A Look at Comic Books that Rocked the World

 This piece was originally published by me on Hubpages. Click on the link and check out some of my other work. Thank you- RC Cooper.

Before the silver screen- there was the beige page

Before his shop was shut down and became a Verizon stor

Growing up as an angry young teenager with a serious case of ADD, it wasn't easy getting me to read an entire book from cover to cover- and enjoy it. But as anyone with an over-active mind will show you, they also have equally restless imaginations. Imaginations that need a constant source of entertainment that is fresh each time they view it: so for them, there is the graphic novel. Or "comic book" if you want to be a blunt snob. And while comics are in no way a new medium, a lot can be said for what I think was the peak of the art during the 90's when heroes were made or reinvented, series were born, and the geekiest of geeks had a home in the comic shops before internet console gaming kept them out of the sunlight forever.
These days I don't think that anyone even reads comics anymore and its no surprise since we live in the digital world. But it is disappointing. While I love that some of the most legendary series are being adapted into blockbuster films; there was a time when liking these characters and stories during their printed form would've gotten me stuffed into a middle school locker. Now those jocks that kept me a "closet comic fan" are lining up at theaters to see Robert Downey Jr put on his metal trousers to become (an AWESOME) Iron Man. Yeah, I am still bitter over that...
Recently I have wondered what kind of graphic novel heroes really did well translated into film; more specifically, the rags I read in the 90's. And even more so I wondered what didn't work out well in theatrical release. If they didn't, is a reboot necessary? I also wonder what became of my favorite comic book protagonists and when will the cameras roll for them? Above all else, what was really a damned great series and why did we forget such brilliance?
This was all so much to take on but I wouldn't be any of the aspiring writer I am today if not for series such as these, and for some reason, I begin this retrospective with my biggest disappointment as a comic geek.

Spawn

Todd Macfarlane's Spawn

The creation of a super human hero is usually a noble call to the character (like Batman) or an amazing accident (ala radioactive spiders). Things didn't go so well though for assassinated mercenary Al Simmonds. After being whacked by his own team, Al becomes a Hellspawn: ranking officer of the Devil's army against Heaven has been sent back to earth from beyond the grave to create havoc on earth on the Devil's behalf. But while our pro is a corpse in Satan's coolest living battle suit, he makes the choice to do good during his second time 'round this world- as opposed to working for the man below. As Spawn's story goes, Al is tortured by the memory of his lost love, Wanda, and shattered life living on the streets. Spawn must avoid cruel mentors like Clown (better known for his alternate form, the Violator) and trust the mysterious Cagliostro who acts as the angel at his other shoulder. As Al moves on more he encounters freaks, demons and old friends all to get closer to killing the men who killed him first.
Todd Macfarlane (no relation to Seth of Family Guy fame) didn't just create this series, he created an multimillion dollar empire. In short order, the success of Spawn kick started the coolest action figure company that still produces great toys. An HBO animated series was made that shocked and awed viewers with sex and violence not widely seen in American cartoons. The comic was good too- at first. Then Hollywood stepped in...
Spawn was made into a special effects film horror show disaster with a thin plot in 1997. I wanted so badly to like the film but it was no use trying. The story was vague to the book, the acting was awful, and the series itself had to change because of the terrible writing and character changes the film made while being produced. What made the adult comic series of Spawn lose even more of its balls was the fact that its film was PG-13. All in all, Todd bit a little more off than he could chew, thus burying his golden egg, then losing it in the sand.
I fell out of love with Spawn in 1998 and heard little of it after that; perhaps things got better for it as a comic series but after the 2 hour cinematic assault of all visual filler and no intellectual killer, I moved on and grew up. Rumors still surface often of a sequel/reboot of the original but at this point, if a former mega-fan like me doesn't give a hoot, no one else does either.
The Icing on the Cake: Remember all that bad ass Spawn Memorabilia? Well its all worthless now and repels girls.

Some of the coolest toys ever! And no one I knew ever took them out of the packaging.

The Crow

Maybe you wouldn't be interested in James O'barr's epic, adult themed series because of Hot Topic and Twilight's assault and rape on goth culture. The original graphic novel was black and white, the tortured protagonist painted his face; a lot like those scary kids that cut themselves and listen to The Cure. Don't let the current state of goth steer you away. I assure you, that anyone who skips on The Crow because they're not into the 'goth' thing have seriously missed out.
Our hero, Eric, is out for blood after a gang of thugs kill him and his fiance the day before their wedding. Assist by the resurrecting power of a crow, Eric climbs out from his grave an invincible but still emotionally distraught angel of death. As his adventure moves on, he creatively finds and eviscerates his murderers one by one, not only achieving his goals for avenging his and his fiance's murder, but also taking out a scummy mafia king.
This series soars! Men will love the action- girls will love the romance and if you're not into reading the whole thing, then you're in luck- The Crow was made into a beautifully dark, and fast paced action/romance film in 1994. Starring Brandon Lee (who died in an on set accident while making the film), this story of revenge and justice for the dead, all in the name of love was one of the best comics to film made for the time. Audiences got a great story without special effects or over complicated character abilities- if you've ever been in love, then The Crow is easy for one to follow.
So what went wrong?...Sequels.
The Crow:City of Angels came out in 1996 and retold the same great story but critics and audiences weren't impressed again. Other films were made that got worse and worse, with the last film starring C-list actor Edward Furlong (that kid from Terminator 2, remember?). As for myself, I wanted to love the continuation of revenge stories assisted by a cursed black bird, but it got repetitive. The comic series also dragged readers through many of the same story over and over again; so its easy to see why you've not heard much from The Crow since it's first great comic book film made in 1994. Regardless of all this mess, if you never have read a graphic novel and want an uncomplicated read should give the original book a chance and enjoy a beautiful walk on the dark side.

Before the sequels ruined it all...

 

 Watchmen

The covers- they be a' changin'...

While this series was made in the 1980's, it wasn't until the mid 90's that I encountered the series that asked:
What if superheroes were real?
Suppose they defended our country, and really cleaned up the streets, or could even be Godlike? While most of our minds revert to our inner-child and think that a world saved by Superman is an ideal place, Alan Moore saw that world without the rose-colored glasses. With a back story treated with doses of Vietnam and The Cold War, a whole group of empowered, talented men and women in super hero suits struggle to keep America safe, free and above all, sane.
As a group, The Watchmen is a collection of vigilantes and crime stoppers that wear masks and capes in an effort to strike fear in the hearts of their criminal opponents. As the years move from the 50's to the 80's the hero lineup changes as does the chaos gripping the world ranging from small time thugs to world threatening dictators. The series of Watchmen was 8 huge issues of graphic novel story, each with fictional newspaper clippings, diary entries, press releases, and extra stories that run parallel to the main story.
While the roster of The Watchmen is large and shifting, the stand out characters that move the story the most is the hardcore, conservative ass-kicker Rorschach, shy and noble Nightowl, and the all-powerful, blue Uber-man Dr. Manhattan. A murder of one of their original members stirs a pot of investigation, mystery and espionage that boils down to the fate of the world as nations aim their nuclear powers at one another. Each character tries to help the situation in order to try and save the world, but each member of The Watchmen is different and the group finds themselves at odds with each other. Dr. Manhattan isn't so sure of saving a humanity that gives him no respect, Rorschach is fighting more for his right-leaning beliefs, and Nightowl wrestles with his own cowardice. And can the group trust one of its most prosperous members and former leader: sellout businessman Adrian "Ozymandias" Veidt?
The Watchmen has been such a popular series since 1987 that it earned a spot in Time Magazines' 100 greatest novels list. To be held at such high esteem next to great American novels that aren't comic books is a feat that every writer, artist and creator in graphic novels aspires to; Alan Moore most definitely raised the bar. And every visual film director from Monty Python animator Terry Gilliam to Requiem for a Dream helmsmen Darren Aronofsky tried to put this story to film,but the projects never left the ground.
The multi-layered epic flew around Hollywood for 2 decades until 300 director Zack Snyder took on the biggest challenge of cramming what should have been a 8 hour TV series into 3 hours of cinema. The results of that were mixed between comic geeks that felt the film got it all wrong, critics that didn't like superhero stories to begin with, and fanboys that loved it too much. Personally, I find the movie to be a quite well made but unfortunately too much for just 1 movie.
You are not truly a fan of the graphic novel until you have read The Watchmen.

From the director of 300, comes 3 hours

 

Preacher

In 1997, I read my first issue of this series and within a month after skimming through all the issues available at my local comic shop, I convinced my mother to buy me a subscription. The only thing that was wrong with this series was that it ended in the year 2000. Created and written by Northern Irish writer Garth Ennis and illustrated by co-creator Steve Dillon- Preacher is a hell ride from Texas that blazes a trail from New York to Paris, all in a search for God. Following the traditions of westerns, murder mysteries, spiritual drama and drug films- Preacher has a little something for everyone. It also helps if you like your humor black.
Jesse Custer is our anti-hero protagonist: a country-wise preacher from a small Texas town that becomes "a man possessed" by The Word. The Word is a God-like power to command people to do whatever you ask them, but the origin of this power also explains it's biggest drawback. The Word came from a Demon and Angel hybrid that escaped the prisons of heaven and crashed to earth landing on the first bad-ass, man of God it found. Now Jesse, his love Tulip, and a drunken Irish vampire hit the road and travel the world to find God. The gang feels that Jesse's possession is due to God leaving Heaven to live on earth- thus putting the Kingdom in the hands of irresponsible Angels. So, as blasphemous as it may sound: God has some explaining to do. Hot on their trail is an indestructible cowboy known as The Saint of All Killers, a secret society that owns the last living Christ descendant, and every run of the mill whack job that knows the power and influence of Jesse and The Word.
Jesse Custer was really an influence on me because of his "be your own man" philosophy. He was a man that gave up believing in a doctrine and believed in himself to find the answers. Jesse loved his woman enough to involve her on his mission and treated her more like a friend rather than someone he needed to constantly save. A smoking, foul-mouthed man of action that practiced what he um, ... preached. He was only this good of a man because he had a good father and his imaginary friend was John Wayne. He is an American bad ass and not an ass-HOLE. If there was a comic book hero that anyone could be without having a radioactive spider bite him or be born on Krypton.

After a 75 issue run, Preacher ended and gave birth to nothing after. No Movies, No killer HBO series or action figures. Comic fan and film director Kevin Smith salivates to the idea of putting the whole adventure on film or TV; he once called the series "Better than going to the Movies". People into comics almost universally love this series and those that encounter it notice the brilliance of the series. Fans love the honest vulgarity, realistic stance on organized religion, sex because of love, colorful characters, and believability in our protagonist. As a reader, I was always let down at the end of each issue- I never wanted it to end.

Open Letter to Santorum: Uncut.

Seriously? Just because your real name is Richard John Santorum, that is no reason to also live up to a possible nickname Dick Dick Santorum.

While you might not be so inclined to read this page... ever, I still put my name out there as a writer and an American to talk man to man with you about a few things. There was a terrible gloom that passed over this country while you were promoting yourself and by reading this you could definitely come clean with all of us, whatever side we wish to be on; be it Republican, Democrat, liberal, conservative or your personal favorite: Nuts. Your bread and butter as a senator was, is and shall always be the deep pockets and fear motivated looney tunes of the right. Standing ready, I shall wait for the barrage of claims that I am a liberal jerk by people that have a very vague understanding of what liberal means.

I kept track of your campaign for one reason: it was hilarious! Its clear also that most people thought the same, and it wasn't hard to find the not-so-hidden joke in everything you said. That thing about Obama supporting our enemies; this of course as Bin Laden was being fed to fish: Classic. That whole thing about Clinton being the most corrupt morally; which by that logic, total crook Nixon and slave banger Jefferson are not as bad: Comedy gold!

Enjoy some real comedy gold:


Your idea about making oral sex illegal; because undoubtedly you've not tried it: Left me in stitches. I dare say, it is almost a let down that your run was cut short because if there is one thing I love watching more that a car crashing and burning, Its a whole idea dying in its hospital bed.
One high note of your greatest hits collection in your stint as the republican's possible MVP was your stance on abortion and contraception. This was where you were a true viking, make no mistake.
 According to you:

"One of the things I will talk about that no president has talked about before is … the dangers of contraception in this country, the whole sexual libertine idea. It's not okay because it's a license to do things in the sexual realm that is counter to how things are supposed to be. They're supposed to be within marriage, for purposes that are, yes, conjugal … but also procreative."

Something you said during your recent run. While I can see your point, it's still stupid and deserving of disagreement. People aren't going to stop having sex just because they're not married, Rick. Sex isn't an act of rebellion that can be enforced by laws of the land and isn't going to stop being the funnest human to human activity. I think the course of human history will tell you that every time people were persecuted for the act of fucking by a system, the system crumbled after. Even Jesus refused to cast stones towards these sins (crack open that Bible you love so much and look up John 8:7).

Which brings me to my counterpoint to your point. You, the GOP and the rest of the right are always very quick to defend the belief that not only are abortions wrong and murderous, and even having kids out of wedlock is also a no-no. Hell, you took that concept and rammed it in its ass further by saying that even PREVENTING pregnancy was a bad idea. These points are all things that the right wing has every right to believe and follow to the "T" if they so choose. Where the window clouds up is when after our married and sanctified couples produce an unaffordable amount of hungry, unruly germ-balls kids and suddenly those holier than thou parent can't afford to feed them. What are they to do at this point? Republicans and other conservatives in this country love to spread their guilt against those that sign up for and collect welfare benefits just to support their lives. AM Radio is loaded with loudmouths that will complain in constant streams about the very little they pay in taxes for everyone's dumb-ass kids. It is, of course, no surprise that you have supported this argument and have used this device to your advantage.

And you should! Those lousy baby machine mooches! How dare they leech off the system and rob the wealthy of money they easily can pay? You and your constituency have the right to protest the losers that don't contemplate consequence and screw before thinking. If only they had a way of preventing the occurrence of pregnancy from happening, then we would be able to afford our speed boats, jet skis and other midlife crisis mobiles, instead of paying for these Jerry Springer guests to procreate. Couldn't they just control the natural and pleasurable biological need of sex and just go into the bathrooms of their trailers or outhouses to spank the monkey? Wouldn't the world be a far better place too if we were all blessed with children that roam the streets pick pocketing and looting supermarkets so they can eat. I sure hope my sarcasm makes itself clear because I cannot lay it any thicker in written words.

The solution to abort children early might seem drastic and awful but to make people not even try to plan their future families is taking the rights of Americans pursuit of happiness and throwing it to the rocks. Just because a couple have sex, that doesn't mean they have to make another $270,000 lifetime gamble. Why shouldn't we be allowed to wear a condom, put an IUD in place, or get shots until they are mentally and financially ready to have kids? Furthermore, whats wrong with the taxpayer dollar funding such preventive measures? For God's sake Rick, you don't have to be an economist to see the big expensive picture of having a child and deciding that a $5 box of rubbers is a much better investment for taxpayers than a messy, ugly $600 abortion operation or even worse a $270,000 kid. Make up your minds and pick an option that works because one doesn't always have cake and eat it in the real world.

If there is one thing I and many other Americans can't stand more than welfare brats, its having politicians take more and more liberty in deciding where we screw, how we screw and who we screw. I hate high taxes, and I know taxes go higher with every accidental miracle that didn't get pulled out and end up a stain on an air mattress. Sex isn't something that the law will have any control or regulation over. Abortion isn't a new concept or trend, its something practiced for millions of years by women frightened of raising a child in a world this fucked up or ashamed because a man either raped them or left them. Its also a question of personal health; many women become accidentally pregnant and have to make a choice of having a baby that might not last long due to birth defects or harm to the mother. It goes beyond financing a child; it becomes a question of whats worse: losing two lives or just one that barely has a shot.

I will give your "anti" stance on abortion the benefit of the doubt by saying that there should be a time limit of up to three months and then its no turning back. At which point most of you conservatives throw out the idea that most unprepared mothers should consider adoption. I don't know if you or any of the Faux News crowd are paying attention but adopted kids are not always so happy to know that someone else is raising them (I personally know people raised by adoptive parents and they're a complete mess). Doesn't it sort of seem like permanent foster parenting? Adding insult to injury is that most parents looking to adopt don't look to American children, they set sights to China or who knows where else. This isn't of course to save the kids but rather to have this accessory to buy a ticket to heaven. "Exploitation" is the word I think of. Never mind the starving and pathless children here, you have a trophy to show off (made in China too). These are the truths that flaw the industry of adoption. That's right, I said "industry" and I might spend an hour in Hell for saying that after I die.

Contraception is saving America every day. Our rights to choose what happens to our genitals is one example of the greatest freedoms we have. And you, Rick Dick Santo' almost took that right away from us and tried to make us into oppressive pilgrims. I will not let you try to tell us that populating the country with unwanted and unplanned children is God's will. I wonder at times if you or your supporters know God at all. You know the Pope and the Catholic system (not the same thing as God). If you're still not convinced of all these facts (which I am certain you aren't) then have fun wiping your ass with our rights and the rest of us can plan on breaking all those stupid little rules, the same rules you care so much about jamming down our throats.

Full: An erotic short by me...

There was no one left at the club that was worth a damn. The well of cheap wine sold at the highest markup was running dry; the clock was ticking towards closing time. So there I was, completely let down by the 'scene'. This glossy nightclub was too well lit to be serving booze and the music was too new, even for my still young ears (notice that music is too modern for its time these days). I nursed the melted ice from my last straight Cocakola, then further pondered the idea of leaving and staying in at home for the night. “Shall I just pack it in?” I pondered. This den of pretentious culture was losing points not just to yours truly but to indeed the customers of the said establishment.

As I tried to conjure an artificial flavor of rum into my watery Cola drink, I examined the remaining females in the room only to be further disappointed. They were all clones of the same female. All of them were different mind you; though all the same frame. Over these thin waifs was a cornucopia of paper doll fashions, some with jeans, some in short skirts. Some with tiny tits, others either too big for that frame or just too good to be real. As these pin thin Paris Hilton clone zombies of women either danced, sat at the bar, or shot the breeze with potential drinks or cocks; one girl began to catch my wandering eye...

She was sitting fairly close to me, no more than a few empty stools away. She was so cute and her frame showed this; she was different. No angular shapes, no offensive bone structures emerging from her skin. She was a round and full shape with all of her padding in the places it matters most. She wasn't really sitting on the bar, but rather resting one leg on a stool and resting her elbows on the bar to sip at her sex-on-the-beach. Her posing this way stressed at the blue jeans that hugged her large, round, plumb-like buttocks. The curves continued down thick thighs and calves that tapered to introduced little feet in strapped sandals. Above that plushy, sweet booty was a set of wide hips that looked perfect for grabbing onto from behind. Further up from the hips was a round body that begged for a cuddle and as my eyes progressed up, I saw a shelf of fleshy tits pushing and stressing under a low-cut-v-neck.

I noticed her face long before all of this and it was the brightest smile he had seen all night. She didn't paint herself to look darker or red-er; she had simply used some gray eye make-up to call a little attention to the windows to her soul. Her face was an even, clean slate of butter pecan peachiness and the shape of it matched the rest of her body; she had started looking at me on an off, matching each gaze my way with a 'hello, Mr. nice guy' smile. I owed it to myself to come her way and at least say “hello” back.

I sat at her nearby seat and said my nervous hello. “You've been looking at me for a long time.” Her voice rang out. She sounded quite young, but there was something in her voice that suggested that she might be intelligent. I let the bar's terrible music fill in a 2 second gap before I jumped in for a reply. I was hoping that wasn't a mistake. “Yeah.” I responded. “You're really pretty... and you didn't have anyone here with you soooo..” I stammered a bit and to recover my standing I took back the wheel in the conversation. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

She giggled. “Sure. Lets talk.” Her hand patted the seat next to her.

 A few minutes had passed and as it turned out, she was sobering up. We talked, and exchanged our names and occupations. We talked about how we ended up in such a place. We didn't have a whole lot of time as the club was closing and the bouncers took great liberty in reminding the remaining throng. We were just getting acquainted, and it looked like it was about to be cut short. She polished off her glass and grasped at her phone. This gave me an idea, and I wanted to chat with her more. She was wireless ready and obviously had a phone number. “Hey-” I called out. “Can I at least text you?” She didn't move right away, but rather just looked me up and down first. “Sure,... you seem harmless.” She replied. She waited for me to get my phone and get her name and digits in my almost empty contacts list. Her name was Anna.

I went home to my empty apartment and held on to the image in my mind of this girl. I could imagine picking her brain for hours in a hope to access her sexual side, I knew she had it. I believed by the look in her eyes that she was a closet freak. Anna didn't dress like a skank, she was actually well put together and didn't try to squeeze her plump body into clothing meant for someone half her size. There was something in her attitude that told me she wasn't stupid but she was super horny and would have enjoyed a one night stand. Unfortunately, I wasn't built to just have one nighters. So before my mind raced to conclusions, I began to unzip my jeans. I sat on my futon and felt for something rigid. My underwear was being stretched by my fleshy cock and throbbed as I caressed the vein-y sides. Dirty thoughts of Anna raced in my mind as I imagined the avalanche of tit meat from her bra coming off; I wanted to attack her jugs fervently. One could bet she liked a hard cock slipping between them and plowing her plushy titties until I covered them in sticky, gooey cum. I was interrupted with a vibration coming from my cellphone.

I panicked a little and comically scrambled to read the screen. I was delighted. “Hey its me Anna.” was in my messages. I quickly typed her back. “Hi, its me Cooper.” I typed back. I let a few minutes pass and waited for the next message. “Are you at home?” she messaged back. “Yeah” “You're really cute. Are you sure youre single.” I laughed to myself as I messaged her back. “Yes I am. And thanks btw” There was some chemistry flowing all of the sudden. She liked me and gave me her number. I could have been a stalker or someone dangerous; how would she know? Unless she had me pinned from the second she saw me, and knew that I was a harmless young guy. I wasn't what one would call a “Douchebag”. I don't treat girls like shit, I love to cuddle, even when the sex is finished. There are things that make a girl feel comfortable and I had them at my apartment. My fridge has good wine, my bed has clean sheets at all times, and my stereo system has plenty of jazz that is always good for romance. My bachelor pad was, however, suffering from women withdrawals as I hadn't hosted a guest over in months.

So what would one think I said when the next question on my phone from her read: “Can I come over? Hang out?” Before I could respond with a yes the next message on my phone was “I noticed your car in the parking lot of the club. You live right next to the club right?” A cold sweat formed on my back. She was right, I did live a short walking distance from the bar/club. “How did you know?” A minute passed. “I go to that club all the time. Your car is a silver BMW. I see it there and sometimes parked near the club.” I felt a little at ease, so much so that she did get my address. This was either going to prove to be the greatest night ever or a nightmare but I had nothing to lose. I was either going to get laid or kick a poor girl out of my place if she turned out to be a crazy stalker.

The next half hour was spent on getting the “crib” ready. Starting by putting a mountain of dirty clothes in my closet. I dug up old, but usable candles and lit them. I vacuumed, did some dishes, and sprayed the whole area with air freshener so the place smelled cleaner. After rifling through a drawer for a few seconds, I found some condoms and a bottle of warming lube. Just in case. As I picked out a DVD from my collection that would hopefully be viewed “chick friendly”, the door rang out from the metal knocker. “Hey its Anna!” A voice from beyond the door called out. I opened up the door and let Anna walk in, meanwhile, I was taken by surprise.

She didn't look the same. Anna had changed her clothes and replaced them with something that looked like pajamas but with those curve-loving jeans. To protect her chubby figure from the cold spring night, she wore a hooded sweatshirt. Though she had gone a little casual she still was so cute,... so clean. She looked around my apartment and assessed the habitat. She saw my TV and looked back over at me. “You have a nice TV.” I liked hearing her say that.

“Can I sit down?” “Oh, sure. Make yourself at home.” I agreed. She picked a spot on the futon and invited me to sit with her. I played a movie on the blu-ray and accepted her offer. We sat and enjoyed the first five minutes of a god-awful sci-fi film that I began to regret selecting and talked as if we had know each other for a lifetime. She opened like a book in those minutes; her life was a roller-coaster ride that had a highlight in France where she had spent a semester of High School and did a lot of growing up. She spoke the language of Paris and even told me her love of Van Gogh paintings. I have a giant mural replica of “Starry Nights” on my wall that covers most of my main wall; she noticed that I was a cultured individual, though I've yet to leave the U.S.

 After two hours of talk, she was thirsty. I walked over to my fridge to grab a Coke. Those seconds gave me the most powerful urges to see what lay under her hoodie. Would I get my chance? There was one strategy in my manual of getting laid: a kiss.

 Of course a kiss!

If I had done it correctly and sensual enough, I might get some of her juicy ass in my face or on my lap. I plopped myself back into my crappy sofa next to my new friend and began looking long and hard at every inch of her big, sexy bod. One of her best features was that she wasn't an amazonian that was so tall that she was scary, she was rather quite petite. As this book of a person opened she just became so much more cuter. So I asked her something bold. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” She smiled big and leaned in for a hug to accompany that kiss. I wrapped my body around hers as she returned the gesture. I felt her softness embrace me and then I slipped her my tongue as gently as I could as to not scare her. She felt me slither in her mouth and replied with wrestling my tongue in all good fun. She made a move that changed the game.

During our lip-lock, she had moved her hand toward a forming bulge in my jeans. I stopped. “Hey...” I quietly interrupted. “What are you doing?” I then said through a chuckle. Her voice sneered back. “Oh... nothing.” She began stroking what was obviously my cock ready for her to play. “Do you think I'm sexy?” I didn't hesitate. “Yes, very much.” I moved my had on her thigh and made my way to her chest. “Why do you ask?” Her mood changed slightly to explain herself. “I don't know.” She answered. “I'm not a skinny girl, as you can see. Some guys don't like that or want to be seen with me.” She might have been the smartest girl I've met in a long time, but I was more that obliged to tell her that she was wrong. She was very sexy. “Let me tell you something,” I began. “Guys love big girls. They just sometimes are assholes and don't want to be seen with them. So they opt for skinny bitches with nothing up-top or behind them. To make it worse, most of those girls are idiots. You're sexy, don't deny it.”

She looked at me and smiled big again. Her tongue lanced into my mouth again, this time making its way outside of my mouth and onto my neck. Her whispering moans groaned as I attacked her neck with my mouth as well. I don't leave hickeys, but her neck was getting wet. Along with her neck my hand could feel her warm crotch that was moistening through her denim pants. My hands treated themselves to the wonderland of her body, caressing and stroking each curve as if she was a stuffed animal. Her plump tits were in a prison of a sweatshirt hoodie and I wanted to see them free. I navigated my hands to her front zipper and slowly pulled it down. She didn't hesistate or even try to stop me, so after the hoodie was discarded to the floor, I took a gentle handful of tit. I softly squeezed one breast in each hand, gazing into her beautiful eyes.

“I want you so bad.” I confessed. “I know we just met, and this is all so soon...” “Its okay,” She whispered. “I want you too.” She unzipped my jeans and felt around for my meat. There was no stopping her as she lowered her head towards my crotch and pushed me back onto the edge of the futon. I felt a metal bar from the side of my sofa digging into my back, making me so uncomfortable, but I didn't give a damn. I continued to grab for more tit flesh as she worked my jeans open further to get my stiff rod out for her delight. “Can I suck on those tits?” She popped up and whipped her v-neck off. With 1 tug her bra came off and out came two pink, but not at all too dark, sugar-cookie nipples. They were stiff and waiting for a mouth to slather them in love spit. I hungerly suckled one tit, pinching the other and vice versa. A mighty squeal erupted from  my healthy new friend.

“Ohhh. Give me your cock!” She threw me onto the sofa and muscled her bra off. She then leaped onto me and jerked my member till the head was a purple heart. Her other hand teased my ball
sack, causing it to shrivel, perhaps loading a hot liquidy surprise for her from the cock that pulsated above. Her tongue touched the head of my heartbeat of love. She twisted around the head and kissed the tip. In one move, she engulfed the red dragon in a velvet embrace of her mouth. Her teeth was a soft grind against my love pump. Her moans gave a slight vibration to the experience. As she bobbed her round head up and down my cock, I felt euphoric. I must return this great favor. “Bring that juicy pussy over here.” I commanded.

Without missing a beat we both jumped off the crappy couch and shook out of our pants. I loved her choice of underwear in regards to panties: none. Her pussy was bald as was her entire body from the eyelashes down. She was marked with a lovely tattoo of her name on her foot. Her ass was exactly the soft, plush masterpiece I yearned it to be; wide and juicy. As we stood naked, I groped any chance at her BBW body also letting her grab and fiddle my cock while we prepared for an oral fix. She lay on top of me greedily sucking my shaft and biting it, better fueling me for my feast of her pussy. Her love tunnel was directly above me and dripping its juice into my maw. I felt her quiver between my lips, my tongue and teeth as I teased her love hole with my entire face. Her other hole called out for some tongue but I refrained from giving her a good rimming. I felt her pussy clench my finger suddenly and I began to pump faster and I added my middle finger. She unplugged my cock from her mouth and screamed. “Oh God! I'm cumming!” Her pussy convulsed and a warm squirt of juices splashed my tongue.

She exhaled and her full figure smothered me in a sea of beautiful pink flesh. She used her hand and kept right on stroking my (still) rock hard dick. I became more excited, now that I had the drug of fresh love juice in my body. I must return the favor again. Her head continued to bounce on my cock as I unloaded a 2 days saved amount of jizz into her mouth. She slowed her pace, then sucked her lips off my almost now limp member and sealed her lips together to hold in my load. As she crawled towards me, she took a gulp of my load and smiled into my eyes.  I grabbed her arms and told her to kiss me- and she did. As we kissed I tasted my cum still on her mouth and mixed it with the pussy marinade she'd given me earlier. After our cum kiss, she lay next to me and continued to thank me for such a wonderful night, but the pleasure was surely mine as well.

Politics, Madness and Spray-Paint

Politics, Madness and Spray-Paint

In Zurich, Switzerland on many canvases and walls, a creepy Swiss man; that resembles the late horror film actor Peter Lorre, is airbrushing a world of crazy textures and creatures that even ones most frightening nightmares wouldn't conjure with thinly veiled messages about life's futile fears, simply using all the shades of gray. Meanwhile in the busiest cities and politically charged environments, a masked man from the UK is spray-painting a stencil-drawn image that is food-for-thought in regards to why we may hate each other or what it means when one is faced with the truth in plain black and white. Every once in a while we are reminded that art isn't limited to the bright and colorful just as much as it isn't held in the boundaries of being on merely canvas, and the works of these two artists are proof. These two craftsmen of the imagination are Hans Rudolph Giger (or H.R. Giger for short) and the United Kingdom’s masked madman, Banksy.

In my younger days I aspired to be an artist but had many inspirations that were more in the world of cartoons and comic books. Many at the time didn't consider those mediums to be very serious art, but when I was a teen, the great Renaissance artists didn't stir my interests. However, the simplicity of spandex-clad superheroes was a lot easier for me absorb visually than cherubs, naked statues, or falsely depicted images of Christ. In those adolescent years the works of Van Gogh and Leonardo didn't really impress me; it all seemed like they were just crafting a world that already existed. I already knew what “Postcard Paris” looked like and seeing it through the mind of Van Gogh's absinthe haze in Starry Nights just looked like a blue, smeary mess. Seeing art and being captivated by it didn’t happen to me until I saw pictures from the film Alien (1979, 20^th Century Fox) in a Barnes and Noble comic book section in the mid-nineties.

Banksy

HR Giger

The creature of the Alien in Ridley Scott's film was designed by H.R. Giger, who was notable at the time for his work displayed in his 1977 compendium Necronomicon. While the “Mom” Barnes and “Pop” Noble I found this book in wasn't well stocked enough to cater to a comic book fan, this coffee table book caught my eye instantly. Giger's imagery is painted with airbrushing and usually isn't very colorful; more often employing just one color and many shades of gray and black. His subjects usually are people that look as if they've been bound into landscapes of wild textures or attached to machines and metal. These portraits are often painted to be realistic and to the more sensitive eye, disturbing. His most notable work is an ink drawn early work known as Birth Machine: A work that shows a cross-section of a handgun, showing all the springs and inter-working gears that operate the weapon, yet instead of bullets- the guns clip in the handle shows three bald, old men that resemble children; one child in the chamber ready to be fired from the barrel. One would gaze at this work and ask themselves: Is it political or just a shockingly cynical view of how life feels like you’ve been shot from a cannon and forced to fall into line?

As a youngster with an interest in art this was an eye opening game-changer. I found an artist that appealed to my senses and as a 1990’s Goth, this was an artist that made paintings that stirred my imagination. Whenever sketching I would try to emulate, this shady world of anatomical landscapes, emaciated figures that seemed to tell their own stories and this whole time I kept in mind just why Giger painted this way:

“I became aware that art is a vital activity that keeps me from falling into madness” (Giger, 1997, p.9).

He paints more for himself it seems than for any audience that might very well turn their heads in disgust; perhaps he enjoys the disturbed reactions of ordinary people more than pandering of art critics. From those days on, I was hooked to this style and showing this work to others my age just to see their eyes open as wide as silver dollars was a joy.

The other end of my artistic tastes points more towards the satirical: Banksy has become my new leaf. His work isn't always on display in museums and if it is, it’s purely for the sake of irony. Banksy is a street graffiti artist and his work has been illegally tagged on walls ranging from the broadsides of warehouses in the UK, alleys in Europe and most notably, the Israeli/Palestine West Bank border wall. Few people have seen this man's face, as he works mostly at night and wears a mask that resembles a Japanese anime monkey. Since his work gets painted on property and is illegal his work has an anonymity that gives each piece an edge; he has no political party that supports him or his work. Banksy embraces and defends his anonymity, once quoting:

“'In the future, everybody will be anonymous for 15 minutes.'' (Trebay, 2011, p.1)

Banksy could either show a brief glimpse on religion, politics, or life on the whole. Some of these images can either portray the ridiculousness or danger of those subjects. Most of his works are spray paints that have been stenciled onto walls and Banksy has to be able to quickly put an image onto a wall, move into the cover of night before the police show up. And in the interest of not repeating himself Banksy has also made larger, sculptural works that show up on the streets of London; one day a red telephone box is missing from London’s SoHo square and a week later it will return to its original location…bent in half (Kent 2006, p.10). Other examples of his pieces spray-painted onto a wall could also be a bandana-masked man posed as if he is about to throw a flaming molotov cocktail bomb but the lit bottle is replaced with a bouquet of flowers. Is he telling us to make peace and not war? Or are we supposed to guffaw at such an idea of throwing flowers towards our aggressors? He tags, you decide and his work allows you to pursue your own conclusion. Regardless of how vague some of the art may be, people’s reactions to Banksy are an array of emotions, varying from the patronizing of people who see the work but really don’t understand it, to genuine perplexing that asks “What the hell does he mean?” My reaction is one where my imagination draws a conclusion: The violence in this image of the Molotov cocktail/FTD-logo-like flower bomber begs for me to ask that for all our aggression towards hate, are we just as zealous with the equally as important emotion, love?

So now one could ask: what do these eccentric figures, separated by countries and cultures, have in common? Giger is leaning on the illusions of an opium addiction, while Banksy is strategically changing the hearts and minds of people who fight over trivial things. One could see the political undertones of Giger in the Birthmachine work, but this doesn’t really hit the eye as much as Banksy’s ideological symbols outlined in his pieces. However, Banksy isn’t fond of high details or texture thanks lack of legality of his craft meaning he can’t stay at the wall painting very long. But the commonality of these two is in the tools of their trade: Air propelled paint. Airbrushing is just the same as spray painting, and vice versa. One comfortably uses the medium in the privacy in his home to disturb the mind while the other uses his cans of Krylon to get the gears in the mind turning. All hail, air propelled paint!

My voluntary exposure to these artists has made me look at the world through not-even-close-to-rose colored glasses. While I haven’t lifted a paint brush since high school, I still take a lot of inspiration from these men; they're works have given me the drive to write with as much creativity as they have painted. As a result, I now can appreciate the Van Gogh paintings and the sculptures of Michelangelo. Perhaps those crazier pieces by Giger and Banksy are gateways to higher art because I once was like many young people and just didn’t quite understand the great Renaissance paintings of old and needed to see the dark or funny side of fine art first; a habit compared to when one begins a wine tasting hobby by starting with cheaper, and easier to enjoy, boxed vino. Perhaps Giger and Banksy are not just artists but rather flavors to the eye to be enjoyed or at the very least, sampled.

References

Giger, H. R. (1997). Retrospective. (3rd ed.). (p. 9). Beverly Hills, CA, USA: Morpheus International.

Kent, P. (2006, April 8). Calling all conceptual artists. New York Times, p. 1. Retrieved From: http://web.ebscohost.com/ehost/resultsadvanced?sid=ddae20de-e90c-486f-94668e8a31d20fdf%40sessionmgr11&vid=2&hid=10&bquery=Calling+AND+all+AND+conceptual+AND+artists&bdata=JmRiPWFwaCZ0eXBlPTEmc2l0ZT1laG9zdC1saXZl

Trebay, G. (2011, January 20). Designers Anonymous. New York Times. p. 1 Retrieved From: http://web.ebscohost.com/ehost/detail?vid=3&hid=10&sid=a289468c-d0a04b3aa6cc4a99af122bb5%40sessionmgr12&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWhvc3QtbGl2ZQ%3d%3d#db=aph&AN=57406303

Raised by Mom's Village

What defines a person if not his or her own upbringing? Even before we are born, the actions of our parents have an effect on us that lasts a lifetime. Those who raise us, whether they are parents, guardians or members of your extended family have an obligation to make us into the people we are today. While many are used to the simple life that 1950's television would show us that a child is raised suburbanite-style by a mother, father, spoiled by grandparents and harmlessly corrupted by uncles and brothers, the fabric of that Americana is far from the real world. Today's American kids are raised by usually one parent, most commonly a Mother. We have our rising rate of American divorces to thank for that and since its surges and slowdowns in the 1970's the average American family has changed (Are Americans still in love with marriage?, 1990).

I was raised by my Mother and Father for the first ten years of my life and for a time things were great. We had the American dream which included the house, the cars, and the family business. For many, this would be considered making it, but for my father, that wasn't enough. My family fell apart in the early nineties after my father had an affair. At my young age I wasn't aware of what was going on or that my father was cheating on my mom, I just kept thinking that dad was just going away for a little while, not forever. I would sometimes go out to visit my father on a weekend which was nice; however, he wasn't dealing with the separation very well. In retrospect, I believe that he was having a hard time with being divorced because it was his fault it happened. Visits went from every week to every two weeks, then to once a month. Child support checks came less and less as well. As a child and eventually a teen, how was this to define me?

Show your mother some love

My mother worked a lot and went to school. She had many friends that felt her pain, as they watched her struggle to raise me. In her circle of friends, many of them took it upon themselves to teach me things that young man is supposed to learn. One example was my driver’s education; a courtesy extended from one of my mom’s co-workers (though my fiance claims that mentor failed enormously). The most significant lesson learned was about the value of a hard day’s work- toiling alongside cooks at the restaurant where my mother waited tables. The most fun lessons learned was how to load and fire guns from a friend of my moms'; although this skill has yet to come in handy. My point is, having these replacement father figures was actually better for me and could also be better for other children growing up in single parent households.

As I was being raised by a village of my mother’s friends, my dad was too busy partying, getting drunk and spending time in jail for doing drugs. As my mother slaved away in supporting her son, my father was making himself a sick, twisted miscreant to society and the family. Was I supposed to take this as an example of what a man does with himself? Live like Charlie Harper of Two and a Half Men? My father never had a relationship last longer than two months and most of the time the loves of his life were either bought or borrowed. Even as a young man this never seemed right, and I knew this because my mother was so badly hurt from those actions. Fortunately, the rest of her village of friends gave me much better examples of how you treat a woman.

In those days, divorces weren't always so prevalent, so being raised by a single mom made me an outcast in my teens. All my friends used to tell me about how their paternal figures were such a hard case in discipline; but the truth is, I wanted that. I yearned to be told what to do instead of being left home alone while my mother slaved away to support me. It would have been nice to get a taste of what it was like for my father to be ‘disappointed in me’ rather than just ignoring his responsibility to his son. In my teens I had the tendency to be destructive or maybe even depressed, setting things on fire for fun or contemplating suicide due to a rough school life. Having a father to rein me in would have been more suitable than having to figure out on my own what was right and wrong.

           Another benefit in having a father: learning about the birds and bees from someone other than your mom. Those are fragile moments in a teenage boy’s life and a father makes all the difference. When it came to learning about becoming a man, my poor mom could only explain so much. I’m not going to drag any reader through the details of my working mother trying to explain to her son why suddenly girls seemed interesting, but one could make a sitcom episode of it just for laughs. Regardless, it was nice that my mother had many friends that gave me the advice that I needed so that I wouldn’t become a statistic of a shut in that wouldn’t ever talk to anyone. My father wouldn't have done very well anyways since he didn't know how to treat my Mother, let alone any other woman. A bathroom wall would be a better source of knowledge.

Through my experience I’ve learned that the famous quote based on an equally famous book, is absolutely right: “It takes a village to raise a child” (Gheaus, 2012 para. 1). Though my father bailed on me, I never felt too deprived. My father left me with one great example in life as well, see what he did with his life and do just the opposite. Don’t work in just one place all your life flipping pizza dough, never treat a woman with neglect or selfishness, and stay off the drugs (You’re a father, not Charlie Sheen). It feels pretty good to be me, a happily engaged, reasonably educated guy and not be a negative subject of a statistic in poverty. (Pickett, Kate, and Richard Wilkinson, 1996).

References

Are Americans still in love with marriage? (1990). Editorial research reports 1990. Washington, DC: CQ Press. Retrieved from http://library.cqpress.com.ez.lakemichigancollege.edu/cqresearcher/cqresrre1990070600

Gheaus, Anca. "Arguments for nonparental care for children." Social Theory and Practice 37.3 (2011): 483+. Academic OneFile. Web. 21 Feb. 2012. Retrieved from:http://go.galegroup.com.ez.lakemichigancollege.edu/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA265194308&v=2.1&u=lom_lakemich&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w Gale Document Number: GALE|A265194308 Pickett, Kate, and Richard Wilkinson. "Kate Pickett and Richard Wilkinson: poverty is the real issue here, not fathers." New Statesman [1996] 22 Aug. 2011: 24. Academic OneFile. Web. 21 Feb. 2012. Retrieved from: http://go.galegroup.com.ez.lakemichigancollege.edu/ps/i.do?id=GALE%7CA266357526&v=2.1&u=lom_lakemich&it=r&p=AONE&sw=w Gale Document Number: GALE|A266357526