Showing posts with label Bloodshed. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bloodshed. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 6, 2024

Launch the Third Rock, Pt. 2

I used to love the idea of reincarnation

That was before the rise of fascist nations

Before I was broken by capitalist education

Before the churchies tried to outlaw masturbation

 

Never thought I’d be jealous of an aborted fetus

Never thought I’d be thankful for a virgin penis

Wouldn’t bring a new child into this fucked up world

When their only options in life are boy or girl

 

It’s not just America, it’s the whole third rock

Everybody wants a piece of the awe and shock

Everybody does it for the lulz and the laughs

Israeli bombs get David Draiman’s autograph

 

Talk about Disturbed, you ain’t seen shit

You got to be disturbed to want any of it

You got to be fucked up in the head really bad

To enjoy the bloodshed that drives all of us mad

 

Of course you pretend like everything’s okay

‘Cause your American way is the only way

It’s the country where Jesus will come back to life

Bring you to heaven and leave behind your trad wife

 

Praying on your knees never got you anywhere

Except into a box after years of despair

The elite don’t like you, they do not respect you

Vote for them all you want, they will not protect you

 

Launch the third rock into the sun in the sky

That’s where we left off, but I’m wondering why

Shouldn’t we take this shit past the point of no return

You like to threaten hellfire? Burn, baby, burn!

 

You afraid of The Devil? He was here all along

He was every alpha leader pretending to be strong

He was every dictator who silenced his critics

Wouldn’t entertain the chance to learn and listen

 

You want your own bubble? Now you’ve got it

Protect you from the truth, the wise ones taught it

Protect your pretty soul, the greenbacks bought it

Nobody visits you, because your heart is rotten

 

We don’t have a loneliness epidemic around here

Got an epidemic of fascists blasting out our ears

You deserve to lose every best friend you’ve got

Your family too, whether you like it or not

Sunday, November 20, 2022

Chainsaw Channing Lugar

VERSE 1

Channing’s paycheck couldn’t buy him a feast

But he’s got beer and Netflix, at the very least

That’s what he gets for selling power tools

At the hardware store right out of trade school

Last thing he needed was the store to be robbed

What was there to steal? Nails and door knobs?

His nightmare came true at his work one day

“Stick them hands up or I’ll blow your ass away!”


VERSE 2

Robber opened the cash box and collected wallets

An act of patriotism is what he will call it

He needed the money to overthrow the “gum mint”

Buy some big ass bombs and some cool gun shit

He turned his back for a second too many

Just when he tried to squeeze out the last penny

Channing Lugar fired up the chainsaw

Morphed from working class stiff to a pain god


VERSE 3

The chase took place across several blocks

Robber left a trail of urine from his cock

Shit from his ass blew a hole in his jeans

Channing smelled Hooters steak and green beans

Even COVID deniers wanted to wear masks

Breathing human sewage is an unenviable task

Not nearly as bad as blood from the slash

Mutilation by chainsaw, corpse in the trash


VERSE 4

Is Channing Lugar a hero or a killer?

Not a rhetorical question or pointless filler

So many questions from lawyers and cops

They wade through blood and biological slop

Local news called him Chainsaw Channing Lugar

Said, “Hold my beer!” to Jason and Kruger

Going too far only works if you’re rich

Powerful too, not a working class bitch

Thursday, June 2, 2022

Ninjas and Shit

GENTLE VERSE

The breezy beaches lit with tiki torches

The sunlight kissing the trees and porches

The purple skies caressing the horizon

Making sweet romance to the lovers’ island

Holding hands as the doves fly past

A passionate kiss, time doesn’t move fast

A foot massage with peaches and cream

Afterwards snuggling for a heavenly beam


AGGRESSIVE VERSE

Fuck that! I want some ninjas and shit

Barbarians beating asses in the spiky pit

Armored marines blasting alien bitches

A war that requires eight million stitches

A billion staples to close the wounds

A river of blood all over the room

And then a siege tank runs over all

BOOM! Splatters everyone against the wall


CHORUS

Bombs! Gasoline! Ninjas and shit!

Giant! Robots! Ninjas and shit!

Tits! Dragons! Ninjas and shit!

Ninjas and shit! Ninjas and shit!


DIALOGUE

“But what about the beauty of Shakespearian love?”

Rain down on that shit with fire from above!

“But what about the literary classics we know?”

Set a big ass time bomb and wait for it to blow!

“But what about the taste of the finest wine?”

Forget that garbage, your ass is mine!

“But what about…” Can it, Prince Edward!

Death and destruction are so much better!


CHORUS

Bombs! Gasoline! Ninjas and shit!

Giant! Robots! Ninjas and shit!

Tits! Dragons! Ninjas and shit!

Ninjas and shit! Ninjas and shit!

Sunday, September 6, 2020

"Force of Nature" by C.J. Box

BOOK TITLE: Force of Nature
AUTHOR: C.J. Box
YEAR: 2012
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Mystery Thriller
GRADE: Extra Credit

I don’t give five-star reviews very often. When I do, it’s because the book wasn’t just likeable, but it moved me in some way. I’ve always known Mr. Box to be a competent writer, but I wasn’t expecting to be completely blown away by this piece of fiction. The action and drama in this mystery made me feel alive. It heightened senses within me that were otherwise dulled by the COVID-19 pandemic going on and all the psychological fallout from that. Why wouldn’t this book be exciting? You’ve got a hardnosed warrior named Nate Romanowski who’s in a cat and mouse game with his former commander. You’ve got the always professional Game Warden Joe Pickett, whose family is being threatened by this bloody struggle. You’ve got increased paranoia and distrust among people who are supposed to be supportive of Joe and Nate. You’ve got all the makings of a tried-and-true thriller turned up to twenty. Bloody violence, enigmatic characters, betrayal, and no reason to believe that Nate and Joe are capable of winning. Do they? You’ll ask yourself that question all throughout this reading experience. You’ll have doubts as your anxiety increases. If they do win (and that’s a big if), you’d better believe they’re walking away with trauma and scars.

Speaking of trauma, the way C.J. Box portrays Nate Romanowski is just as disturbing and cold as the character himself. He’s not just an emotionless killer. He’s got an entire history behind him that bubbles to the surface far too often for the reader’s comfort. The military training he had to endure, the fallout with his father, and the coldness required for training falcons, they all will send a chill up and down your spine as if you’re actually trapped in Wyoming’s winter weather. You’ll be eternally grateful that Nate is one of the good guys, because if he for some reason turned evil, this world would turn into a bloodbath. Sometimes you wonder if his innocence is completely gone and maybe he does have evil tendencies. He’s a shades-of-gray hero, but those shades are darker than the night sky. If you ever see Nate Romanowski in real life, you’d better turn the other way and run. He’s got his morals for sure, but he’s also got a heart of stone that could make even the toughest of tough guys knock their knees together in fear. If you think he’s all bark and no bite, just watch the way he tortures people to get what he wants and how quickly he can kill someone in a life-or-death brawl.

The minor role characters can be just as compelling to read about. The one I feel like I have to talk about the most is Pam Kelly, whose husband Paul and son Stumpy were murdered by Nate after they tried to assassinate him. When Pam was younger, she had her starry eyes set on a handsome superstar cowboy. She even carried his baby, who grew up to be Stumpy. But instead of landing a country stud, she settled on Paul and led a mediocre life. Pam was angry when Paul and Stumpy were killed, not because of them, but because she felt like she threw her life away on those two and had nothing to show for it. Old and fat in today’s world, she doesn’t have a chance at starting over and has to clean up the mess left behind by the only two men in her life. While Pam isn’t the kindest character in the book, she is one of the most sympathetic. I’m fat myself and am looking down the barrel of wasted opportunities. Pam’s characterization hit me hard, even if we don’t get to see a lot of her.

Joe Pickett is always a reliable character when it comes to likeability. He’s professional, he’s intelligent, he always knows what to say and when to say it, and he’s a family man at heart who goes the extra mile for those he loves. April, Joe’s adopted daughter, is as bratty and nasty as she has ever been, even going so far as to mock her sister Lucy for missing her high school play. Lucy and Sheridan both have their own projects outside of home and when a monkey wrench is thrown in their plans, they have no problem with showing their disappointment and rage. Marybeth is a caring wife, nurturing mother, and efficient librarian, the latter of which will come into play when she’s being stalked at her place of work (another source of dramatic tension). Kyle McLanahan is a cartoonish redneck Sheriff who somehow keeps getting public praise despite his idiocy. Aside from April, there’s not a character in this book that I felt slowed the pace of the story. Everybody has a role and everybody plays their role with undying commitment. Seriously, though, somebody please give April the spanking of the century.

Out of every book I’ve read from C.J. Box’s catalogue, Force of Nature is without a doubt my favorite among them. Will there be others that exceed or meet that standard? I’m sure Mr. Box can figure out a way to make that happen. He truly earned every award and every word of praise he’s racked up over the years. Even people with opposing political views from Box will get a kick out of his mysteries. They’re well-written, they’re enjoyable, they’ve got splendid character work, and Force of Nature in particular stands out the most in terms of quality. Five stars out of five for this brilliant piece of fiction!

Thursday, July 23, 2020

3 From Hell

MOVIE TITLE: 3 From Hell
DIRECTOR: Rob Zombie
YEAR: 2019
GENRE: Serial Killer Horror
RATING: R for violence, language, and nudity
GRADE: Fail

Being a naysayer isn’t easy for me, especially when the director is a musician I’ve seen twice in concert and own every album of. I went into this movie with an open mind like I always do. And really, who wouldn’t want to watch a bloody movie with gritty dialogue and three serial killers for main characters? You’ve got Otis Driftwood, a Charles Manson-like murderer with a nihilistic agenda and the mouth of a sailor. You’ve got his half-brother Foxy Coltrane, who howls like a wolf and shoots like a redneck. And then you’ve got Baby Firefly, Otis’s psychotic sister who could basically be described as Harley Quinn on steroids. The performances of these three characters were…kind of convincing? I guess? Maybe their body of work in this movie was overshadowed by the cheesiness of the story and side characters. That’s unfortunately a theme going into this review: cheesier than a pepperoni pizza. Some people don’t mind cheesiness. Me? It became too much for me.

One of the ways in which the cheesiness hampers the film is in the violence. Stabbing, shooting, skinning, torture, these are all things that are supposed to look disturbing on the screen, especially considering this movie is in the horror genre. But something about these killings made them lackluster. Maybe it happened too often to be special. Maybe it’s recycled bloodshed from movies of the past. Or maybe there’s not a whole lot creative about stabbing and shooting in the first place. Even the scene where a Mexican gangster is burned alive felt like a moment of meh. While Otis, Foxy, and Baby were all convincing as serial killers, they didn’t actually scare me to the point of this movie qualifying for the horror label. The actors did everything they could to bring the bloodshed to life, but it wasn’t enough. Something was off about this brand of violence and I can’t quite put my finger on it. I wanted to care, but I couldn’t.

Something else that bothered me was the idea that the antagonists had multiple chances to off the three killers and they didn’t capitalize. These antagonists had guns, knives, and everything in between. They even had numbers on their side and still couldn’t get the job done. You know what really sets the tone for this theme of going too easy on the killers? In the beginning, they were shown getting life-saving treatment at the hospital just so Captain Spalding (from the previous Rob Zombie movie) could die by lethal injection and be replaced by Foxy. If these killers are so dangerous, why even bother saving their lives? Why bother giving them their own fan club? Yeah, I know hybristophilia is a real thing, but even that came off as cheesy and forced.

Are we going to get a fourth movie in this Rob Zombie franchise? Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows? If the negative reaction to 3 From Hell is any indication, then maybe it’s time to hang up the boots. Perhaps if there is a fourth movie, it’ll rejuvenate the franchise. But getting the audience to go to that fourth movie would require a lot of faith, most of which was broken by this cheesy effort called 3 From Hell. A failing grade goes to this piece of horror cinema. I wanted to like it, but I couldn’t get into it, especially as the story progressed and somehow got boring after the initial shock wore off. This movie is no good. Sorry, Rob. You tried.

Thursday, November 7, 2019

Barbarians and Wizards


***BARBARIANS AND WIZARDS***

My brother James and I have this running gag in our conversations where all of my thoughts revolve around barbarians and wizards. Am I writing a new novel? It’s about barbarians and wizards. Am I watching a TV show? It’s about barbarians and wizards. Am I taking Lego pictures? They feature barbarians and wizards. While my brother is technically not wrong, he’s also only half-right. Beautiful Monster’s main character is a warrior elf who lashes the shit out of his opponents with a chain whip. Is he a barbarian? In fighting style only. The main villainess of that story is a seductive sex trafficker who rapes him. Is she a wizard? Not physically, but she’ll put a spell on you anyways. Okay, maybe James is right more than half of the time.

Even my contemporary short stories and novellas have elements of barbarian and wizard dynamics. My most recent first draft, Incelbordination, features an angry, pugilistic dwarf as its main character. Is he a barbarian? Well, he can rage like one, especially when he’s being bullied or deprived of romance. So at the very least, he’s an emotional barbarian. But what about the main villain of that story? Well, he’s a cult of personality whose followers subscribe to the incel culture. He’s got his minions by the balls and he won’t stop until the main character’s mind belongs to him. Is the villain a wizard? If brainwashing is a magic spell, then yes, he could be a contemporary version of a wizard.

What about the contemporary novella that came before Beautiful Monster and Incelbordination? It’s called Silent Warrior and features an emo high school senior with an eating disorder and a head full of trauma. Is he a barbarian? Not physically since he’s a hundred pounds soaking wet while holding an anchor. Emotionally? He very well could be. He’s got anger and disrespect for authority down to a science. What about his social studies teacher? While not a leader in any sense of the word, he still has a negative, conformist influence over his students, much like the math teacher from Pink Floyd the Wall. Is he a wizard? Again, brainwashing could be a spell, so yes, the social studies villain could technically be a wizard.

Of course, my brother is clearly joking when he teases me for being obsessed with barbarians and wizards. We both get a good laugh out of it. But where did this obsession come from? Well, I’ve always liked the fantasy genre ever since I watched James play Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy VI, and Chrono Trigger on the Super Nintendo back in the 1990’s. But my barbarian and wizard obsession didn’t start with those games specifically, although Ayla from Chrono Trigger and Umaro from Final Fantasy VI could fit the barbarian role to a fault. My obsession didn’t even come from playing Hero Quest as an even smaller child (because the main classes the player could be included the barbarian and the wizard).

I have Diablo II: Lord of Destruction to thank for my obsession, specifically with barbarians. As a lover of RPG’s, I’ve always enjoyed playing as the physical, in-your-face, melee range warriors. It didn’t matter if their mana was drained, because physical attacks didn’t require it and even if they did, the warriors could keep going and going in spite of it. Once a wizard runs out of mana, he’s fucked, because he’s not strong enough to go toe-to-toe with his enemies. Warriors, on the other hand, exemplify self-sufficiency to the nth degree. The barbarian in Diablo II was always lauded as an unequaled melee-range fighter. He could use two weapons at once, he could withstand a shit-load of punishment, and he could dish it out like nobody else.

Later in life, I would find out that the paladin was a nastier brawler than the barbarian. Paladins can strike multiple times in one sitting and they have magical auras that don’t cost a damn thing. My favorite aura to give the paladin was cold elemental, which froze my enemies and slowed them down to unbearable speeds. Plus, it added damage to my multiple attacks. The paladin actually did more damage than my dual-wielding barbarian. But if I had known this as a teenager, I probably would have developed an obsession with paladins instead of barbarians.

Without my barbarian obsession, there would be no Deus Shadowheart. Who is Deus Shadowheart, you ask? He was my Gary-Stu killing machine, that’s who. He had been the main protagonist of my stories long before I knew that Gary-Stu was a pejorative. He hacked off limbs, he ripped flesh like it was Christmas paper, and he bathed in blood with every swing of his axe. But unfortunately, this doesn’t make for a relatable character and if there’s one thing readers love, it’s someone they can relate to. As of today, he’s a character in a Poison Tongue Tales story called Deus Ex Machina, where being a Gary-Stu works to the story’s advantage. Be sure to pick up a copy of Poison Tongue Tales at your favorite online retailer! But seriously, I’m glad Deus found a home he can be comfortable with.

My barbarian obsession didn’t end with just story characters. I lived the gimmick as well. Okay, so I didn’t cannibalize and maim everybody in my path, but I’ve got the attitude down pat. I scream in anger whenever little things go wrong with my computer. I swear like a sailor whenever the phone rings and it’s for me. I eat every meal like a pig and get pieces of food stuck to my shirt. I burp and fart in public without saying “excuse me”. I used to watch professional wrestling religiously before it started sucking and the wrestlers themselves could be considered barbarians. Hell, the current WWE Raw Tag Team Champions are a pair of Viking warriors named Erik and Ivar. Even the Authors of Pain were barbaric in their fighting styles and muscular body types before they were relegated to bodily function jokes (AOP is short for Authors of Pain and can also be made fun of by saying AOPee-Pee).

The one part about barbarian life I will never agree with is the refusal to learn how to read and write. As a semi-professional author, knowing how to read and write is a part of my fucking job! Hell, this blog entry wouldn’t exist if I was illiterate. My college degree wouldn’t exist either. But yeah, because barbarians exist on the fringes of society, they don’t have the same access to education that the nobles would have. Would being educated hamper a barbarian’s ability to rage? Not really. Once a barbarian, always a barbarian. If anything, they’ll do what I did with my career and write crappy novellas about wrestling and, you guessed it, violent battles involving barbarians and wizards.

So why am I writing this blog entry to begin with if my barbarian obsession was already obvious to everyone here? Because even though I (allegedly) think about them 24/7, I need a reminder every now and then of where my creative fuel comes from. Whenever I have days where I’m bored out of my mind and mentally exhausted, I can feel my creativity dwindling away. I want to energize myself and beat the shit out of the mentally ill demons that hold me down, so this is what I have to do. Does it always work? No. Does my depression, schizophrenia, and litany of mental illnesses get in the way sometimes? Absolutely. It’s the reason why I can’t sustain an aggressive writing career, so I have to work from the shadows. It sucks. It sucks badly that my life is hampered by mental exhaustion and mental illnesses, but there’s not a whole lot I can do about it…except for energize my creativity through barbarians and wizards…and apparently orcish prostitutes, which was one James recently added to my list of obsessions. Hehe!

I’m Garrison Kelly! Until next time, try to enjoy the daylight!


***QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I know not what weapons World War III will be fought with, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.”

-Albert Einstein-


***POST-SCRIPT***

Actually, a barbarian might feel at home fighting with primitive weapons such as sticks and stones.

Thursday, June 28, 2018

"The Savior's Champion" by Jenna Moreci


BOOK TITLE: The Savior’s Champion
AUTHOR: Jenna Moreci
YEAR: 2018
GENRE: Fiction
SUBGENRE: Dark Fantasy
GRADE: Extra Credit

In a medieval tournament to crown The Savior’s husband, twenty men must venture through trap-infested tunnels, complete blood-curdling challenges, and even fight each other to the death until one man is left standing. Muscle-bound mercenaries, arrogant royals, and imaginative artists are among these twenty competitors. Tobias Kaya, a sugar mill worker and former painter, only wants to be a part of this tournament so that he can earn enough money for his impoverished family and handicapped sister. He gives less than a damn about The Savior and instead forms a secretive romance with a healer girl named Leila. Their relationship could lead to charges of blasphemy and possibly execution. After all the violence and trauma the tournament has to offer, Tobias’s love for Leila is the most real thing to him.

I must say, it has been years since a book hit me so hard in the feels that I thought I’d fall to pieces right then and there. Every emotion Tobias went through in this heinous tournament, I felt a hundred fold. The trauma of his friends being savagely murdered, the heartbreak of his arguments with Leila, the warm fuzziness of their passionate loving moments, the tears that fell down both of their cheeks, they all solidified what would become my Tobias-Bias. I connected with his anger, sadness, and passion like no other character. I came very close to crying myself at times, but if I won’t reveal the events that made me do so, because that would unveil too many spoilers. As a reader, you want Tobias to succeed and be happy despite all the misery and bloodshed the tournament brings.

And then you have characters in this story who deserve all the venomous hate you’ve got bottled up in your heart. The Sovereign, Brontes, will get under your skin quicker than a jagged dagger with his humiliating and loathsome treatment of Tobias. The Sovereign’s favorite muscle-bound competitors, Kaleo, Drake, and Antaeus, will have you wishing over and over again for somebody to throw them screaming form a helicopter. And Flynn? Well, he comes off as a harmless arrogant jerk at first, but as the story progresses, you’ll want to strap him to a chair and beat him with hammers. This isn’t just mild annoyance you’ll have with the villains of the story. You’ll be seething with rage at them. You’ll see red 24/7. You’ll drool like a rabid wolverine. You’ll wish you could kill them yourself. These kinds of villains are the most effective and I commend Jenna Moreci for making me want to punch them endlessly in the face.

What else could be said about this wonderfully-crafted piece of fiction? The traps in the underground tunnels are creatively put together, that’s for sure. The spider trap reminded me of the tarantula scene from Something Wicked This Way Comes. The fanged pigs served as the perfect form of mockery, which will make you want to strangle the Sovereign even more. And when Tobias goes through these blood-spraying traps, you’ll feel those too along with his colorful palette of emotions. These are the kinds of traps that would make the creators of the Saw franchise jealous. Jenna Moreci left no stone unturned with these obstacles and for that she should be commended.

The Savior’s Champion is bloody. It is heartbreaking. It is tearful. It is well-written. But most of all, it’s proof that independently published authors are not to be laughed at. Other self-published authors such as myself should look up to Jenna Moreci as a beacon of hope and a role model for what a professional author should be. I’m so confident in her abilities as an author that I wouldn’t doubt the idea of a movie deal coming her way soon. “The Savior’s Champion. Rated R. Starts Friday at a theater near you.” An extra credit grade will go to this beautifully-crafted novel that hit me in the feels harder than any one of Kaleo’s right hooks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look for someone to give me a hug. I need one!

Thursday, December 28, 2017

"Preacher, Vol. 4" by Garth Ennis

BOOK TITLE: Preacher, Vol. 4: Ancient History
AUTHOR: Garth Ennis
YEAR: 1998
GENRE: Graphic Novel
SUBGENRE: Horror
GRADE: Pass

Three tales of bloodshed, three glimpses into the pasts of the famous Preacher characters we know today. The Saint of Killers started off as a wild west bounty hunter with a heart so cold he brought snowy weather to Texas (that’s not a clever joke, that’s a fact). Arse-Face’s was a disenfranchised teenager constantly bullied at school and abused by his corrupt cop father. The Good Old Boys Jody and TC were swamp fighters who stumbled upon a gang of mercenaries trying to recover a blackmail tape from a cop and a smoking hot lawyer. Nobody is safe in these homicidal stories. What doesn’t kill them will leave a scar.

The level of violence in these stories is maximum tier, maybe even beyond that if it’s humanly possible. It’s more than just splattering blood across the scenery. It’s more than just broken bones and squishy organs. It’s psychological torture. It’s reliving those horrific scenes for the rest of your life (however long that may be). Maybe if you’re lucky, your brain will explode in this hurricane of violence and you can be spared from this maddening torture. But then there’s always the possibility of living with a sadistic devil or a corrupt god. In which case, the bloodshed and brutality will come full circle long before you’re ready to be reincarnated and have it happen to you all over again.

Unfortunately, this kind of horrific display is also applicable to innocent animals that’ve done nothing wrong. The animal cruelty in this graphic novel is easily the hardest to stomach while the violence to humans is at least sick and twisted fun. Whether it’s Gumbo McCready’s gang shooting horses, Pube shooting a yappy dog, or Jody beating the hell out of a confused gorilla with a baseball bat, your heart will sink so far down it’ll think it’s in the ninth circle of hell. While the animal deaths are a true representation of how screwed up life can be, it doesn’t make them easier to read about, much less physically see on the pages of a graphic novel. Thank goodness for the ASPCA, which I donate to every month.

Just as alarming is the way in which Arse-Face is treated throughout his story. He’s constantly beaten by his father, beaten by the students at school, and rejected pretty much everywhere else he goes, and this is all before his face became permanently disfigured. His only escape in life is through his punk rocker best friend Pube, who happened to be the one to shoot the yappy dog with a shotgun. Not much of an escape, huh? If I had to live that screwed up of a life in Texas, I too would want to find solace in even the most horrible people while smoking marijuana until the end of time. Disturbing as hell, yet the most poignant of the three stories, especially considering how Kurt Cobain’s suicide played a role in Pube and Arse-Face’s decision-making.


Preacher, Vol. 4 is equal parts heartbreak and violent fun. The delightfully vulgar dialogue sets it all up with perfection and can be another entertaining part of the graphic novel, even with Saddam Hopper and his inability to swear properly. Garth Ennis knocks it out of the park yet again with these Preacher graphic novels. He probably needs many years of therapy, but it’ll be worth it if he continues pumping out awesomely violent fiction like this. How does a passing grade sound to all of you?