So here’s my deep, dark, horrible secret: Despite posing as someone who’s extremely conversant with the history of superhero comics, I had never read the Chris Claremont/John Byrne Dark Phoenix Saga before this week. I had just never really been able to track down a TPB or reprints before.

Understand, between summaries and secondhand sources, I knew all about the storyline, down to specific panels I’d seen reproduced dozens and dozens of times elsewhere; it’s rather like how not every NFL fan might have actually sat down and watched the Ice Bowl, but you might know some of the big plays and significant stats, or at least that it is considered to be An Important Game.

Well, this week I sat down and watched the Ice Bowl of superhero comics, and I thought I’d write a little something about it. You don’t need me to review it or tell you that it’s good, because you already know, or you’ve already heard. But I thought I might venture an opinion about why it’s so good. I think it’s something that’s sorely missed in today’s superhero comics, and that is collaboration.

Because the Dark Phoenix Saga as we know it today, as a landmark in superhero storytelling, was really a happy accident. The original plan was that as a result of Mastermind’s interference, Jean would turn into the Dark Phoenix, a villainous threat to both the X-Men and the universe. Before she could do any major damage, the Shi’ar would then “psychically lobotomize” Jean so that she was no longer a threat, but the Dark Phoenix persona could come back every couple years as a big-time villain in the same way that Magneto or Doctor Doom were being used at the time. You get some drama, a small-to-medium-sized shakeup to the status quo, and seeds for future storylines; a very serviceable, if not exceptional, superhero story.

But then Byrne decided to up the ante and give Dark Phoenix some more villain cred by having her kill five billion inhabitants of an alien world when the star she consumes destroys their planet, and Claremont went along with it and scripted a still-quite-haunting haunting description of the alien civilization’s final moments. This ended up working even better than Byrne had expected, because Jean was now such a horrible villain that Editor-in-Chief Jim Shooter demanded at the last minute that she die, because after ending five billion lives, the old “Oh, thank heavens I’ve been cured of my evil side and can’t be held accountable for my actions” bit was not going to cut it. Thus forcing Claremont and Byrne to scrap their original, “safe” ending and kill Jean off, thus producing some of the most particularly poignant melodrama superhero that the genre had ever seen.

Of course, you probably have heard this story already, but I bring it up to make my next point: This would probably have never happened in today’s comics industry.

The Dark Phoenix story that finally saw print was very much a collaboration between writer, artist, and editorial. Claremont on his own would have written a fairly standard superhero story, but Byrne took the initiative to add some risk, and they both were forced to move outside their safe plan by editorial interference.

But I don’t see that degree of collaboration in today’s superhero comics. I don’t believe many comics are done according to the  old “Marvel Method” anymore, instead relying on a full script from a writer. But working from a full script, Byrne wouldn’t have the freedom to have Dark Phoenix wipe out an inhabited planet. Similarly, I wouldn’t imagine too many editors would do what Shooter did in stepping in like that so late in the game. If editors are not outright acting as showrunners and telling writers what to do themselves, they seem to be fairly hands-off. Brian Michael Bendis and Geoff Johns, for example, seem to get very free reign; there doesn’t appear to be very much that’s been made off-limits to them. And anyway, these things are planned at big editorial/writer summits years in advance, so everyone’s on the same page from the beginning.

I have no doubt that these sprawling five-year plans lead to fewer headaches and better planning, but aren’t we sacrificing spontaneity? I think one way to get that back would be to stop taking such an auteur approach to superhero comics and spur collaboration by getting the artists to contribute more to the storytelling side of things.

It’s true that Claremont and Byrne disagreed on a lot of points during their collaboration, but each brought out something in the other that wouldn’t be present otherwise. Byrne the traditionalist seemed to be able to rein in some of the self-indulgent excesses that Claremont would become infamous for in later years; at the same time, Claremont the trailblazer was less interested in the comfortable status quo than Byrne and shook things up more than the artist might have on his own. Oppositional collaboration can be extremely fruitful; the Lennon/McCartney songwriting team was so effective precisely because they had two very different approaches.

What I am suggesting is that it’s possible that the popular writers are becoming too comfortable with the amount of creative control they exert in the industry today. If Geoff Johns, for example, was paired with an artist who was less inclined to go for the gore, or more interested in new characters than the Silver Age originals, the resulting synthesis might result in more interesting comics. Similarly, if Bendis was working with an artist who was given to designing elaborate action setpieces instead of talking heads, perhaps it would force him to move outside his comfort zone and grow as a superhero writer. Of course, the results could very well be terrible, but they might also be very innovative and bold. What if…? Right?

The Dark Phoenix Saga is one of the most influential stories in the history of the superhero genre. But perhaps the lesson to be learned from it shouldn’t have been “Killing off a longtime character makes for good drama,” but rather, “Sometimes Plan B turns out to be the better plan after all.”

Well, I have to say that as comic con costumes go, these two are not bad. I mean, Stargirl looks kind of… directly translated from the comic, but it’s okay because it’s a con costume and you expect people to be literal. And Dr. Fate – well, fake muscles in the costume aside, that sure is an interesting way to depict his helmet’s glowy eyes. The ancient Egyptians loved their fibreglass! But all in all a very good –

– wait, what? These are costumes from Smallville? Somebody got paid to design these?

Ah, good old Smallville. Blurring the line between “professional” and “amateur” for nine years.

What is the best thing about The Demon #46-49?

Is it black magic zombie Nazis rising to conquer the world?

Is it Jason Blood recruiting the retired, elderly crew of the Haunted Tank to fight the black magic zombie Nazis?

Is it Etrigan, getting his patriotism – such as it is – on?

Is it the crew of the Haunted Tank, right after Etrigan gets his ass kicked, deciding to take on an entire platoon of M1 Abrams tanks crewed by black magic zombie Nazis in their tiny little M3 tank, as they are the only ones who can stop a peaceful small town from being destroyed by the aforementioned black magic zombie Nazi tank brigade?

Is it the Haunted Tank beating all those big bad tanks by driving right over them and throwing grenades into their cockpits?

Or is it when Etrigan gets his hands on the black magic Nazi demon who’s helping all this happen?

The answer is clearly all of the above.

One of the things people routinely ask me to write about is The Incredible Hercules, mostly because it’s a good comic book and they want people to talk about good comic books that “fly under the radar.” Except I’m not sure how The Incredible Hercules can be considered “under the radar,” because everybody fucking talks about Incredible Hercules and how good it is: Newsarama, Comics Should Be Good, Robot 6, Chris Sims, Joey Joe Joe Junior Shabadoo’s Buck Wild Comics Blog, everybody. And it still only sells a healthy-but-relatively-small number of copies. (I buy the hardcovers.) So basically the internet is worthless for pimping a comic regardless of quality: indeed, superhero fans have at this point been trained to more or less ignore quality in favour of “importance” whenever the choice is forced upon them.

(Which is not to say that an “important” story can’t also be a good one, but: priorities.)

But beyond the effectiveness of me pimping it, I also question whether it is deserving of pimpery. This is not to say that I don’t enjoy The Incredible Hercules – obviously I do. But I really think people overestimate its craftworthiness on the basis that it manages what a lot of superhero fare doesn’t these days: it is a well written, light and entertaining comic book. (And it has some flaws. In a few years’ time when people revisit these arcs, I’m pretty sure people will look at the use of Amadeus Cho’s smartness turning him into a Bullseye replacement and go “wait, how does being smart give you good motor reflexes and hand-eye coordination?” This is not a major quibble, of course – it just needs to be said that Incredible Hercules is not a perfect book.)

I’m just gonna pause for a second here because it’s worth reflecting upon how few Big Two books are good as opposed to merely being competent. For DC there’s Detective Comics, Batman and Robin, and Secret Six. For Marvel there’s Incredible Hercules, Invincible Iron Man, the “cosmic” books, and whatever comic fills the Iron Fist slot for any given month. That is it at present. (Daredevil‘s new direction is uneven, Captain America is in a boring lull period, and Amazing Spider-Man is inconsistent on a week-to-week basis.) Eight books between the Big Two that are genuinely good comics and not just placefillers.

I’ll go further than that, though, and say that there are exactly two ongoing runs right now that aren’t just good but indeed excellent, and those are Invincible Iron Man and Detective Comics (which I have seriously come around on after a rereading plus the effect of the two most recent issues). And my simple definition of “excellent” is this: if the run came to an end with the next issue, would I be disappointed that it was over?

And with Hercules, the answer would be “not really.” It’s a good comic in all ways, but I don’t feel any deep-seated need to talk about it, analyze it, or reread it again and again. (Even my hardcovers sit unread, and I’m a compulsive rereader.) I can’t speak as to why, either. It’s basically the greatest comic book you don’t need to think about – which is why it’s so hard to write about.

(But how about that Invincible Iron Man? Huh? Huh?)

EDIT TO ADD: Ilan is right: I forgot Fantastic Four, which belongs in the “good” category. Also: Ghost Rider. But that’s it.

Now, a bear weighs approximately seven hundred and fifty pounds. A large German shepherd weighs about ninety pounds. It should be essentially impossible for a dog to knock over a bear.

However, certain dogs have mastered the science of Rexonomics, which enables one, through the use of specific equations, to change one’s own body mass, not unlike the Vision except without the horrible color scheme. Certain dogs such as Rex the motherfucking Wonder Dog.

I can’t add much to MGK’s definitive explanations of why Betty Cooper is insane, but I just wanted to make note of one thing I found recently. When I called MGK’s attention to the first page of this story, I hadn’t actually seen the rest of the story. And I assumed that if I ever saw the original context, it would make Betty’s behaviour look less — what’s the word — terrifying and homicidal. I mean, Archie comics have done a lot of WTF stories over the years, but they wouldn’t actually build a six-page comedy story around their readership’s favourite character trying to murder the hero, would they?

But I recently happened to see that story (“Woman Scorned” from Archie # 156, July 1965), and, in fact, that first page was exactly what it looked like: the introduction to a six-page story where Betty goes bonkers and attempts to rub Archie out (not in the good way) in retaliation for a broken date. Moreover, the story establishes that Betty doesn’t care whether innocent bystanders get hurt, that Jughead is the only person who is fully aware of her violent insanity (and therefore has sense enough to be scared to death of her), that the only remorse Betty feels is over her failure to finish Archie off, that when she’s happy, she’s even more dangerous, and that Archie is an idiot. Okay, that last one may have been established elsewhere.

Here’s a link to the complete story (click on the thumbnails to read the pages).

So basically, Harry Lucey and Frank Doyle (I don’t know for sure that he wrote it, but he’s the likeliest guess for any Archie story that’s actually funny) confirmed every theory their future readers would ever have about Betty’s mental state. I don’t know whether to feel good or bad about this; it’s like finding a Silver Age Superman story where they actually tell you that Superman is a dick.

One separate thing I wanted to note here, because it can’t really sustain a full post, is that a way to tell the well-written Archie stories from the poorly-written ones is that the well-written ones usually have a joke on the first page, if not the first panel. Frank Doyle in particular would almost always try to have something funny on the first page, even if it was just a throwaway line of dialogue. Bad comedy stories in comics — not just from Archie, obviously, but from any company — tend to use the first page and even the second for nothing but exposition. Which, when you’ve only got six pages, means that a hefty chunk of the story has nothing funny in it. Not the best way to write comedy.

So, my guide as to how to start reading comics has gotten a lot of feedback, and by “feedback” I mostly mean “why did you not mention this YOU ARE A BAD PERSON” or similar. (Okay, they never actually say that I am bad, but I think it’s totally implied and they should all feel very bad about themselves as people.)

There’s a lot of reasons why lots of comics didn’t make the list. Some of them aren’t on it because I wanted to cap it at twenty lest it become unmanageable (Astro City: Life In The Big City was one of my final cuts, as was the first Atomic Robo trade), and personal preference took over. Some of them aren’t on it because I could never figure out for myself where the best starting point is (Hellboy and Uncle Scrooge are the big ones in this regard). Some of them aren’t on it because I think they shoudn’t be on it. (I don’t like Daniel Clowes at all and it’s my list. Tough noogies.) Love and Rockets isn’t on it because I can never make up my mind between Heartbreak Soup and Locas.

Specific points worth addressing:

Anything by Chris Ware. Ware is a master draftsman who has yet to tell a story I find really compelling (Jimmy Corrigan gets way more hype than it deserves), and I think “holy shit look at this art” almost always gets trumped by story when you’re dealing with a new reader – appreciating really amazing art is something that I think comes at “stage two” of becoming a comics reader. (Sure, Jack Kirby is amazing, but he’s also really, really accessible and direct.) This is the same reason I disqualified Fantagraphics’ gorgeous Little Nemo In Slumberland collection. Out of my twenty, I count only one book that’s really art-driven (Big Guy and Rusty), and it has giant monsters and awesome battle scenes.

Fun Home. Got cut when I was dropping down to the twenty-five or so mark. A couple of people pointed out that there’s a dearth of female talent on my list, and… yeah, pretty much. But I didn’t feel comfortable including Fun Home. I love the book, but it has personally struck out for me four times when trying to hook new people for comics, and I am not going to protest that track record just on the basis of inclusivity. Persopolis lingered for the same reason, but got cut late because I already had a top-notch bio-comic (Blankets) and journo-comic (Pyongyang) on the list, and also because I really think the movie actually works better than the comic in telling Marjane’s story, and I don’t want to include works which can be easily dismissed by an inexperienced reader as inferior versions of the same work in a different medium.

The lack of manga. I read a reasonable amount of manga, but the problem with most of it is that it’s almost always a large multi-volume journey, usually in the 8-16 volume range, and thus most of it got DQed by my “no first volume” metric (since first volumes of a manga series are almost never standalone), so goodbye went Maison Ikkoku, Ranma 1/2, Monster, Death Note, Barefoot Gen, Phoenix, Buddha and Naruto. Oishinbo stayed on close to the end, but as much as I like it I know it tends to get repetitive and it’s a bit precious. I still haven’t read Ode to Kirihito, which probably could have otherwise qualified.

Understanding Comics. Works best after someone’s first half-dozen or so reads, not as an initial read. It’s great to see them suddenly think “ohhhhh…” and start going back to the first books they read and looking over them again to see if they “missed” anything.

The Groo Treasury. This only came out last month and I didn’t know about it and now I must own it because it is what I have always wanted: a big-ass Groo book that provides value for money. Had I known this existed, I would have gone to twenty-five items.

“A lot of the good superhero stuff from the ’80s onward – and I’d include Doom Patrol and All-Star Superman in this statement – is predicated on at least a passing familiarity with the genre. How to start reading comics without a single thing from the first four decades of superheroes? Not a very good start.” I’d respond by saying it’s not my fault that DC and Marvel have concsiously and affirmatively made themselves gradually more inaccessible to new readers. That having been said, Batman: Year One, Ultimate Spider-Man, Superman: Birthright, Superman: Secret Identity, Dr. Strange: The Oath and JLA: Earth 2 were all in consideration at various points. Runaways isn’t self-contained enough unless you can find the out-of-print hardcover first volume, Blue Beetle really just isn’t a good introductory comic at all (although Jaime is a great character), and Incredible Hercules relies a lot on Marvel continuity.

Rebecca asks:

I never read comic books as a kid, or any other period of my life, but now I’m reading all these comic book blogs and it looks kinda like fun. I think I’d like to start reading them, but I don’t know where to begin. So any advice for someone who is interested in comic books but doesn’t have any familiarity with them?

This is a good question to ask, and the reason it’s a good question to ask is because so many people have answered it completely incorrectly.

At this point I have honestly lost count of the number of comics lists that suggest that someone brand new to comics start with, say, Jack Kirby’s New Gods. Or Walt Simonson’s Thor.1 Or the Fantagraphics Complete Peanuts. Or, god forbid, Herbie the Fat fucking Fury, a comic hardcover that will set back a prospective reader sixty bucks Canadian for a measly 224 pages of kitsch that relies desperately on people saying how awesome it is.2

Or they’ll recommend something safe, like “you should read Sandman.” Or Watchmen, or Transmetropolitan, or [insert critically acclaimed comic by the Usual Suspects here]. Now, sure. These are great comics. But I’m not going to say “this is how you should get started with comics.” Watchmen should be nobody’s first comics read. Sandman has an impenetrable first volume. And Transmet is a commitment – not that Spider Jerusalem isn’t worth the ride, but I’m not going to introduce somebody to comics with it.

And seriously, don’t even get me fucking started on people who recommend ninety-nine percent of current superhero comics to anybody. This includes DC comics’ marketing board, who trumpeted godawful motherfucking Identity Crisis as a gateway comic.

No: if I’m gonna recommend how to get someone into comics, I’m going to follow three rules.

1.) It has to stand alone on its own merit. No encyclopedic collections of comic strips. (Bye-bye, Fantagraphics Popeye reprints!) No “standout volumes in a larger series.” (So long, Sandman: Dream Country!) No “this is the best story by X about Z, which came from the middle of his run.” (Nuts to you, Ed Brubaker Captain America!) No “it’s a good start but you have to read the rest of it.” (Fare thee well, Preacher!) No books which derive their entertainment value from referential humour (see ya, NextWave!). First volumes of an ongoing can make it through so long as they’re not just introductory stories for the sake of being introductory stories (no dice, Y The Last Man!) or not self-contained (nuh-uh, Monster and Akira!). And I have to toss out Elephantmen: Wounded Animals just because it’s so in media res without reading Hip Flask first. And losing Elephantmen sucks balls. But I want to make an actually helpful list here.

2.) It has to deliver good value for money. Presumably you will be buying these comics. Therefore I, in my role as helpful voice of sage wisdom, do not want to assist comic companies in ripping you off. That is Dan Didio’s job. You might not like some of what I recommend – this is inevitable – but hopefully if you end up not liking it, you won’t have spent too much. (Therefore: no Nexus hardcovers.)

3.) It has to be fucking great. By my standards, of course. Others may vary, but they have forgotten that I am right and they are wrong.

And so, we commence. I’ll include a saleslink for your convenience. (I’m not gonna do the “hey click here and help me get money from Amazon” thing, either. I’m recommending these on merit alone, insofar as I think they have it.)

continue reading "How to start reading comics."

1. Here’s some controversy for you: Walt Simonson’s Thor doesn’t hold up as entertainment. As critically brilliant rexamination of the Norse mythos in a superheroic setting, sure. But – and I realize mine is definitely the minority opinion here – it feels dated as entertainment goes and hasn’t aged well, and certainly isn’t anywhere near as much fun as his Fantastic Four run still is today. [↩]
2. I don’t mind Herbie, honestly, but come on: you’re not going to sit down and read Herbie for a two-hour stretch. You’ll read it in little chunks, because that is as much as anyone can take. It is like the chocolate chili truffle of comic books. Only freaks want more than one every once in a while. [↩]

QUICK QUIZ: You are a billionaire American businessman turned Senator, enormously charismatic and vitally important in your country. You wish to become President of the United States. Do you:

A) leverage your personal wealth and popularity in the Senate to run for President, using your money strategically to create an unstoppable electoral campaign, targeting swing states with large cash outlays in the form of advertising, and spend your way to the Presidency in an era predating campaign finance laws?

OR

B) use your power and influence to take over a small, moderately unsuccessful high-tech crime cartel, use it to hire a shapeshifting assassin to kidnap the President and Vice-President, then have the shapeshifting assassin kill the President and assume his form so he can name you Vice-President, then resign, leaving you as the Presidency? (Note that if this plan fails, you have a backup plan where you don a palette-swapped version of the Prowler’s costume and fight Booster Gold to the death.)

Choose one and explain your answer.

It’s common knowledge that magic, generally speaking, needs intent to function. Magical spells are complex tools, and the driving will of the caster is akin to the torque applied when you use a screwdriver. Just as merely putting the screwdriver against the screw is not enough to twist it, so is merely saying “enogh morlincck ptg’aah” enough to appeal to the Seven-Handed Sloghee of Ptu for a magical zappy bolt. Without the will, the word is meaningless. Everybody knows this, and it is always the case.

Except, of course, when it isn’t. Not every spell is like a screwdriver. A small few are more like a .45 automatic; the culmination of lifetimes’ worth of refinement of work, resulting in magical expression so innate that intent becomes meaningless. And just like the .45, if you gave them to a baby, the baby could blow his head off. Or yours, for that matter. That’s why nobody ever uses them: the entire point of magic is that you have the power, not Joe Shitbag down the street. (Sorcerers tend to get in a huff when the peons get magical power without a lifetime of study. It smacks of cheating.)

It begins when a teenaged girl burns up in a pyroclasm outside of Houston. She had thought she was a mutant, even told her parents of her intent to go to San Francisco and join the X-Men so she could use her powers of fire and flame to help people. Her parents weren’t wild about it, but accepted her choice – until the aforementioned fiery death. But Hank McCoy knows a mutant when he sees one – and when he doesn’t – and puts two and two together, and calls Reed Richards. And Reed Richards eliminates everything Hank didn’t, and that’s when he calls Stephen Strange.

A bit of investigation leads the Doc to a tattoo parlour, where he discovers in the sample book a series of glyphs no tattoo artist should have, much less ink. The glyphs are old magic, very powerful and very dangerous – spells meant only for combat with massively dangerous consequences. The girl had a glyph that combined seven separate fire-wielding magics into a single rune stencilled onto her back. (The tattoo artist explained that it meant “warrior” in Sanskrit. He was not correct about this.) She only lived another six months after getting the tattoo; it was amazing she managed six days given that she didn’t know the limits of her power.

But she’s dead now, and tragic as that might be, she can’t hurt anybody at this point. But the other tattoos the artist unknowingly empowered other cool-seekers with can. So Strange and his coterie have to find those other young people and get them to remove their tattoos. Not easy, but not impossible. Right?

Except that they’re not just looking for one or two people who might explode, but specifically a group of five people with a multi-part spell tattooed on their backs. If those five people ever ended up within, say, twenty feet of one another, the spell activates. That the designers of these magic glyphs – who were willing to give people power to turn themselves into walking bombs – actually took the time to put in a failsafe that meant requiring five individuals to work in concert, you can get an idea of how dangerous the resulting spell is. (Hint: think in terms of hemispheres being removed.)

Except that the tattoos were designed to not only give great power, but also avoid detection. (These were designed for an ancient civilization’s warrior elite, after all.) So the usual scrying spells won’t work, and that means Strange and his band have to do things the old-fashioned way: with footwork and deduction. Although none of them are stupid, this is not exactly their forte.

And except that somebody gave the tattoo artist that book of glyphs – and they have a vested interest in making sure that the fivepart charm fires off.

Why did Dr. Manhattan cross the road?

It is May 18, 1979. I am crossing a road.

(courtesy Danny Sichel)

(fuck you, I think it’s funny)

TWENTY REASONS WHY QUISLET IS AWESOME

1.) He is a tiny alien in a tiny spaceship
2.) Who talks like Yoda if Yoda had gotten himself totally buzzed on like seven dozen espressos beforehand
3.) Or possibly like Spongebob Squarepants, again with the seven dozen espressos
4.) Or most accurately, a combination of Spongebob Squarepants and Yoda, buzzed out on caffeine
5.) Which come to think of it explains a lot of Quislet’s mindset really
6.) Stated official reason for wanting to fight crime: “What fun!” (Legion of Super-Heroes v3 #14)
7.) Brainiac 5 could never actually explain how his powers worked
8.) But so what, because his power was turning inanimate objects into giant warrior-smashy things and using them to beat up bad guys
9.) Seriously: tiny spaceship
10.) Which he stole
11.) From his home planet which is in an alternate dimension
12.) Frequency with which he would shout “hurrah” when beating up bad guys with inanimate objects
13.) Or when he was blowing things up by possessing them and then leaving immediately
14.) Essentially he is a sentient spark of energy
15.) From a world of sentient sparks of energy who really, really hate the concept of individualism
16.) And who really don’t like it when you shout “hurrah”
17.) Which is why when they recaptured Quislet, he basically invented lying (for sentient sparks of energy, anyway) by pretending that if they didn’t let him go the spaceship would blow up and kill everybody
18.) So he got to rejoin the Legion, and fought the Emerald Empress to basically a standstill before she blew up his ship
19.) Which forced him to return home, but not before he uttered the best last words of any comics character in history: “Never stop having fun!”
20.) Seriously. Tiny spaceship!

(from Personal Love #1)

Rintrah’s death was a bad one – both in the actual nature of the death (it looked rather unpleasant) and in the writing of it. Those unfamiliar with Strange’s most recent disciple (who was a friendly big green minotaur from another dimension, which is par for the course when it comes to the life of Dr. Strange) should understand that he died after rescuing Strange from an evil demon named Tartessus – Rintrah decided to smash the amulet that was Tartessus’ sole gateway to this dimension, and died in the resulting explosion.

Unfortunately, Tartessus was a “feeding” demon, one that consumed souls for sustenance and power. What Dr. Strange didn’t know (since this happened at the apex of his mystic powerlessness) was that in smashing the amulet, Rintrah’s soul was severed from his body and captured as he died. Tartessus restrained itself from feeding, for Rintrah’s soul was more than just a snack: it was an anchor to his home plane of R’vaal. Tartessus started quietly raiding Rintrah’s home plane for food. Unfortunately for the denizens of R’vaal, though, Tartessus had a bit of an advantage now: Rintrah had died on earth, so the anchor through to R’vaal that his death had created was also tethered to our dimension. He couldn’t be destroyed without traveling here first.

The ruling councils of R’vaal decided to take action to confront the threat of Tartessus, keeping their populace under guard by the various mages’ councils, while a few of their boldest adventurers would set forth and find the link to Tartessus’ plane and destroy it, thus keeping Tartessus safe. They prepared a spell matrix of transport and began outfitting the selected heroes for the dangerous journey ahead.

However, it was at this point that Bromion stole the matrix.

Bromion, one of the foremost soldier-captains of R’vaal, five times victor of the Great Warrior’s Squall in the central circle of central circles; Bromion, who had argued long and fruitlessly that for R’vaal to simply allow Tartessus to freely pillage other dimensions was a moral outrage; Bromion, who had demanded that R’vaal go to war against Tartessus for the crimes the demon had committed against it. Bromion, who could not abide it in his heart to allow Tartessus to live after the foul thing had slain his younger brother and entrapped his brother’s soul as a tool, and whose need for vengeance was obvious to all in the councils.

Bromion knew that Tartessus would prove a deadly foe, but he prepared himself, taking forth (or, more accurately, also stealing) the Adze of Old R’vaal, which as all knew could cleave the very forces of magic itself in two. He similarly equipped himself with (again, stole) the Trumpet of Gazplach, which when sounded could send forth radiant and deadly light against one’s foes. And he took one of his little brother’s childhood projects: the small crystal Rintrah had made as a young hornling, which would glow brighter in his presence. Clearly, Bromion reckoned, this would guide him to the soul trap the demon wore.

But before he did any of that, he consulted with a sympathetic oracle – his desire for revenge did not outweigh his sense of duty, and he wished to make sure that his quest at least had a chance of success. The oracle told him that success was possible, but he would require help.

“Seek the counsel of your kin’s former master. He will guide you to your ultimate destiny, and to the ultimate downfall of your foe. Only with his wisdom shall you prevail, Bromion son of Enitharmon daughter of Los; only by his unsteady hand can you triumph.”

Hola, amigos! It is once again that time of the week where I, El Tyrano Magnifico, the greatest of all luchador lawyers, will read and examine your pleas and questions with the detail demanded of a true champion. Much as the time I fought El Hijo del Santo in a Five-Way Mexican Dance of Death, remembering each of his three primary weaknesses and planning my attack, so shall I carefully consider each of your questions. That is the eternal pledge of El Tyrano Magnifico!

Jaime Muniz, who it says in the letter is nine years old, writes to ask:

Dear El Tyrano Magnifico: I was wrestling at school and one of my classmates had me in a rattlesnake leglock. I was slapping the ground to give myself the will and the strength to reach the bottom rope, but the referee said that I had tapped out and thus lost the match, even when I had clearly not submitted! Is this not improper?

Dear Jaime: Sadly, you have no recourse. Ever since Shamrock v. Hart was dismissed for appeal in 1998, it has been a matter of settled international law that slapping a mat, floor, ground, or any other horizontal surface qualifies as a submission, even if the words “I give up” are not uttered. In future, you may wish to consider slapping a wall or human face instead in order to deal with the grueling pain of a rattlesnake leglock. If these are not available, consider filing an injunction with your local judge.

Now, Arina Ortega writes:

Dear El Tyrano Magnifico: My papa works very long hours at the butcher’s, but lately he complains that he is not getting paid for the extra hours he must work. Surely there is some recourse for us? I am very hungry and would like to eat something other than pinto beans, which give me abdominal pressures.

Dear Arina: Your papa is deserving of overtime, but if he has signed a contract forced upon him by the rudo butcher shop manager, he may have unfortunately ceded his right to overtime payment. But all is not lost! If your papa – or a designated counsel working on his behalf – can force the butcher shop manager into a sleeper hold, when the manager passes out from lack of blood to the brain, he will be deemed to have agreed to a rewriting of the terms of the contract! For maximum legal security, I recommend putting the butcher shop manager in a sleeper hold while he is in a police station, local notary’s office or steel cage.

Also, dear Arina, you may qualify for pro bono legal representation by El Tyrano Magnifico, or perhaps by one of the Tyranitos, my assistants here at the firm of Magnifico, Gomez and El Terror. Contact me immediately and we shall set up an appointment! Now who is the next letter from…?

Dear El Tyrano Magnifico: Fool! While you address the questions of simpering children in your pathetic mailbag, I have stolen your precious Legal Society Championship Belt! I wear it now and it glistens around my midsection! HA HA HA! Do you hear my laughter, El Tyrano Magnifico? I laugh at your respect for law and order! HA HA HA! Your gleaming belt is nothing more than a trophy of my success!

Sincerely, Vampiro Ultimate X

My fists quake with rage! Damn your eyes, Vampiro Ultimate X! Your misdeeds have gone unpunished for far too long, even as you have exceeded the villainy of Vampiro Ultimate IX and Vampiro Ultimate VIII, and indeed all the previous Vampiro Ultimates with the possible exception of IV! And now you steal the Legal Society Championship Belt? Without ever having passed a bar exam? Without ever having had proper schooling? The duty of a luchador lawyer is to serve as counsel to the utmost degree, Vampiro Ultimate X, and that is something you cannot understand for you do not know the secret martial paths of the courtroom!

This time is for me to read mail from all my little amigos who seek legal knowledge, Vampiro Ultimate X, and you have trespassed upon sacred ground, at least metaphorically! For this there can be no forgiveness! I challenge you to a barbed wire match, Vampiro Ultimate X! In the deadly tangle of barbed wire, I shall call forth many witnesses, who will testify as to your inadequacy when I place you in my patented1 Hyper Dragon Armbar! You will cry for mercy, Vampiro Ultimate X, but no mercy will be forthcoming so long as no one believes you are reasonably deserving of mercy! That is the promise of El Tyrano Magnifico!

1. Patent filed 1989, patent no. 89326-032. [↩]