. 

Being that it’s a Halloween tale and all, I’ll post the scary conclusion a day early, on Halloween….

I was in New York last week, taking my portfolio around to some newspapers and magazines, and though I think it was a wash-out, it sure felt cool to be walking around Manhattan with my fragile hopes n’ dreams in a leather sachel.  Whatta town.  I don’t really understand how people can be comforted by the idea of a grandfather god whos privy to your every thought and deed, and who’ll burn you if your not up to snuff.  A survey showed 98% of people thought they’d earned their angel wings, but I think the move to viewing god as some benign, creative energy rather than a pissed-off cousin of Zeus shows that folks are no longer comfortable with the old-testament God.

‘ll be part of a forum at the Word Under the Street festival with other queer comic writers on Sept 28th.  Patrick Fillion of the sticky, perverted Class Comics and The Village‘s Ken Boesem will be speaking as well with the panel, and though I have no idea what’s all involved, here’s the info if you’d like to join us.  Come say hi too (Sept. 28th, Central Branch of the Library, 3pm, downstairs).                 This was another one that was born fully-formed, a perfect l’il bundle of joy squeezed out after just a couple of minutes of fermenting in my brain.  My first reaction was it was sort of cute, maybe, but how could it end?  The cubicle-like walls of bathhouse rooms is the lynch-pin of the strip, the polish on the apple – otherwise it’d just be a sight gag.  Fun-fun to draw, though Foreskinstein was tricky.

For anyone who’s interested, I’ll be speaking at the “Word Under the Street” Festival at the Queer Comics forum.  The forum will also have Patrick Fillion from the pervy Class Comics, and The Village‘s Ken Boesem  (Sept 28th, 3pm in the main Library, downstairs).                       So, I wrote this in early June and originally used a Blackberry instead of the iPHONE, having never heard of such a thing at the time.  Two weeks later, when the iPhone was released, Myles’ namesake let me know he was in a lawn-chair at 6 am in front of the apple store to be the first to get one.  I changed the strip’s Blackberry to an iPHONE, and the comic became a slice of life, especially since “Myles” hangs onto his real iPHONE like a fat kid with a cookie.                             A few days after this, the two of us are at Wreck Beach.  Basking in the sun, in the company of friends… and “Myles” watching South Park on his iPHONE.  I tenderly, sorrowfully stroke his head and sez to him, I sez, “Myles, why don’t you put that devil-device down and enjoy the moment?”  ”What moment?” he sez.  ”Exactly…”sez I… 

Last of the mock-ad stuff, back to adventures in September with Myles obtaining god-like powers!    I talk to folks all the time who say they visit the site, but I never know it, as they don’t leave any critiques or comments.   Drop a line if y’have something to say – it’s so lonely on here sometimes…. 

When I was growing up in the country, I used to love to explore abandoned farm houses.  They would stand alone and weather-beaten like a peice of stonehenge in the middle of the fields,  crops growing around them.  My brother, myself, and some kids we curled with (I know, my upbringing was real rural) managed to boost ourselves up into the attic of one old house, and there we found two romance comics from 1953, with their advertisements for diet candy and Charles Atlas’ fitness plan.  I still have them, and after recently reading some old MAD Magazine ad spoofs, and seeing Chris Ware’s brilliant take on old-timey ads, I dug up these old comics and tried my hand at ad spoofs too.   And, in defense of my mean tattoo advertisement, I have plenty of tattos myself.   After writing the “sunburst and zodiac sign” slag, I noticed ‘zackly that tattoo on the shoulder of my roommate.  He refused to believe it was a coincidence, but it really was.  Poor, sweet fella.