Lost Again in the Ghetto of Beautiful Things

30 Sep

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Good thing I keep a large archive.

Representing one of my back page editorials to my own Deposit Man comic books.

Why does it take me so bloody fucking long to put out one single goddamn comic book?

I’ve been asking myself that question a lot lately, since my very obscure release of The Deposit Man Survival Guide to the Afterlife.

And the only answer I can come up with is:

We were all too fucking lazy stuffing our porcelain pristine pusses and straining our bowels to give birth to a perfect shit two hours later.

Laziness, that’s all. Just pure unfettered laziness.

And in the notoriously wicked summer of 2002, we’d didn’t have to like to think that we shared this dystopian paradise with the likes of a despot accused of manufacturing weapons of mass destruction, a whacked out republican president anxious to press the nullifying button, and a British prime minister who is under the disillusion that he more Texan than Anna Nicole Smith. Mix and shake well with cold calculating pre meditating child killers, and pedophile priests with stiffies towards Kathy Lee Gifford’s satan spawned offspring  and we have a brew to leisurely sip on more potent than some apple martinis on rudimentary beach in Rosario as we slumped our heads in a stupor of imaginary deadlines.

But that’s not how it really went down.

A lot of shit has changed since I last released a Deposit Man book. December of 2001, to be exact. Short after I released the DM SG to the A, I’ve lost a good friend and former roommate, gotten into squabbles with some associates in New York, particularly one inker who imagined himself to be such a prestige editor and claimed I stole the publication rights of the character from him (and since I can’t name names in public for the eventuality or a slander suit all you have to do is compare last issue credits to this issue’s credits to find who the  culprit is. Shouldn’t be too hard. My last publisher had to bail on the book due to other work commitments and the fact that he couldn’t deal with the above mentioned individual on the east coast who posed a danger in sabotaging his website.

This left us all in quite the genital warted pickle.

As time passed, what I found more aggravating was that the quality on my last book looked like shit. And I only had myself to blame, even though I felt it was the best thing I ever wrote in my life and I had a lot of fun putting it together. But there were problems that plagued me about the over all package one being that the cover was supposed to be shaded in yellow, and it came out as a cheap photocopied fiasco. My printer simply screwed up downloading it from the zip disk. And I’m not one for computer jargon  explanations so please, don’t fucking ask.

So the time has come to redo everything from scratch. That means a making myself a nuisance once again in print, get myself situated on the web, and send out the obligatory “this is not really spam, but just to let you know I’m still alive” e-mails. If I ever get around to it.

However this time the transition should be easier to follow, now that I’ve got some noticable talent assisting me.

I’d like to welcome aboard Saint Sparky courtesy of Zen Art Farms, Alan’s a big guy and has quite a resume of experience under his belt. And a what big belt that is, too. He’s done design work for Sony and has designed covers, edited, and maintained websites for various creators and has been a long associate of Claypool Comics during the time of trade show crisis.

Now on to the business at hand without any further skid marked interruption:

My column, No Deposit, No Return is my usual sounding board when the US Postal service has nothing else better to do than to cock tease me in thinking I’ve got an incredulous fan base and bundles of perfumed pink envelopes to shift through. So if you want to prove them wrong, send in your cajoling complaints, jubilus gift wrapped pipe bomb packages, or just simply feel free to sign me up for 12 CDs for a penny plus shipping & handling shit like that happens to me all the time. As long the male half of the audience each sends me a 8 x 10 glossy Polaroid of their mommies in uncompromising positions I think we can do business.

What I want to touch on is the subject of these child killing pariahs who are making things ugly for you and me in today’s society.

I once entertained the idea of having kids of my own, but all those dreams were quickly dashed out the car door window doing 95 in a 35 zone. What would be the point when one of these sick fucks is lurking around in your septic tank to snatch your kids.

And the media turkey vultures are no better as to sensationalize these reports, these abductions only increased before of the repetitious exposure on the eleven o’clock that only goes to serve as a challenge to the latest in a long line of sick fucks who think they can waltz in and usurp the crown of what the last walking cloister bag swallowing fuck was capable of.

You see, child abductions have always been going on they actually do happen every day in every part of the world it’s just it’s nothing more than a public spectacle that media puts a spin on. And the more we sensationalize it, the more the challenge it is for these dingbats to get up the audacious nerve to top the other one’s Michelangelo.

You have heard of birds who flock together? Well as on the day of me jotting this down, there was a lunkheaded police chief in Maryland who got on the horn to tell the residents of the Washington DC suburb areas to go about your usual business as if these rooftop snipers didn’t exist. So go ahead, take your kids to the shopping mall, take them to their soccer games, take them out for ice cream, whatever the fuck have you, and DON’T WORRY- because we have the situation under control and these individuals will be apprehended as sure as shit in time before you can say: Junior, I’d like you to meet Sniper Joe. Sniper Joe is your very best friend and he’s going to take your hand and lead you to very nice mortuary across the street, you know just like the one you see on Six Feet Under? and let you take a nap.

So, what was the first thing I heard on the news come Monday morning before work? BAM! Thirteen year old comes home from school with new air hole in his head. This wouldn’t have happened if we just stop obsessing over all these tawdry media innuendos. If we stopped broadcasting the same fucking sound bite over and over reiterating, not to panic about your children, that same perpetrator is going to tune in the six or eleven o’clock to see how his masterpiece was received by the public and all he sees is ploy to think that his work is going unappreciated and that’s right, you had to bring in the subject heading ‘ Hey Kids ‘, well that little bit is going to send him jonzing over the edge and the challenge is raised as to hey, why not?
You’re entitled, Take em all out no matter how big or small and let your favorite drive in deity sort them all out.

Why we as a nation are so spellbinded by it?

Color girl who chewed through her bonds in Pa

While at comic con, two girls in Lancaster, Ca abducted- one white, one black..

I can’t help children out, unless I’m a registered sex offender. Single, almost forty, sign me up now.

I’d like to believe that we’re all stuck in the same ghetto a ghetto of beautiful things- but one tends to get lost in this mire of chaotic deteriorating thinly veiled by a flimsy puppet and his mockery of a true presidential leadership.

 

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