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For the term "dennis-oneil".

Mike Gold: Worst … Villain… Ever!


Gold Art 130313Seduction of the Innocent by Max Allan Collins • Interior illustrations by Terry Beatty • Hard Case Crime • Paperback: $9.95 • Digital: $6.39 • Audio: $9.18

So… Who is the worst, most evil comic book villain ever? Well, if you’re a hard-core comics fan and/or comics professional, the worst comic book villain ever might very well be Dr. Fredric Wertham. He’s the guy who spearheaded the comic books breed juvenile delinquency movement of the late 1940s and early 1950s that led to Senate hearings, state-by-state censorship (Can’t have the word “crime” in the title of your comic book? Really?), massively plummeting sales, and the dissolution of more than half of the comics publishing companies and the jobs that went along with them.

An entire generation of fans grew up loathing the man. His so-called study, which was lacking in any real scientific evidence, was called Seduction of the Innocent. Suffice it to say that a lot of us have had a “thing” about the guy… perhaps none more than massively talented and successful novelist/comics writer/filmmaker/musician Max Allan Collins.

Collins was in a rock band called Seduction of the Innocent that played, among other venues, the San Diego Comic Con pre-show party – his bandmates included Bill Mumy, Miguel Ferrer and Steve Leialoha. It was… loud.

Now he’s repurposed the Evil Doctor’s seminal title in a mystery novel, the third (and hopefully not last) of his Jack Starr private eye stories that revolve around the comic strip and comic book business. Collins writes novels almost as often as I consume barbecue beef sandwiches – for one thing, he’s been co-writing, finishing off, and/or editing the plethora of unpublished material written by his friend, the late crimemaster Mickey Spillane. I wish I could come anywhere near keeping up with his output, but I’ve cut back on the barbecue beef.

But if you’re a comics or a popular culture fan and you only read one Max Allan Collins book this week, make it Seduction of the Innocent. I’d like to say it is one of the best books ever written, but that’s a stupid concept. However, I can say it is one of the most fun books I’ve ever read.

Collins incorporates his massive knowledge of – and enthusiasm for – 1950s popular culture. In addition to pastiches of Wertham and the folks at EC Comics and Lev Gleason Publications, he nods (often with the energy of a bobble-head on meth) towards Dragnet, Mickey Spillane, Al Capp, Dick Tracy, paperback culture, and mid-century culture. Mostly, though, he infuses his mystery novel with a smokepot of comics effluvia – aided by his long-time researcher George Hagenauer. However, if you’re not up on this sort of thing and/or couldn’t care less, it doesn’t get in the way of this clever yarn.

Indeed, I must compliment the author on a great diversionary move. For those of us who are up on comics history, he directs us towards one likely suspect – and then makes a crosstown turn worthy of a Manhattan cabdriver. I won’t spoil this for you, but if you’re curious read Joe Simon’s My Life in Comics.

I must point out that Collins’ long-time comics collaborator Terry Beatty (artist on the current Phantom Sunday pages) supplied the illustrations for each chapter. They are brilliant. Beatty even found an old Leroy Letterer to exacerbate the effect of reading an old (and relevant) EC Comics story.

If you’re looking for a good time and yet want to keep your clothes on, you’ll do well with Seduction of the Innocent. Max Allan Collins’ version, not Fredric Wertham’s.

THURSDAY: Dennis O’Neil

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

 

Martha Thomases: Respect!

Martha Thomases: Respect!

Thomases Art 130308Instead of having a calendar, I have a newspaper (kids: ask your parents). If it’s Tuesday, it’s Science Times. Wednesday it’s Dining. Thursday, my favorite, has Style and Home. Friday is two Arts sections. Saturday is Charles Blow.

And Monday shines a spotlight on the commerce in media in the business section.

This is great for me, because I write this column on Tuesday. This week, there was a discussion of the new Disney film, Oz the Great and Powerful, opening this weekend.  It’s a big gamble for Disney, investing in characters they don’t own, at a time when many expensive fantasy films have not performed to expectations (I’m looking at you, Jack the Giant Slayer).

Hollywood is always looking for the next big thing. At the same time, the people making the financial decisions can be very conservative, especially when we’re talking big-budget special effects. So I guess what I mean is, Hollywood is always looking for the next big sure thing.

The problem is that money people are not always good judges about what the public will like. If it was only a question of appealing to the lowest common denominator, that would be simple, and the multiplex would play all Twilight all the time. That might bring in a steady rate of return, but eventually, the public would get bored and want to see something else. And that something else might cost a lot less than Twilight, and, while that movie not make Twilight money, would make a much more for each dollar invested.

This is why the movie companies look for ideas in other media. This is why they adapt stories from novels, or television shows, or even comic books.

Which brings me to the other story in Monday’s paper. David Carr wrote about The Walking Dead, and how it is more successful on cable’s AMC than many shows on the broadcast networks.

I haven’t been reading the comic, although Robert Kirkman is one of my son’s favorite writers. Still, I’m not surprised the show is so successful. Through dozens of issues, Kirkman wrote characters that appealed to people, that engaged them in a story. Other comics have spawned successful series on television, including Superman (with and without Lois in the title), Superboy, Flash, the Incredible Hulk and Green Arrow.

Comics have been less consistently successful as movies, and I think that’s because the producers do not have to rely as much on character. They seem to think a few good fight scenes will make up for ridiculous plots and people. Look at the difference in the way the Hulk was portrayed on television and on screen right up until The Avengers.

I think the difference is that Joss Whedon understands comics and why they are appealing. He’s actually written them. He has respect for the idea that the action flows from the character, not the other way around. He knows how to tell a character that has proven herself.

Which brings me to this week’s other hot topic. My old pal, Jerry Ordway, wrote a blog post about how difficult it is for comic creators of a certain age to get work. Jerry worked on the death and return of Superman story lines, the bestselling comics of all time. He continues to do work of excellent quality, but because he’s not the flavor of the month, he can’t get any assignments.

Other mass-market entertainment doesn’t play by these rules. Yes, it’s smart to always be scouting hot young talent, because it’s hot and it’s young. Even so, booksellers always want the next Stephen King book, or John Grisham, or J. K. Rowlings, and iTunes pushes Elvis Costello and Judy Collins. Martin Scorsese and Steven Spielberg still make movies.

The market appreciates proven talent because, well, it’s been proven. It would be great if comic book companies appreciated it too.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

SUNDAY: John Ostrander

 

Dennis O’Neil: A Comic Book Convention… About Comic Books?

O'Neil Art 130307…wind down through the labyrinthine passage to the farthest depth of the cavern and there find a wire, and from the wire will come a spark, and from the spark a flame and from the flame a light that will illuminate the truth…

Well, sometime, maybe. But not today. Today is for blobbing – or, if you prefer a slightly classier and more contemporary work that I learned just this afternoon, chillaxing. Yesterday was the ordeal of being pulled for hours through a tube that’s a teeny bit narrower than I am while breathing sulfur or, as some would call it, airline travel.

I’ve been doing it pretty regularly for almost half-a-century and so you’d think I’d be used to it by now. Okay, I’m resigned to it, but that’s not exactly the same as being used to it.

The occasion, this brisk and, in some areas, snowy March, was a visit to a comics convention in a city I have fond memories of, Seattle. Now, some of you who are my age and have retained the ability to read and thus are reading this, may recall the early fanzines: generally produced on mimeograph machines on cheapish paper; these were not slick and often not very professional, but they had the charm of work done for the love of it, with no hope of gain other than the satisfaction of indulging in a cherished hobby. These publications often featured “convention reports,” accounts of visits to science fiction or comic book gatherings, written by the zine’s publisher or one of that person’s friends. About those conventions: some fans, a professional or two, maybe a movie, maybe – a real treat! – a reel of outtakes from film or television. And maybe…even the appearance of an actor from film or tv. (The first con I attended featured Buster Crabbe.)

Them days is gone forever, Clem. Any convention report would have to be quite lengthy to do justice to its subject. There were, give or take, 75,000 attendees in Seattle and a whole roster of show biz celebrities topped by Patrick Stewart or, as those of you adverse to reading credits might know him, Jean Luc Picard, captain of the starship Enterprise. This mammoth gathering is not the biggest convention – the ones held in New York City and San Diego are bigger – but its still pretty awesome and, I was told, has doubled in size since last year, so…watch your backs, New York and San Diego!

What can I bitch about? Not much. The accommodations bordered on luxurious and everyone we encountered – I’m talking everyone – was friendly and courteous.

What did I like? Well, let’s skip the women – hordes of lovely human beings in costumes, many with interesting tattoos and didn’t my dirty old man merit badge almost burn a hole through my vest! Let’s skip them and remark on how the idea of a convocation devoted to good ol’ comic books didn’t seem to be lost among all the show biz glitter and bling.

Yeah, I’d go back, even if I had to be pulled through a tube while breathing sulfur.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Dennis O’Neil: Fredric Wertham, Superhero?

O''Neil Art 130328Did Fredric Wertham imitate superheroes? And if so, did he realize that he was doing it?

But let’s back up and give you latecomers an establishing shot or two. Way back in the early 50s, Dr. Wertham, a New York City psychiatrist, wrote a book provocatively titled Seduction of the Innocent which claimed to use science to demonstrate that comic books were corrupting the nation’s youth. Comics were already being attacked by editorial writers and at about the same time as the book’s publication, a senator named Estes Kefauver was convening hearings to investigate the same charge. The result of all this accusing was twofold: comics publishers went out of business leaving over 800 people suddenly unemployed, and the ragtag remnants of the business created The Comics Code Authority to censor their publications and thus placate the witch hunters. The comic book enterprise went into sharp decline, both financially and artistically until the late 50s, when Julius Schwartz and Stan Lee reinvented the superhero genre.

A sorry story. But ancient history. Well, not quite. Dr. Wertham was back in the news last week. According to the New York Times, Carol L. Tilley of the University of Illinois, examined Wertham’s papers and found numerous examples of research that were “manipulated, overstated, compromised and fabricated.”

Wow. And ouch. Not only did the doctor help put hundreds of decent folk out of work and, arguably, cripple an American art form, but he cooked the books to do it. There have been, for decades, doubts about Wertham’s methods, perhaps the most prevalent of which was that he ignored the validity of control groups. (Okay, goes the narrative, the doc found a hundred young lawbreakers who read comics, but he disregarded the thousands of Eagle Scouts who were also comics readers.) But until now, nobody has accused him of outright lying

Apparently he did lie.

I wonder why. Did he find these entertainments so unutterably vulgar that he was able to convince himself that they were also malign? Was he a zealot who honestly believed that these comic books were pernicious! and corrupt! and evil! and were obliterating the decency of American youth? And did he feel that he was justified in using any means available to quell this menace? That seems to be how zealots like to think.

Or was he a superhero? Consider: the bad guys in superhero stories may blather about ruling the world or getting rich or attaining revenge or, like zealots, proving that they’re right, but the real reason they exist is to give the hero a chance to show his stuff. We like heroes, and we like them to do magnificent deeds, and villains provide the circumstances for superheroic action.  So, Dr. Wertham: did he see, in the anti-comic book excitement, a chance to get famous and cement his reputation and maybe grab a royalty check? Were comics his supervillains, giving him his big opportunity? He was already respected and, on the whole, he seemed to be a pretty decent guy, but maybe he had his share of hidden demons.

I don’t know. I’ll probably never know, and neither will you. But we might find a lesson in the Wertham saga: don’t trust authority figures. I hope that isn’t news to you.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Dennis O’Neil, Cowboy Poet

O'Neil Art 130221Cowboys who gallop and ride

Know how to take things in stride

They always have their pride

Cowboys who gallop and ride

Atrocious! Add your own melody and hold your nose.

I made up that ditty, or one close to it, years ago and I don’t know why. (To provide a contrast to good verse? To avoid thinking about something I should have been thinking about?) Shrug.

But it’s in my head today, maybe, is because last night on what we refer to around here as “the cowboy channel” had a “six gun salute” to Tim Holt, who was one of my favorite actors when I was six or seven. Five old movies: I watched two and recorded the other three for watching late at night when I’m not ready for the trek to the bedroom but should be. He was a favorite of my childhood, was ol’ Tim, and he had credits beyond the many B westerns he acted in, including roles in The Treasure of Sierra Madre and The Magnificent Ambersons. Looking at him on a television screen last night, I think I grasped the reason the snotnosed version of myself liked him: he seemed nice.

But is this not a column appearing in a site devoted to comic books? So why am I blathering on about old old oaters?

I offer two reasons.

First reason: there is a connection between comics and Mr. Holt. He had his own comics title that ran in the late 40s and earl 50s. In issue #20, he began wearing a red mask and calling himself – wait for it – the Red Mask. Eventually, the Red Mask took over the title and the Tim Holt persona quietly retired. (Did the Red Mask meet up with the Lone Ranger, the Durango Kid, and the Two-Gun Kid and did they mosey on into town and drink sarsaparilla and talk about keeping masks purty and the finer points of shooting hog legs from the hands of owlhoots? Reckon we’ll never know.) If I were in a folksy mood I might say that Tim was let out to pasture, but, despite the previous sentence, I’m not feeling particularly folksy and besides, that wouldn’t be true. Which brings us to…

Second reason: Tim Holt the actor (as opposed to Tim the character) didn’t exactly go out to pasture and there was a connection between Mr. Holt and a friend of mine, the late and beloved Archie Goodwin. Those of you who have entered our world recently may not know that Archie was an excellent comics editor and writer and an incredibly nice guy. Archie once told me that, after his movie career, Tim Holt relocated to Oklahoma where he managed a radio station and knew Archie’s father. Who knew?

A final note: What I call the cowboy channel is really the Encore Westerns channel. For me, checking into it once in a while is a mini-nostalgia trip, a backward glimpse into times, places and attitudes that no longer exist. For you young’uns…I don’t know–maybe you’ll see a connection between what are sometimes called “horse operas” and what are often known as “space operas” and maybe you’ll find that interesting.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Dennis O’Neil: Snow Business

O'Neil Art 130214I guess the angels were scratching their heads real hard, and so when I awoke yesterday there was three feet of white stuff all over everything. It’s still there, mostly, except for the streets, where our tax dollars have been at work, and the driveway where a nice man who didn’t ask for a king’s ransom shoveled it off.

I like it when the angels scratch their heads, except if I have to go someplace or the electricity kerfutzes, which it did during the recent hurricane – angels blowing out birthday candles? – and then the angelic behavior is plenty vexing and old folks have to seek shelter in hotels and if you think that’s easy to find, you’ve never sought shelter after a big wind!

I guess this is why some folks who have reached or exceeded their three score and ten choose to reside in places like Florida. You know – beaches on both sides of the state and plenty of sunshine headin’ their way, zippety-doo-dah.

Florida has the reputation of being paved with greyheads, but the last time I was there I saw more young than old. Maybe it helped that I was attending a comics convention. But I remember a movie in which the main characters were twenty-somethings who ended up in Florida. (Okay, one of them didn’t quite reach his destination due to dying en route.) I have to thank my man in another sunny locale, Ken Pisani, currently residing in Southern California with the lovely Amanda, for informing me that I have a small participation in the flick. Very, very, very small.

In the brief clip Ken sent me, Jon Voight is riding in a bus next to a little girl who’s reading a comic book – that I wrote. It’s one of my early Wonder Woman issues (though, come to think of it, arguably there were no later Wonder Womans by me because I didn’t last long on the title.) Well, golly!

I saw the movie, Midnight Cowboy, during an early run, probably the first and probably at a Times Square theater – one of the classy ones on Broadway, not one of the stick-floored grind houses on 42nd Street. But I don’t remember the bit with the comic book and that’s curious because I was still close enough to my Catholic boyhood to be aware that the film was considered to be…you know, smutty. Near occasion-of-sinny. And I sure as hell(?) wasn’t used to seeing my work anywhere except on newsstands and in editorial offices. I would have reacted and having reacted, I would have remembered.

But I didn’t and I’ll worry about that as soon as I deal with global warming and the legal implications of drone warfare.

I’m forgetting something…

Oh, yeah. Later today, Marifran will be reading this blather off the computer and when she gets this far, I’ll be wishing her a happy birthday.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Dennis O’Neil: Sea Hunt, Iron Man, and Me

Scrambled Television ScreenWay, way back in the day, when Harry S. Truman was president and that thing in the living room, that teevee set that daddy brought home, well, we watched whatever was on. I mean, it’s not like there were a lot of choices. In St. Louis we had no more than three channels, and back then, it might have been one or even two fewer. So you watched teevee, sometimes because there was a program you wanted too see, sometimes because, well…you wanted to watch teevee. You twisted the knob and whatever was on that wobbly, blurry, staticky screen is what you saw.

Sea Hunt, starring Lloyd Bridges, was sometimes what was on and what I watched. I thought it was okay – not a favorite, but okay. I couldn’t have seen it much because it debuted in 1958, which was my first year at the university, and you know what freshman college is: a new world, new friends, new disciplines, new activities and, oh yeah, there was this cute little brunette, senior at Xavier High, who was claiming my attention.

Later, watching one of the great movie westerns, I saw the same Lloyd Bridges have a dustup with Gary Cooper as the clock hands in the marshal’s office ticked closer and closer to High Noon.

I might have seen an issue or two of the Sea Hunt comic book. But maybe not, By then, I thought comics were a relic of my childhood, and if I ever did see a Sea Hunt, I probably didn’t read it.

Later still, in a northern California spa, I passed a guy standing at the checkout desk who, I was later told, was Beau Bridges, Lloyd’s oldest son. Oldest, but not only: Beau has a younger brother, Jeff.

Jeff is, like his brother and father, an actor. By any reasonable criteria, he is a movie star, but I think of him as actor and only incidentally star. There is something to be said for going into the family business, and I’m glad Jeff chose to do so.

I’ve never met Jeff Bridges, probably never will.  But I do feel some connection with Jeff. Actually, two connections.

Jeff starred in a movie titled Eight Million Ways to Die, adapted, loosely, from the novel of the same title. Not a great flick, despite being directed by the excellent Hal Ashby. The novel’s author, my old friend Lawrence Block, once remarked that it was strange, how they made a movie with the same title as his book…Eight Million Ways to Die is connection one. I know the author of the original story.

Then I saw and liked a bunch of other Jeff Bridges performances, not the least of which was the remake of True Grit. Dad was in a cowboy show and now son was in one, too. Call this the circle of life, cinematic edition.

Connection two: Iron Man. The first movie incarnation of the Marvel Comics armored do-gooder, starring Robert Downey Jr. and – wait for it – Jeff Bridges as Obadiah Stane, the flick’s main villain and – now hold your breath – my creation. I introduced stinker Obadiah into Iron Man continuity over 20 years ago and pretty much forgot him. No reason to remember him, really. But sometimes the universe smiles and so Stane is resurrected by one of my favorite actors and life is good.

You may be asking: What’s all his got to do with anything? Okay, I’ll tell you: the preceding 572 words are a lead-in to this week’s –

REC0MMENDED READING: The Dude and the Zen Master, by Jeff Bridges and Bernie Glassman.

Happy to be of service.

FRIDAY MORNING: Martha Thomases and That Game

 

Dennis O’Neil: Iron Man Is A What???

O'Neil Art 130131So there I am, about to do a column themed to last Sunday’s episode of The Good Wife, when the telephone rings. It’s my main DNA-sharer and in the course of the ensuing chat, I mention the column idea and while we talk he does a Google search and – egad! – the digital oracle indicates that my premise is wrong.

Thank whatever benevolence caused Larry to call when he did, even if that benevolence is, in this instance, blind coincidence, because I really dislike being ignorant in print.

What I was going to impart to you is that on the aforementioned television program, a quiet revolution occurred. The title character, who is admirable and capable and sympathetic, came out of the ecclesiastical closet and pronounced herself an atheist. My thesis: with non-Caucasian and gay characters pretty common on the tube these days, the last barrier is the religious one. Your hero can be black or gay or female, I might have written, but your hero can not be a non-believer. Same is true in politics (I might have asserted): though the battle is not yet over, and I’m certainly not claiming that it is, race and gender no longer automatically preclude election to high office. But I can’t think of a single poobah who proclaims his atheism the way Mike Huckabee and Paul Ryan, to name just two of many, proclaim their Christianity. There may be the odd office holder here and there willing to deny faith in the almighty, as the great Senator Barney Frank denied heterosexuality, but they are emphatically in the minority.

But, alas, the revolution I was about to claim for The Good Wife didn’t happen. Rather, it’s been happening for a while now. Larry’s Google search revealed that there are at least 17 atheist characters on series television and – here comes the shocker! – nine in comic books. Among them is a fella I thought I knew pretty well because, for three years or so,I was his chief biographer. Tony Stark’s the name, and Iron Man’s the game.

When I was writing Iron Man for Marvel, the question of Tony’s belief system never arose, just as than the question of his favorite breakfast cereal never arose. That may be because comics are a very compressed way of delivering stories, and anything not germane to the plot is generally omitted, or it may be because somewhere in the pit of my psyche I thought that characteristics like religion were off-limits. Nobody ever told me that they were, but religion was never, ever mentioned in comics – or in movies or television or radio, and very seldom in genre novels. The no-religion stricture was one of those taboos that I assumed without really giving them much thought. However, I don’t believe that the taboo didn’t exist. My guess would be that the dudes in the carpeted offices feared that identifying a character’s religion would alienate anyone of a different faith. Maybe they were right.

By the way…the Wayne family were probably Episcopalian and if their surviving member, Bruce, were ever asked about beliefs, he’d identify with the family tradition. But he doesn’t get to church very often. Too busy jumping off roofs.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases, Howdy Doody, and Corinthians.

 

 

Dennis O’Neil: CBG and Romance

O'Neil Art 130124Great Caesar’s bust is on the shelf

And I don’t feel so well myself.

– Arthur Guiterman

I guess they’re not kidding about this “dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return” business. After 1,699 issues and 42 years of publication, what began as the brainchild of 17-year-old Alan Light and, after a few earlier names was finally and best known as The Comics Buyer’s Guide – CBG for short – has reached its end.

I don’t think I ever paid for an issue of the paper but, thanks to the generosity of its publishers, I read a lot of them. When I was sitting behind various editorial desks CBG would appear in the mail once a week and when I had some spare time I’d page through it, reading this and that. It wasn’t a big part of my professional life, but it was nice.

Eventually, I did a short article for it. My idea was to make CBG’s readership aware of Harvey Pekar and his self-published and strange and unique comic book, American Splendor. Since Harvey didn’t truck in the usual comic book stuff, I thought that maybe CBG’s readers might be missing something that was unlike anything else on the market, something they’d like. I now wish I had a do-over. Though my intentions were pure, the piece I produced, I think, was patronizing, maybe because I didn’t, and don’t, know how to describe Harvey’s episodic autobiographies. He was an American original and his work doesn’t classify easily.

That regrettable bit of quasi-journalism printed and, one hopes, quickly forgotten, I no doubt thought I was done with CBG except for my weekly reading of it. But the best was yet to come. CBG played a small, but crucial, part in events that shaped the rest of my life. Cue organ chord.

Getting married is generally considered to be a life-shaper, no? And getting married to a teenage sweetheart you haven’t seen in 30 years, well…

To be brief: Marifran Reuter, nee McFarland, was teaching a parish school of religion in a St. Louis suburb. Talking to a student’s mom, she mentioned that she once dated a guy whose brother had the same name as the student’s father. Mom and teacher compared facts and, yes, the student’s dad was, indeed,the brother of the guy teacher had dated, long since moved to New York and working as a writer. Teach wrote writer a letter and, on the writer’s next midwestern visit, they met and talked until three in the morning. A bit later, during a phone conversation, Marifran told the writer that she’d be selling text books in Omaha during summer vacation. Uh-huh! So the writer, me, looked into CBG and found the name of a comic shop in Omaha. I called the shop and persuaded the proprietor to invite me for an autographing session on the June day that Marifran was hawking textbooks in the area. Then I called her and said that she wouldn’t believe what just happened – I had a gig in Omaha on the same day and why don’t we meet in Missouri and go together…

Would it have happened without CBG? I don’t know. But happen it did, and on a warm Nebraska night, we sat on a hillside and spoke the truth as we knew it and created the rest of our lives.

THURSDAY: Martha Thomases’ Extra Heroes

 

Dennis O’Neil: The Blame Game

O'Neil Art 130117Okay, who’s to blame? Somebody has to be responsible – stands to reason. I mean, it’s always somebody’s fault. We’re not that somebody, you and me, so it has to be one of them! The hippies. The nonconformists. The others. Them!

Take this nonsense about global warming or climate change or whatever they’re calling it this week. What a load! So the ice caps are melting. Even if that’s true, and as far as I’m concerned the jury’s still out, but even if it is true… So what? You telling me we can’t handle a little more water? What are we, sissies afraid to get our socks wet?

There’s a newspaper in London – I forget which one – that said that global warming stopped years ago. Sounds right to me.

But you know what I think? I think that under those ice caps there’s some kind of big furnace, maybe atomic powered, that’s causing the ice to melt. Who put it there? Maybe the commies. I personally believe that the International Communist Conspiracy is not out of business, not by a long shot. It’s just biding its time, waiting for the right opportunity.

But as much as I hate the commies, I don’t think they’re melting the ice. Ask yourself this – who stands to profit? Obvious, when you think about it. The liberals, or progressives, or whatever they’re calling themselves this week. Simple logic. They convince us that the climate’s changing and they say that’s bad and that gas and oil and factories and cars are responsible. Then, wham-o! They lead us to their buddies, the mooches and takers, the nonproducers, who try to sell us on the idea that we have to replace our fuel sources with sunshine and wind! Bottom line, they turn a nice profit while we work on our tans.

I’m telling you, something has to be done.

And that reminds me. Comic books! How long are we going to let this filth pollute the minds of our young? It’s been going on for…what? Ever since the end of World War II, maybe earlier. A real doctor – not one of your liberal pseudo-doctors, but a doctor with a medical degree and everything name of Doctor Fredrick Wertham wrote a book proving – I’ll say that again, proving! – that these comic books cause juvenile delinquency and sexual perversion – you know what I mean – and crime in the streets and disrespect for authority and who knows what else! Got so bad, a United States senator name of Estes Kefauver held hearings on the matter. Oh, he knocked the wind out of their sails, Senator Kefauver did, and a lot of these comic book publishers went out of business. But not all. Just the other day, I saw somebody on the bus reading a comic book. So we still got a big part of the job to do. We shouldn’t rest until nobody even remembers these comic books!

•   •   •

Wayne LaPierre, of the National Rifle Association, blames gun violence on the media and the mental health care system. Sound right to you?

RECOMMENDED READING: The Ten Cent Plague, by David Hadju

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases Looks At Comics Creators Looking At Themselves

 

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