Crow Cop

“Read me the summary on this one, Hammy,” said Dexter Young as he cocked his magnum while sitting in the passenger side of the van. He tucked the weapon in his pants and pulled a pair of black ski masks out of the glove box, one for him, one for Hammond O’Hara a.k.a. Hammy.

Hammond sat in the driver’s seat flipping through various pages in his binder until he found what he was looking for. “Toni J. Mathews. Age 39. Recently divorced from her husband of five years after citing irreconcilable differences. Part of the settlement deal with her husband was that she was to receive a topaz ring worth fifty thousand dollars, maybe more on the black market. According to my research…”

“Ha! You did research…” chuckled Dexter as he winked at his partner.

Hammond got a good laugh out of it too. “Anyways, from what I’ve seen, she keeps the topaz ring in a safe in her bedroom. As far as I can tell, she has no security systems other than that safe and the only occupant living with Miss Mathews is a parrot named Mirko.”

Dexter blew out some air, shook his head, and said, “I asked you to canvas possible threats in the neighborhood and all you could come up with was a fucking bird? No cameras, no alarms, just a fucking bird? You know what? Maybe we won’t have to stop by KFC after work. I just hope the bitch has a working stove in her kitchen. I don’t see why not. She is a woman, after all; that’s kind of her thing.”

Hammond shook his jowly head and chuckled, “You’re awful, Dexter. You’re just plain awful.”

Dexter slapped Hammond upside the head and warned him, “Remember, no using real names. You’re Hammy and I’m D. Got that? I don’t want you forming bad habits when we’ve got the biggest score of our lives just waiting in there for us.”

“Sorry, man. My bad,” said Hammond as he tucked his ski mask in his jacket pocket. Both burglars dressed in dark clothing that blended in perfectly with the night air. They exited the van and sneaked across the street like ghosts, not prompting one porch light to flare up.

Once they reached the front porch, they pulled their ski masks over their heads and pulled out their magnums. “Ready to roll?” Dexter whispered.

“Ready as I’ll ever be…D!” whispered Hammond as he pulled out his lock picks and worked his magic on the doorknob. Slowly, carefully, and silently, The chubby burglar unlatched the bolt and even held the door open for his partner like a true gentleman. “After you, Dex, I mean, D!”

“I’m warning you, dip shit, if you blow our cover, you’re a dead motherfucker!” snapped Dexter. The two burglars crossed the threshold and Hammond gently pulled the door closed behind him. The entire house was as dark and silent as the streets themselves. Still, Dexter and Hammond weren’t going to take chances and tiptoed across the hardwood floor like ninjas.

They nearly jumped out of their skin when the light came on in the bedroom and a weary female voice asked, “Hello?” Dexter caught his partner drooling through his ski mask when the two of them saw Toni Mathews wearing little more than a sports bra and tiny shorts in the lit doorway. Not bad for a thirty-nine year old, thought Dexter. She had her blond hair up in a ponytail, which Dexter knew was an advantage for a horny partner like his.

Toni rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes and turned on more lights in the house until she found herself in the living room with Dexter and Hammond. She wanted to snap awake and let out a shriek of doom, but the two burglars wrestled her to the ground with Dexter keeping his gloved hand over Toni’s mouth. The divorcee struggled and writhed while her stifled screams vibrated off of Dexter’s hand, but Hammond was already playing his role to perfection when he was wrapping duct tape around her ankles and knees.

Binding her hands and mouth became a much easier task when Dexter pressed the barrel of his gun against Toni’s nose and angrily whispered, “Shut up, bitch! Shut the fuck up! You make one more sound and I’ll blow that pretty head of yours off your shoulders!” Shaky and teary, Toni had no choice but to lay still while Hammond wrapped tape around her wrists and gagged her as well.

The two burglars dragged her bound body against the couch and sat her upright against the cushions. Dexter kept his gun pointed against Toni’s forehead and silently, but tensely said, “Listen good, lady: we’re not going to be staying a while. We just want one thing and then we’ll be out of here. If you try to resist us or call the police, you’re going to have splattered brains all over that pretty sofa of yours. You understand?”

“Wah! Call the crow cop! Call the crow cop! Wah!” squawked an avian voice from out of nowhere.

“That must be the goddamn bird,” said Hammond with a look of concern behind his mask.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious. Go find the fucking thing and shut it up!” ordered Dexter. Hammond’s heavy and clunky movements towards the back of the house prompted Dexter to snap, “Can you make a little more noise please?! I’d love to have the cops on my ass!”

“Wah! Make some more noise! Make some more noise! Wah!” squawked Mirko again. A subsequent yelp of pain from Hammond followed by the sound of wings flapping caused Dexter’s adrenaline to pulsate throughout his body. The heavy burglar came back into view holding his now bloody nose. “What the fuck happened?”

“That little bastard bit me! I don’t care if I get the chair, I’m killing that bird!” said Hammond.

“Wah! You’re gonna get the chair! You’re gonna get the chair! Wah!” squawked Mirko.

“Shut up, you little piece of shit!” shouted Hammond before firing a round into the dark and prompting Dexter to wrestle him to the ground.

“Are you out of your fucking mind, Hammy?!” snapped Dexter as he held his hand over his partner’s mouth. “You can’t be doing shit like that, you fat fuck! One more outburst from you and I’m putting one between your eyes! You and queen bitch over here can let the bird sing melodies to you for all eternity!”

Hammond removed his partner’s hand from his mouth and said, “Wait, wait! What if we take the tape off of the bitch’s mouth and make her call the little fucker over to us? Are we really going to be outgunned by a goddamn parrot?”

Toni sobbed through her gag and shook her head no at the burglars’ plans. Dexter creepily crawled up to his victim and said, “Oh, yes, yes, yes. You are going to call that little bastard over to us and it’ll be winner, winner, chicken dinner. And just so there’s no confusion, we’re under no obligation to keep you alive during this heist. We’re only doing it out of courtesy. Well, that’s not really true. We do have to keep you alive. After all, the last time I checked…Hammy and I weren’t into necrophilia!”

The two burglars chuckled at the rape joke while Toni’s sobs grew progressively louder even with tape on her mouth. “Hey! Hey! Hey!” snapped Dexter. The third hey was said with enough force to get Toni to stop making noises. “The only noises you should be making are the kind that bring the future KFC meal over to us. I’m going to rip the tape off of your mouth and I swear to god if you scream for help, you’re going to join your birdie friend on the dark side.”

Dexter ripped the tape off while Toni stifled a painful scream, too frightened not to take the threat seriously. “Now that I’ve restored your first amendment rights,” said Dexter. “You know what you need to use them for. Call out your monster.” Toni could do nothing but sob hysterically until Dexter’s “Now!” scream gave her extra motivation.

Trying to keep her lips steady, Toni whistled and said, “Here, Mirko! Come on over to mommy!” The unstoppable sobbing weakened her voice to where she couldn’t pull off a full whistle.”

“Oh, what the fuck was that?” condescended Dexter. “Put some gusto into it, you crazy bitch!”

“Wah! Put some gusto into it! Put some gusto into it! I’m a crow cop! Wah!”

Dexter and Hammond pointed their gun in the voice’s direction while Hammond shouted, “Where are you, you little shit?!”

Dexter felt a hard double kick in the back of his knee, causing him to drop on his ass and accidentally fire a bullet into Hammond’s ass. Dexter’s eyes bulged out of his skull as he watched his partner trying to suppress a shriek of pain while holding his bloody anus. He could see Hammond’s chubby lips quivering like a boat motor. “Hammy…” the burglar said softly. “It’ll be okay. Just lay down and…”

Toni repeatedly kicked Dexter in the face with her bare soles as if her life depended on it. The burglar felt his nose snap in two and a few of his teeth fall out of his mouth. Meanwhile, Mirko flew threw the shadows and nibbled on Hammond’s nose some more, tearing flesh and dining on blood. Both burglar’s screams were as obvious as fire truck sirens and the whole neighborhood’s lights started to flare up.

Dexter could hear the sounds of doors opening and slamming shut in between face distorting kicks to the face. Neighbors with shotguns and handguns burst through the front door and rushed to the scene of the crime, pulling tape off of Toni’s body and asking if she was alright.

By the time Mirko flew back into the shadows, Dexter and Hammond were lying on the floor with gashing faces and rearranged features. Once Toni was free and steady, she removed both of their masks to reveal their ugliest features, to which the armed neighbors made gagging noises of disgust.

“All this crazy shit over a topaz, huh, Dex, I mean, D,” slurred Hammond.

“Sorry, sweetheart. There’s no topaz here. We just like to encourage intruders, that’s all,” said Toni with a sickeningly benign smile.

Dexter opened his swollen eyes as wide as he was allowed and asked, “What the fuck are you talking about, lady?”

“You think you’re the first ones to try to pick apart this neighborhood?” asked Toni rhetorically. “This place used to be a popular gang neighborhood. And then we cleaned it up and lured more scumbags like you to come and join us. We’re making this city a better place one dead motherfucker at a time.”

“But I did research,” whined Hammond while spitting out blood. “I did fucking research!”

“Wah! You did research! You did research! I’m a crow cop! Wah!”

“Shut up, you stupid fucking bird!” shouted Dexter as he reached for his magnum and instead was showered with a hailstorm of bullets from the neighborhood crime watch. Hammond didn’t stand much of a chance either as his body instantly became a pool of blood and organs on the hardwood floor.

The last thing to go through Dexter Young’s mind, aside from the bullets, was a little child’s voice asking, “Can I pet your birdie, Miss Mathews?”

Dark Marriage

“Nice night for a black wedding, don’t you agree?” grinned Kain Venomtongue as he gently caressed Sheryl Sweet’s ball-gagged face with the back of his fingers. The frigid wind brushed its way across the top of the ziggurat and lifted Sheryl’s wedding dress a few inches. With her wrists and ankles bound to a horizontal metal cross, the dress would be the only thing flying free that night. Standing on either side of the temple stairs was a chorus of anthropomorphic cobras reciting hymns and flicking their tongues. The groom-to-be looked every bit as serpentine as his brethren with his monstrous face and green scaly flesh, most of which was covered by a dark sorcerer’s robe.

Sheryl Sweet struggled in her bindings and let out a few “Mmph’s” through her gag, but not even a barbarian’s strength could unseal her fate. The bride’s wide eyes and hysteria remained a stark contrast to Kain’s villainous smile as the necromancer pulled a jagged blade from his robes and recited hymns alongside the snake men. “Ashes to ashes,” he chanted. “Dust to dust. We are forever bound by Satan’s flames. Not even God nor his angels shall interfere with this dark marriage. Those who dare ascend the staircase invite the stench of death itself. If any mere mortal wishes to object to this sacred tradition, speak now or forever hold your tongue!”

As if on cue, a sharp steel presence descended from the night sky and slashed one of the snake men in half vertically, sending a storm of blood across the staircase and prompting Sheryl Sweet to scream like a mad woman possessed. “What the hell is this?!” Kain shouted, to which a blur of surgical steel whirred across the staircase, shredding, eviscerating, and disemboweling any snake monk in its path. Slithering screams echoed across the starlit night as the bloody rain continued to descend down the ziggurat. Pieces of flesh were carried away by the evening breeze. Organs sloshed and splashed until the satanic structure resembled a slaughterhouse. Every cobra minion lay in pieces with those fortunate enough to be alive regretting their decision to live.

Sheryl gazed in wide-eyed horror at the violence before her. Her ghostly shrieks were reduced to sobbing whimpers. Kain brushed her face with his fingertips and whispered, “Don’t worry, my love. This ceremony shall continue one way or another.” His promise to the bride was sealed with a delicate kiss on her sweaty forehead. He even licked one of her tears away, but once that was gone, more came flooding down her face.

The “tender” moment was interrupted by the sounds of a bird warrior pantomiming vomiting. The owner of the tainted blade knelt at the top of the staircase to further his act before breathing heavily and wiping his mouth off with his feathered arm. The bird man rose to his feet and revealed himself to be wearing red and blue ninja gear, which complimented his golden (albeit bloody) feathers.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more nauseated, you go and pull that shit,” barked the bird man while accusingly pointing his blade at Kain. “There ain’t going to be no black wedding or dark marriage or whatever the fuck this is called. I’m Ronan Crow and it’s my job to bring the woman back home where she belongs. So unless you want to get force fucked with three feet of steel, I believe now is the time to remove her bindings. And for fuck’s sake, take that disgusting gag out of her mouth!”

Kain Venomtongue took a deep swallow, held his hands up defensively, and pleaded, “I think you’re making a big mistake, my friend.”

“No!” Ronan belted. “You made the mistake of bringing this bitch out here and trying to marry her! Look at her, she’s fucking terrified! It’s men like you that make me afraid to have daughters of my own! Come on, Miss Sweet, you’re coming back home to the king.” With Kain backing up several feet, Ronan approached the metal cross and slashed the bindings off in quick fashion.

Sheryl stood up and removed her ball gag before shaking her head at Ronan and shoving him lightly. “Are you fucking insane?!”

“You’re welcome, by the way,” said a silver-tongued Ronan. “Now hurry up and get on my back before Kain Slobbertongue over here takes three more Viagra and makes a move on you again.”

Sheryl slapped the bird warrior across the face and said, “You’re an idiot! You’re a goddamn idiot! This whole black wedding was my idea!”

“You’re kidding me…” said Ronan with wide eyes.

“No, I’m not!” shouted Sheryl while stomping her foot. “When you bring me back to my father’s castle, what do you think is going to happen? He’s just going to marry me off to some loser so that he can have more land and more riches for himself! I chose Kain over here because he’s a true gentleman! He’s fun! He’s adventurous! And kinky as hell! I mean, look at him!”

“Yeah, I’m looking at him alright. He’s definitely a catch. I don’t know how anybody could pass up a handsome stud like that,” said Ronan, oozing with sarcasm and shaking his sword at the necromancer.

“Oh, this?” asked Kain nervously. “This isn’t my real face. It’s just makeup.” He wiped away his scaly face and skin with the sleeve of his robe to reveal a youthful elf underneath with flowing black hair, golden piercings, and a soul patch underneath his chin. “And just so you know, those snakes you killed weren’t really snakes at all. Those were my friends. They too were wearing makeup and costumes. The black wedding theme was mostly their idea. And Sheryl’s too since she’s really into bondage.” Sheryl giggled and blushed at that last comment.

“Well, if you miss your wonderful fucking friends that much, why don’t you bring them back to life or some shit like that. You’re a necromancer. Do something!” yelled Ronan.

“Congratulations, bird brain,” said Sheryl while pointing a finger in Ronan’s face. “You proved once again that you have the IQ of an orange peel. Kain isn’t a necromancer, dummy. He’s a neck romancer. See? There’s a difference.” She brushed back her raven hair to reveal a hickey on the side of her neck.

Ronan roared like a lion before shoving his sword into the floor and belting, “Enough! Enough of this bullshit! The two of you make me fucking sick to my stomach! Why in the hell would anybody think hickeys and ball gags and crucifixions are sexy?! What woman on the face of this earth actually gets wet to something like that?! What grown man would ever get a hard-on to it?! This is some fucked up repugnant shit right here! I ought to kill both of you right now and spare the king the disappointment in having a bratty daughter!”

“Listen to me, you dumb shit!” shouted Sheryl as she pointed a finger in his chest.

“Back off, bitch!” barked Ronan while swatting her down on the floor with his feathery arm. Kain tried to rush him, but the bird warrior pulled out his sword and held him at distance. The “neck romancer” could smell the vile stench of blood radiating off of that horrible weapon. “You are a sick little turd, Kain Venomtongue. You’re a pervert and you’re probably a pedophile too! Maybe you shouldn’t take Sheryl home with you anyways! I’m pretty sure she’s too old for you!”

Kain dropped to his knees and recited a Satanic prayer before Ronan tapped his head with the flat end of his blade and said, “Oh no, buddy! None of that hocus pocus shit is going to save you now! You’re dead, you filthy creepy! You’re goddamn dead!”

Kain tucked his head further into his chest ready for death to come take him away. He could hear the sword wooshing around in the air and it made his heart beat faster and his blood run cold. His forehead sweated profusely, but he continued to pray to his demonic god. The close the blade came to touching his face, the louder his prayers. With one last “amen”, the sword was ready to come down on his neck.

The woosh of steel slashing was replaced with a heavy thud followed by avian feet shuffling about. Kain lifted his head up and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ronan Crow, with a lump on his head, rolling and tripping down the ziggurat stairs. Bones cracked, feathers flew, and squawks created a symphony of cacophony across the empty sky. These satisfyingly violent sounds went on for as long as the stairs would allow them to. And then there was silence; complete deathly silence, save for one final squawk until Ronan came face to face with Satan himself.

Kain grinned at the sight of his lover holding her ball gag like a pair of brass knuckles. The feathers and blood pasted to the rubber ball were badges of honor to her and proof she was no damsel in distress. Kain happily leapt to his feet and hugged his bride, though she responded with tears instead of reciprocated happiness.

“He ruined our wedding, Kain. He fucking ruined it,” Sheryl sobbed.

“Forget the wedding, my darling,” slithered Kain. “A wedding is just an event. True love can never be broken apart.” He kissed her forehead and said, “I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” The two of them made out together before Kain said in between kisses, “Darling…you were wonderful tonight!”

We Own the Night

***WE OWN THE NIGHT***

Zombie brain happens to everybody no matter how good they are at hiding it. Sometimes your brain is so exhausted that you don’t feel like doing shit that day. You’ve overworked yourself the previous day, you’re stressed out, you didn’t sleep well, whatever the case may be, you’re not immune. It’s especially frustrating when you’re scrolling for memes on Face Book and see one that says, “You should be writing!” Yes, I understand that it’s meant to be motivating, but sometimes it can feel like a slap in the face to someone having a zombie brain day.

The operative word in that last sentence is “day”. You can go through the whole day snoozing and lazing about, but when the stars and moon light up the night sky, you own that motherfucker. You’ve gotten nothing done during the daytime, but it’s not too late to get shit done in the darkest hours of the night. All you need to tell yourself is…”We own the night!” Whether you’re getting shit done at 10:30, midnight, or 3:00 in the morning, you’re telling your zombie brain to go fuck itself and you’re defying the odds. And then when you wake up the next day, you can do it with a smile knowing the previous night’s darkness brought out the beast within you. You’re an artistic werewolf. You’re a vampire thirsting for the blood of your characters. And it feels soooooo fucking good!

Sometimes when I’m lying awake at night, lyrics for a song idea will come to me. And then the clock strikes two in the morning and I disconnect my oxygen mask to go write those lyrics down. That same night, those lyrics are live on my social media account and I go to bed a happy man. It’s better to lose a few hours of sleep if it means you’ll remember how your story or poem is going to be written. When you wake up in the morning, it could all disappear and the world will never know.

I tell you this personal story not to brag, but to let my audience know that owning the night can be done. If Donald Dumbass can tweet insensitive shit at three in the fucking morning, you can write something better around the same time at night. If you’ve spent the whole day being mentally fried, your energy could potentially come back to you by the time darkness falls. Everybody else in the house is snoozing soundly, so you have no distractions. It’s just you and your limitless imagination. And once you’ve finished, you can drift off into cloudland and have weird ass dreams about being naked in high school…or is that just me?

I hope I don’t sound too much like those Face Book memes that shame people for not writing. If you must tuck yourself in after a long day of zombie brain, you most certainly can do that. If you don’t own the night, you can certainly own the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. And so on and so forth. But there will be some days where you don’t feel like doing a goddamn thing, and that’s okay, because we’re all human beings. Zombie brain is a universal problem no matter how much people brag about being hard workers. Sometimes zombie brain is your mind and body’s way of telling you to slow the fuck down. Even Vin Diesel in the Fast & Furious movies has to know when to slow his driving down. Why do you think there are so goddamn many of those movies to begin with?

Do you own the night or are you a daywalker? Does your current schedule allow you the kind of creativity you want to produce? Always make time for what you dream of doing…even if that time is seven minutes past Zombie O’clock. We’ve got ears, say cheers!

***POISON TONGUE TALES 2 & DARK FANTASY WARRIORS***

I’m sure you’ve all noticed that I have drawings on my social media accounts of Ronan Crow and Kain Venomtongue. That’s because those two are a major part of my next Poison Tongue Tales 2 story. It’s called “Dark Marriage” and it goes like this:

CHARACTERS:

1. Kain Venomtongue, Elf Warlock
2. Ronan Crow, Bird Swordsman
3. Sheryl Sweet, Human Bride
4. Nameless Snake Minions

PROMPT CONFORMITY: To be announced.

SYNOPSIS: Kain is at the top of his ziggurat getting ready to forcibly marry Sheryl through a necromantic ritual. The Dark Marriage will give Kain authoritative and magical powers since Sheryl is the daughter of a powerful wizard king. Sheryl is bound to a crucifix with a ball gag in her mouth while the snake minions line up on either side of the ziggurat’s stairs. Ronan has been charged with the task of rescuing Sheryl before the ritual is allowed to take place. He has little time to complete his mission and a small army of opponents to battle through.

EXTRA NOTE: Sheryl Sweet is next on the chopping block for the Dark Fantasy Warriors series. I’ve been debating with myself if I want to draw her while she’s strapped to the crucifix. Imagine the kind of reference picture I’d have to search for on Google to get that effect. It would be…weird to say the least. Hehe!

***BORN A CRIME***

I’m sure you guys have also seen reviews on my social media accounts of Kick-Ass 3 and Fang and Claw, two badass books that have earned passing grades. I expect my next reading adventure, Born a Crime by Trevor Noah, to be enjoyable as well. How can you go wrong with Trevor Noah? He’s the host of the Daily Show for a reason: because he’s funny and eye-opening at the same time. Born a Crime is a memoir detailing his childhood in apartheid-era South Africa. The book was originally a Mother’s Day present for my mom and she loved it to pieces. Now she’s given it back to me so that I can have the same educational experience as she did.

***PHONE DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

ME: Hello?

MOM: Is this the person to whom I’m speaking?

ME: Who else would it be?

MOM: Good answer, Garrison!

Stardust

When Mitch O’Connor’s spacecraft touched down on the world of Stardust, he couldn’t believe how small it was. It truly was a retreat for an introverted hermit like Marcus Edge. The door to the pod-like spacecraft opened and Mitch clunked down the stairs in his spiked metal power armor while carrying a gauss rifle that was bigger than his own arms. “Oh, this is too easy. Too damn easy!” he said to himself.

Stardust wasn’t the most complex world in the galaxy. Smallness aside, it appeared to be a jungle land complete with coconut trees, dirt trails, tall grass, plant life, just your everyday nature trail on planet earth. Even for a planet this tiny, Mitch still had a problem finding his target Marcus Edge. It didn’t help matters that the space mercenary was stomping around on the ground in his gigantic metal boots. Then again, his job didn’t require a great deal of stealth, so he didn’t dwell on it much.

“Marcus Edge!” shouted Mitch through an amplified microphone inside his space helmet. “I know your ass is around here somewhere! I’m feeling pretty good today, probably because toasting your little world is going to be the easiest thing I’ve ever done! So here’s what I’m going to do, Marcus: I’m going to give you the chance to get your hermit ass off this planet so that when I burn down the plant life and kill all the animals, you won’t have to be a part of it. My boss at World Corp wants to turn your little home into a vacation getaway. It don’t look like much of a vacation right now, buddy boy. It looks more like…”

Before he was allowed to finish his oratory, Mitch O’Connor’s legs were snatched up from underneath him and he hung upside down on a vine. He was so far off the ground that when he dropped his rifle, he couldn’t pick the damn thing back up again. “Oh, you’ve got traps now?” he said. “Well, I got news for you, smart ass: I’ve been doing this shit for a whole decade and ain’t no vine going to stop my ass from burning everything in sight!”

His boldness turned to fear when he found himself face to face with a Venus Fly Trap, the owner of that tight vine. This particular plant had teeth the size of railroad spikes and blood oozing from its mouth like a waterfall. Mitch’s lips were vibrating and his eyes widened at the sight of this monster. And then he went back to being bold when he said, “Wait a minute! Why the hell am I scared of a goddamn plant?”

With his metal space helmet, Mitch O’Connor unleashed a powerful head butt to the Venus Fly Trap, loosening a few teeth and spraying some more blood, but more importantly, loosing the vine’s grip on the mercenary’s legs. Mitch plummeted to the grassy ground below, but his metal armor protected him from injury, so he pretty much picked himself up, dusted himself off, and found his rifle again.

“Is that all you got, Marcus? Some stupid plant? Oh, this is going to be easier than I thought! And I’m making millions off of this job! It’s like Christmas came early!” boasted Mitch.

“Don’t be too sure of that, you disgusting human!” said the busted up Venus Fly Trap in a raspy voice. With Mitch watching in awe and horror, the plant morphed into a human being wearing bear skin clothing and a raccoon cap on his head. This was him alright: Marcus Edge, hermit druid.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, huh? You want to put up a fight? Well, goddamn, man, you’ve got one now, bitch!” shouted the soldier for hire when he raised his gauss rifle and opened automatic fire. That many plutonium bullets would have been enough to shred a normal human being into dust. Hell, the surgeons would need a microscope to put his sorry ass back together again. But when the storm of bullets ended, there was no corpse.

Instead all Mitch O’Connor got was a deafening bird squawk right in his left ear. Marcus, who now morphed into a parrot, continued to blast his windpipes in his opponent’s ear and double the man over as he got a headache. When the druid believed his adversary had enough, he flew off into the sunset and left Mitch to clutch his aching head.

The sudden drop in volume inspired the mercenary to aim his rifle and unleash another rainstorm of violence upon his opponent. The shredding impact only resulted in one feather this time. On measly little feather.

“What the hell’s going on here?!” Good question, Mr. O’Connor. What was going on was that Marcus Edge had now morphed into a charging rhino. The tank-like beast barreled and stampeded his way across the grass and knocked a few trees over. With little time for his opponent to react, Marcus gored Mitch and sent him flying backwards several feet, knocking a few trees over himself.

That power armor was a blessing for Mitch since he had just survived a high drop and getting spear tackled by a rhino. But now the mercenary was feeling the pain. He was so exhausted from these attacks that he took longer than usual to get up. He crashed into trees, for god’s sake. Trees! Yet he continued to be brash and cocky in the face of danger.

“Is that all you got, you son of a bitch? What are you going to change into now, a small puppy? Are you going to bark your way to victory?” yelled Mitch.

Changing from a rhino back to his human form, Marcus slowly approached his nemesis and said, “No, I’m not going to do any barking today. That’s been your job since you landed on Stardust, you asshole.”

With Mitch watching in awe of his opponent, Marcus continued his speech with, “You know what I detest about the human race? You people think you have the right to conquer whatever the hell you want. You did it on earth with pretty much every group of people that wasn’t white, including Indians and Africans. That’s all you guys do: just take, take, take. You have some oil? I’ll take that. You have human rights? I’ll take that as well. Is that supposed to be impressive? To who, exactly? Your mother? Your father? Your trophy wife? The president himself? How many more people have to die before you’re finally satisfied with the things you already have! You make me sick! You all make me sick!”

An uncomfortable hush had fallen over the scene and then Marcus laid into Mitch some more, “That’s why I came to Stardust: to get away from it all. And now some space jockey like you decides to come to my world and sell it to some rich asshole? Let me fill you in on a little secret, buddy boy. Stardust isn’t just any tiny planet. It’s the product of my own imagination. As long as I keep being creative, I can manipulate any part of this world I want while you only have that stupid rifle to overcompensate for your small penis. To put it in words even a money-hungry thug like you can understand…you were screwed the minute you stepped foot on my world.”

This would have been the best time for Mitch O’Connor to get back in his spaceship and tell his bosses at World Corp to shove it. Just leave now while he still had his peace of mind and still had his health. But instead he decided to keep playing the role of an arrogant jerk-ass. He yelled, “You worthless piece of shit!” prior to opening fire yet again.

Except this time it wasn’t just plutonium bullets. It was also fireballs, ice sickles, lightning bolts, biological sludge, and laser beams, all of which were hidden compartments on his rifle and all of which were necessary in doing his job to destroy entire planets to get them ready for flipping.

After unloading a cataclysm of agony that Armageddon itself could never produce, Mitch didn’t even check to see if there was a corpse this time. He just dropped to his hands and knees, breathed deeply, and laughed his ass off. “I got you, bitch! I got you this time! And there ain’t nothing you can do about it!”

Mitch was so busy laughing his way to insanity that he didn’t realize he was sinking in a mud pit. Even when the mud was completely covering his space helmet, he couldn’t have cared less. It was when he was underneath the mud pit and into a cavern of filth that he realized what was going on. The realization hit him even harder when Marcus was standing there with his arms folded saying, “What took you so long?”

“No…no…this ain’t happening, man! This ain’t happening! Don’t you ever fucking die, man?!” screamed a deranged Mitch O’Connor.

Marcus laid a hand on his invader’s metal shoulder and said, “Old druids don’t die. They just get better.” With Mitch shedding tears of defeat, Marcus Edge transformed into a gigantic grizzly bear and started chewing and mauling his way through the metal armor, which at this point was a lot like opening a can of Chef Boyardee ravioli. Oh, the meat sauce inside was going to be so worth all this rage.

"Superman For the Animals" by Mark Millar

If the thought of cute, cuddly, fuzzy animal babies being brutalized disgusts you, then “Superman For the Animals” will either be one of two things for you. It will either be a call to arms against animal cruelty or a series of brutal images to shy away from and save for another reader. Either way, this comic book will disturb you. You probably don’t even have to be an animal person to be disturbed by the disgusting shit that happens to these defenseless critters. The main character, a shy teenager, hangs out with a bunch of kids led by a sociopath who tortures animals just for fun. This leader of the pack shoots a dog in the leg, kicks pigeons out of the way, suffocates a goldfish, and would have dumped a cat off of a highway bridge if it hadn’t been for Superman’s intervention. Despite being the title character in this story, Superman is not the main hero as one would expect him to be. It’s the shy kid who joins the group that ends up being the most productive hero. He eventually has to learn to stand up for these animals and not rely on superheroes to do it for him. Standing up to your enemies is hard enough. Standing up to people you consider your friends is even worse. If it can be done, though, the person will be stronger for it. One way or another, the animal torturing teenager needs to be stopped. Surely, you would like to see some justice done toward this sociopathic kid, right? Don’t get your hopes up to high. The worst that happens to him is that he’s forced to see a therapist to sort out his fucked up mind. As an animal lover, I believe this is not enough. That kid needs to be locked up in prison for the rest of his fucking life. If he’s willing to do this to cute, cuddly critters, imagine what he’ll do to humans if given the opportunity. That’s normally the first step for serial killers: they start off with animals and slowly progress to killing humans. If you’re not going to read this comic for the harsh justice that needs to be served, you can at least read it to see the main character grow into a respectable human being. In order to redeem himself for hanging out with an animal torturer for this long, he goes to a pet shelter and volunteers his time there. Superman wasn’t going to make this choice for him, but he did steer him in the right direction. Sometimes all we need is a little push.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“I loved you in the sunshine. You chase the moon with a spear. Tardy afternoons in utopia. Kiss an ugly turtle and make it cry. Sever the head of cornucopia. We rape the earth and don’t know why it strikes. Do you believe in stormy weather? Hurricanes play musical chairs with homes and chattels. The whirling dervish tornados reek all disaster. See-saw tsunamis, give and take, what’s the matter?”

-Serj Tankian singing “Cornucopia”-