Please feel free to come by, click and read, and submit your critiques in comments. SUPPORT THE DRIVE FOR 365 on this, the FOURTEENTH ANNIVERSARY of the institution of the "poem-a-day(-on-average)" requirement!
Picture credit: some lucky fan who prefers (or might well prefer) to remain anonymous. CUTIE
Look.
If the thing doesn't work the first five times it's tried, it could be time to admit the one you're setting up as a martyr has no real fans who'd mourn its (pardon me: ITS) passing. Cyclops?
His superpower is to SEE RED at you, destroying all in line with his big bad male gaze. If ever there was a way-too-hetero mutant on overcompensation mode (and therefore, pretty unfit for the martyr post), it's Scott Freaking Summers, and no amount of "savior DNA" left contaminated all over the place by an adoring "Mr Sinister" is going to eclipse how dumb Summers's powerset was in the first place, please.
He's considered one of the X-Men's iconic leaders. I say, red flag that ass and put the whole review team in the booth, because when did a decision of his ever live up to his soi disant "tactical genius on Phoenix mode" rep...?
Counting...
...counting...
Cyclops can go check his nearest mirror and martyr himself any time he wants to, given the right equipment upgrade. Get his brother, Havoc.
Now that man's a catastrophic tragic figure waiting to happen onscreen, if you ask me. He doesn't just look bad, he is bad. BADASS FORCE WAVE on point and on cue!
Ok.
OK, you can stop reading. I made that up. If you see that particular funny clickbait headline, by all means drop an unverifiable anecdote in comments and I'll unsource the scoundrels responsible for stealing my shtick.
This has been yet another iteration of Clickbait Headlines Critiques, right here on Consider Your Ass Kicked!
I don't want to drop a huge log in anyone's victory float, but for far too long we've been turning to the wrong heroes to solve CGI problems. I say it's time to bring the IT Crowd in on this.
See what they have to recommend.
Wheeling in his seat, he spat accusation across the room with his eyes. Valoutta of the Souls spun and caught it by her open mouth, teeth bared in an alarming display of manners. “WHAT??” she queried.
“Nothing!” he added, more or less sheepishly. “It’s only that I ordered pot-stickers,” he unwisely clarified, receiving for his troubled sins a hard BOTTLE-SHOT CHAMPAGNE CROTCH SPIKE right in the lap from our lady of the place, Valoutta! “OW” he cried, almost blubbering in his too-highly conditioned reflexive way!
So it was that, before anyone could possibly be any the wiser, he leapt lion-like from his seat! He sprang, drawing both his trademark long-notch longswords plus (in a telltale arc, too glossy and bright of sheen to be mistaken by any fool then present) his glittering scimitar! Resplendent in his legendary gear of war, all eyes wheeled awkwardly for the exits as he declared himself, his purpose, his voracious hunger by that point not the least of it! “WENCH,” he dimly advised, “I AM-”
“-WE KNOW,” rejoined just about every last patron in that tumbledown waterfront dive, which even to a careless eye’s assessment was none too tony.
Grimacing with a satisfaction perhaps too-evident,
…he resheathed all four weapons in one smooth motion of muscle memory, and called distractedly for a Hot Halberd - a specialty of the house! And one our erstwhile too-cool wonton-bearing wench (or one wench, at any rate, entirely too-cool in the delivery department and inarguably wanton of bearing) rushed to fulfill his spoken need before this fool stranger made another ass move to disgrace Bill’s Docktown Dive Bar further than his mere stupid presence could accomplish.
~Here Ends Book Twelve. The Remainder of Book Twelve Is Lost. Don’t Worry~
No one else dies! No one else dies yet, at least until book fourteen.
You and me both, Bill Strykszwinksy! Straczynski, that is. "J. Michael Straczynski."
I mean, the trailer itself was pure class, what with that seeming psychic paramedic pulling a wrenching web-yank on spider-futures, pasts, you name it - from all we can see, right in the nick of time, too! She's been a paramedic in other things, I believe? That U.K. show? Isn't this the same actress?
IMDB it later, maybe. She's got that caring look down cold, and the hairdo is a ringer. Isn't the she-paramedic with future-tense senses a bit of a trope, though, by now? I'm thinking of the Tick's Arthur's sister, but TRUST ME. That's nothing new. I think she (Madame Web, not Miss Trauma or whatever nom-de-super Arthur's big trusty sis eventually settled on) was also in that vampire fanfic remake people hated some while back. Bottom line though, why is red-and-black Spidey acting like a Spider-a**hole all through this thing?
J. Michael Straczynski, who wrote the thing (Spider-Man) during a pretty otherwise-empty stretch in the mid-to-early 2000s, fills us in:
He has no idea either! "Don't ask me," he quips (not verbatim). He seems to think the red-and-black Spidey expy is Morlun, and not (as I'd presumed) Miguel O'Hara, from Spider-Man 2099. Either way, I wouldn't want to meet up with that clown in a dark alley or a well-lit diner (see trailer), and I don't care who's on the scene for pre-first response, or how many tricks she packs in her own tangled and entangling web-bag. Sometimes, it's best to just avoid the crisis.
Update: The U.K. hospital soaper I'm thinking of is called CASUALTY, often styled CASUAL+Y or some similar. The actress is wrong. I was thinking of the long, deep-haired brunette with the blue eyes to kill for, and she's on another series entirely, apparently.
Click to see the vid at the original article! It's MADAME WEB
Q. What is the best Space on Q & A site to submit Proofs from N*** Basement Hookup?
A. Please don’t. At best you’re courting an adult filth tag (sounds like), at worst a much worse criminal charge for violating a basement. Are you at least fourteen? DON’T, then.
It's against policy for fourteen year-olds even to be there! Check your local jurisdictions precedents and courts, please. Beyond which, consider the site first before you consider "Which Space"?
1) Nobody on Quora wants to see these so-called “Proofs” from N*** Basement Hookup, and
2) If your ‘rents are upstairs while you’re down there bringing the house down in arrears over some cooked-up gripe you’ve been steaming and stewing for years, trust me, “Anonymous” isn’t going to storm your door with a gift certificate for a free trial membership, either. CUI BONO?
Who benefits?
For that matter: PROOFS OF WHAT? Self-disdain, self-abuse, self-care-gone-wild? I for one am sick of the incel jokes that portray grown basement-dwellers as somehow needing proofs to validate their downstairs pad job of a social media exposure, cinema verité guerrilla style. It's been done to death by now, and if you can't beat a dead horse back to life, trust me.
Don’t put it on Quora, please. We don't need an exhibitionist badge hung by a lanyard on the downstairs door to know: questions like these raise too many worm-cans by too many degrees Celsius to even calculate the calories.
It’s not worth it, either.
What are these, strike headlines? Some recognition of how strong a character he has or was is I'm sure, on-point, but at the same point: who cares how scarlet, carmine or rose-tinted the spectacles are on a washed-out, washed-up, tarted-up false kung fu joint like this?
Kudos, Red Ranger. That and the price of coffee will get you a tip, that is if you're as fast and accurate a baristor as I suspect you well may be. SHEESH
GROW UP
____________________________________
This has been another in a series. "Funny Clickbait Headlines Critiques," right here on Consider Your Ass Kicked.
This is another edition of "Funny Clickbait Headlines Critiqued," right here on Consider Your Ass Kicked!
5. "Free Bird." This is the song I hack out on guitar if people are requesting cover tunes. See, I can't hack cover tunes, so I wrote a song called "Free Bird." It's like, "Went into the pet shop, boy, laid my heart on loan. Walked out with parakeet," something something. It's a buy one get one deal, basically: FREE BIRD. Can't beat that with a birdcage.
4. "Hey Now." This is a Crowded House song. The chords are a bitch to finger smoothly, and that trademark "Maori strum" Neil Finn walks down all through it is as smooth as it gets. "Hey now, hey now, don't HIT THAT CHORD LIKE THAT, man-hannn,"
3. "You Wanna Be Startin' Something." This is just a straight-up earworm. Mamma say mamma sa mah mah coo sah.
2. & 1.
Let's leave both top spots open, pending whether I read and/or agree with the clickbait article at some point.
Your humble online poet's
verse
inspires an attack
or curse. Now
please,
who's fault
has all this been? Check in
the mirror,
mannequin.
No sh!t. He's Wonder Man. From Avengers #9 by Stan Lee & Don Heck.
What do you expect when Wonder Man makes the scene? He's like Superman except from prison, and he can't fly without the aid of his jet - jet-belt, in his case. Not invisible Jet, such as the Amazonians were wont to invent, design, test-execute and mass-produce for only the use of their ace diplomat to Man's World, Wonder Woman.
We never got to find out who was truly stronger, in that as-yet hypothetical matchup. WHO CARES?
I sure as sheez Louise do not.
Wonder Woman would wipe the floor with this particular incarnation of Earth's Mightiest: The Avengers, as is stoutly proven by ripoff B-Lister Wonder MAN doing it. Doing it pretty dang handily and readily as well! As befits the man Simon Williams who'd later go on to some pretty easy work in Hollywood, as a stunt man.
This has been another edition of Funny Clickbait Headlines Critiques, here on You Guessed It!
Consider Your Ask Kissed
In a departure from our "Funny Clickbait Headlines Critique" feature here on Consider Your Ass Kicked!, the above is no headline. It's actually a snatch from one of the articles!
I accidentally clicked through to the article. Not bad. I sure didn't know all THAT about Namor. Who knew?
This all occurred in Avengers #4, mighty readers. Excelsior.
FALSE.
This has been another specimen of "Funny Clickbait Headlines Critiques," here on Consider Your Ass Kicked!
True story!
Pretty sure it's more like fifty. Oh, okay, okay, fifty minus about two-and-a-half. The guy is stronger than a resting Hulk and cannot be stopped once he's got forward progress. Everything else is up to the refs on the field and the review booth:
That'd be the writers and the editors, kids. Play safe.
False.
1. It's "Colossus's" not "Colossus'."
2. No, he's not. Which "He's" are we meant to imply or infer, here? More has been read between the lines than was ever written there!
3. He (Colossus') doesn't even HAVE a brother. He's got a sister! Misgendering alert ahoy!
Let's have another go at the fiction canon please, shall we? Try some other universe, in comments, in which the above are not plain-simple minded truth's teeth, please. If you're going to go in all overboard on the snark and sarcasm, please, at least get your in-universe facts straight, and specify.
Peace & capisce.
This has been another instance of "Funny Clickbait Headline Critiques" here on this, Consider Your Ass Kicked!
SOLD.
Praise is the better part of criticism. This has been yet another edition of funny clickbait headline critiques on this here, Consider Your Ass Kicked! blog, AKA "Ye Blog." As distinct from Ze Blog (my less-original poetry blog) or De Blog (my original poetry blog). My late lamented blog, at one point: now merely my sadly but justly neglected-of-late, "Ye Blog." Keep it straight in comments, please!
Netflix, huh? I wonder if that's available in my region. I think they basically outdid Blockbuster, right out of the business as I recall. Too late, Blockbuster! Should've reacted a bit quicker, more quickly (both are or would have been acceptable), and with something more on-point than a wow-ugh face emoji!
Blockbuster never had to go out of business, dudes. Tough.
OK, I can see there's a market and some product, there. But how could they leave out Maganzo?
Huh. No preview expansion. That sucks! Well, I'm not going to go through all that just to show you a picture that looks strikingly like the preview from the clickbait article whose headline I address in this, another installment of Clickbait Critiques here on Consider Your Ass Kicked.
For reference:
the sun set down
on a world curved wrong
the horizon buckled back
for one good look
at the colors and light
that faded from our faces
as a darkness rose up
from between blades of grass
the shadows climbed our legs
and reached from low to higher
places. But before the end, I guess
we had one hell
of a time in heaven
and that was the last
that there was.
no further lessons to learn
but one.
Long-time readers will guess how frequently I have cause to sing the praises of OLD BAY.
It's quite unnecessary. Herr's brand OLD BAY flavored potato chips pack enough of that seaside spice in on all sides (of each chip!) to send the crustiest seaman gagging for a quaff of the ol' lime-punched grog, just to restore some order on deck and regain the use of his inner compass! If you find yourself likewise with a mouthful of that dry-rub low tide personified (OLD BAY has so much character, "personified" works), you might yourself wonder: "What goes better with this?"
Try OLD BAY brand spice mix with a hot tin bucket of corn-on-the-cob, crab-in-the-shell, or anything else that smacks of the waterfront and includes inedible parts (cob, shell), all the better to hold a deeper dusting of the rust-red and trusty dusty stuff: the seafarer's friend and prized luxury. Use OLD BAY in the toilet! Use it on land. Use it in the sky!
This testimonial has not been paid or solicited in ANY WAY by OLD BAY or anything like it - which is no surprise. There's really nothing quite like it at all. OLD BAY's proprietary blend of zing, whang and salty tang really stands out on the palate and brings armadas of sensations storming the defenseless port of your mouth, big time. It's the culinary nautical equivalent of piracy, and trust me! Once you find your lips and tongue on the high seas, seized and dragooned into the service of this old spice and herbs treasure, you'll wish you had a map and a shovel to dump your newfound taste hoard overboard and bury it in secrecy, for safekeeping! OLD BAY.
It really is what they say, more or less. Check with your physician - or with your friendly local sea captain! - before using OLD BAY in a way neither of them can agree with.
Please tell me. Why has "reality" somehow become the tip-toppest buzzword in comic book media adaptations?
It's almost completely inapposite!
Warning:
In-context, the question obviously is not committing an invalid reification (“science know”) (as if science is itself an entity that can know). How do I know that the question is obviously not committing that invalid reification? DUH.
Because a question is not an entity that can commit. That’s #2. See footnote on sister-blog A Pocketful of Poesy involving literary fallacies. #1 is that there’s a far better/more harmless interpretation staring every reader of this post in the EASY-KNOWING FACE (through the eyes to the mind or minds {or mind’s} behind):
It’s synecdoche!
_________________
Ah, synecdoche!
That figure of speech in which the part (here, “science”) is used to represent the whole (or less commonly, the whole can also be used to represent the part. Figures of speech tend a bit lax with the precision prized by logicians! Freer of use, don’t cha know. So. Parentheses closed “).”
All italics in this answer mine, btw. All ALL-CAPS for emphasis as well, and esp. come to section headers: all bolds.
Foundations laid: that question again?
Considerations complete.
Conclusion?
NOT MUCH for certain.
Yet ever is certainty the enemy of process and finding, in which science goes ever and anon whole hog on full-forward heedful bearings in every direction that proves both A) fruitful enough to secure funding! AND B) promising enough to draw talented scientists into that breach.
Confidence does not come from certainty, but from every sure improvement one can make upon certainty. Over certainty’s rocked, wrecked, bloated and decomposing, rotting and/or fossilized corpse does science trod roughshod and sure. Confidence…comes from sure and proven competence at improving upon certainty.
I find the scientific study of consciousness much worth review and investigation, even if yea, to me (from all the seeming-conflicting paths of discovery available, and the disparate conclusions that spring as-yet unreconciled, unreconcilable from them in-depth and at-surface, on more or less all sides of biology, physiology, even the philosophy of science advances!
I mean, “advances!)”
Pardon me. I got lost in a parenthetical. That my dear reader is a product of one thing only:
Science proceeds as we do: apace.
In step-by-step generational progress, well-punctuated by instance of breakthrough - which, by the way, such “instance” remains open to question and further validation, and it so behooves us not to pronounce “EUREKA!” too swift and sure, before the peers and further experimenters weigh in. For Lo! The path behind is strewn with the bloated, riddled corpses of things that only seemed breakthrough, at the time.
We know this.
We are not science.
Yet near the limit, each of us must be a scientist.
Suggested viewing.
Ryan Karels: The Outer Limit. Episode #1: The Amygdala
The Outer Limit #1 - The Amygdala - video Dailymotion
No one has to bleed or view to the limit.
We can simply veer clear of the limit of human investigation, in a given area! The bleeding edge of theory and experiment to verify and falsify theory is surprisingly easy and convenient to avoid. Why, I do it myself in every area where interest lacks.
For me, my driving yet nonetheless traipsing, meandering course of potent and unqualified interest in science is a vehicle of recreation far more than of creation, yet I find great hope, support, and some education therein which has served me mightily in life.
The might of science is one of the mightiest, and such might as that (witness so many revolutions in telecommunications, processor techniques and materials sprung from quantum mechanics - a field in which theory was, is and remains seemingly irreconcilably fractured! YET FROM ITS TRUTH AND REALITY SPRING SUCH FRUITS, you are LITERALLY VIEWING IT. NOW) is the sort that does indeed make right, or at least correct (by incessant course-correction) by and by, proved not by “logic,” but in time and good use. Or ill use.
For good, bad, indifferent, ugly or beautiful (by another’s eye, mind, et al):
“Self-falsification,” for those who simply must (or figuratively choose) to reify. No instance of reification can ever validly be called invalid except and unless it can be proved to fruit into invalid conclusions.
Otherwise, consider it may have been a figure of speech. Few people, seriously indeed, think a question (or a field of human endeavor) is an entity capable of intent.
Human consciousness is famously considered a “hard problem”
…in the quarters of many to most of those seriously investigating it. I don’t see what’s so hard about it myself, but the reason for THAT is very clear:
That is my answer. All faults in it are mine, and no reflection upon our good and neighborhood friend (and yours), CAPTAIN SCIENCE MAN and his far more savvy and puissant sidekicks, COMMANDER SCIENCE WOMAN and GENERAL SCIENCE PERSON!
Big Science. It has its points, doesn’t it?
Concerning consciousness, it has far too many of them, and the picture is as-yet pleasantly far from adding up to any one (1) definitive and fully-explanatory description of reality.
This is BOON.
For science as a pursuit and (for those of you) an adventure, it is and must be boon. Is it not? How not?
I yield the field.
Comments are open, all as per.
Come with your well-laid cases from (cited) basis on merit, and you shall not find me wanting. Particularly.
Come, child, sit thine ahem & such:
Consider Your Ass Kicked!: A Fairy Tale (asurfaceofinfiniteshallowness.blogspot.com)
I came here for the food.
And that's why I left
There was a parade so authentic
to what you see in movies,
you expected a car chase any minute
to come screeching through, upsetting
carts of unidentifiable produce -
at one point I heard gunfire, maybe
but it more likely was just firecrackers,
those ones they always set off
in common stereotypes,
look - is it my fault? Is this really
how they see themselves, or
want to be seen? I can't help
if the simple actions being taken
all around me seem
like borderline condescending
stereotypes.
I can't help that. I'm just
the observer, here -
these people are choosing
on their own,
to portray
embody
celebrate
these so-called "stereotypes."
It's all what we used to call "culture,"
before some fuckwit
got a hold of it
and said: "offensive!"
bad
- but anyway, I waited around
no car chase.
I used to go on smile.com which apparently was a place of many URLS ("smile dot com" was seriously the least used by me) which was also an open real-time text chat, but it was HTML enabled - good place to practice code! And I'd go on as LILPNUS or DTARD or whatever popped off the top of my head, and I'd ask people how to bake a potato
This was literally because I'd forgotten the temp and length and such. Setting up dedicated channels between chatters was super-easy at that point. People would fight it out on the deets, and I'm the gainer.
Edit: The internet was no resource then. All baked potato recipies were extraordinary of length and temp variation. I've since discovered my go-to at 400 degrees with a WET SKIN, salt-encrusted by hand for ... howevermany minutes. Nick knows, I can always ask him. The internet though is F'CKING USELESS, and WAS.
/Edit.
So I'd pop on, practice a lil' HTML and such, and learn how to bake a potato! S (my then-gf) loved a baked potato
Wait. It was WEELAD. That was my main name. Then she took MY HANDLE (Wee Lad) as her forum name someplace else! I was so pissed
Take a look at this guy, guys:
Do we need this guy to explain to us the Multiverse Wars? Again?
Hasn't he done enough in that line, already?
It seems to me he has. I haven't even seen that Ant-Man (sp) movie, no, not even for The Wasp in a sweet side-slapping role with a real sting in the neck! But do I need the central conceit explained to me? In a movie? Of such kind?
For the sweet crisp sake of sushi, I do not. I'm sure what this bright, eager if a touch pensive gentleman's very presence hasn't already explained in that line is just going to have to be covered in the big post-credits exposition scene, next time. Right? Slap a poll on the outgoing theatergoers! Just like the old days. "What did you miss?" Fill-in-the-blank and go to town! That used to work a treat for last-minute re-dos, and a spanking-new brand-breathtaking "Producer's Cut." Why not?
I feel like if this power-hitter hasn't already self-explanatorily put the Multiverse Wars in proper context, he already has in some context. "What's purple and green and sounds like a bell?"
KANG
DING DING DING DING said the doorbell.
People, let it ride for now. They'll explain it at the Oscars one day, someday, when these super-doer flicks finally get their own max category next to "Musicals," so the indie and foreign "subtleties" flicks can finally release in peace again. Trust me.
The Multiverse Wars are now and always have been perfectly self-explanatory.
In-person or any other one-to-one interaction. Oddly enough, almost nobody makes such interpretation errors in person! Perhaps they're conflict-averse in person.
Now I don't know why that'd be.
This is just me putting this out there. I wonder if anyone wants to find out who these people are, so that when they each do pass on we can all rip them to shreds (posthumously, not literally) and micturate upon the hot ash and/or rot dust? DOING ABSOLUTELY NO ACTUAL VIOLENCE TO ANYONE, of course! That’d be foul, and deserve its own consequence. Only a bully seeks to dominate others by force, threat or coercion!
Which is no surprise. That’s just a commonsense, commonplace definition of the word, bully. BULLY!
Warning. I do not presume the content was generated after Perry’s death.
I presume it was broadcast after Perry’s death.
Whichever it was, you and your brand (including those taken up as brand ambassadors) are entirely and shall always be responsible for your own brand’s AI algorithms, editorial decisions plus anything else that has you shilling your brand downstream of what you intended, wrote, recorded, originally broadcast, et al.
Someone dropped the ball, here.
I say we do something legal about it.
Funny story actually! She and I were walking down the beach pavement stretch (with beach to the right, cookout and picnic tables to the left, with canopies over some of them) and I took a weird step and almost veered INTO HER (which you know what THAT could start).
Naturally, I played it off by walking in a sort of gently weaving way as we went. That was kind of not working too smooth, so I began making puttering sounds (we were breathing pretty deep and hard) (exercise walk). I waited for her to forcibly catch by eye, raising my elbows higher in a sort of "water rising" imagery so she could slap one of my elbows. Which she did. Her look said "WHAT?!" "ARE YOU DOING"
I replied (to her look, mind you): "I'm a boat"
...
LONGISH PAUSE
(she seemed slightly perplexed)
"Don't mess with the boat!"
That's how "Joe Boat" started.
...
Anyhow, she thought it was funny! She'd tell people all about it, if they heard her calling me JOE BOAT. We had an ace division of responsibilities, both in and out of the home
________________
Positively no EX-GF stories involve any one-to-one confidence (shared privacy) violated. Under no circumstances nor conditions does Joe Boat bother to do THAT. Thanks
He whipped his glittering scimitar off his opponent’s nose, catching it midair, then spun twice with the pikes caught under his left arm, skewering two others in their midsections and throwing it back to him.
That’s right. You read that right. Then, with a hoarse, grinding yell he leapt up at the charger bearing down upon him, kicking its lance down and off-point with his left foot, planting the right foot in the charging knight’s HEAD.
He flew off backwards from the impact, but his great helm saved him anything but a minor concussion. Meanwhile, his airborne adversary landed in the suddenly vacant saddle and began sowing minor panic in great, glittering and increasingly gory arcs as his now-runaway steed kept course, trodding pikemen and footmen under indiscriminately. Hurtling darts and arrows caught in the backwards rider’s cape or plinged harmlessly off the ringed mail beneath as he dove to the (his) left and captured a halberd from where it lay, abandoned upon the ground. Still rolling, he vaulted to his feet and swept the field with his iron gaze.
It was going to be another one of those mornings. Not even winded as forces drew back in a thickening circle all around him, he sighed.
He was entirely sincere.
Another in my late series of funny-as clickbait headlines.
OK, this is such old news they did a Hellboy comic on it probably 10+ years ago. Abe Sapien was his backup, and HB had to battle the (SPOILER) DEAD BODY & REUNITED HEAD of BLACKBEARD THE PIRATE! ON THE BEACH! I won't say what happened to the poor sap who'd found the skull and killed the proprietor of the curio shop to get it. What that "sap" hadn't considered was that the ghost might rat him out for that, to one of the Bureau's midlevel psychics! BAD MOVE.
Thankfully, he (I mean here Edward Teach, the legendary Black Beard) had "backup" too. I.e. the many dead souls (and their bodies) of people he'd killed and dumped overboard, and/or left for dead in the water. Unquietly they'd been asnooze in Davy Jones's Locker, for so long as Blackbeard's bits and pieces rotted outside of hell. Who knew Blackbeard was so savvy he could horcrux a skull? Like Harry Potter's snake-faced bad guy, Rafe Fines!
Unspoiler.
The good guys won, which...never needs to be spoiled in anything involving Hellboy. Trust me. He's the top field agent in the BPRD*! Never mind that in several of the movie adaptations, they try to act like that's a secret. In-universe, Hellboy's, no. He's not a shameful under-the-rug boogieman, he's a bona fide celebrity. Appeared on Time magazine's cover as a six-year old, or thenabouts! SECRET.
As-if.
*Bureau of Paranormal Research & Defense. DON'T WORRY.
There really isn't one.
And if there was, their field agents would be a hell of a lot better than those depicted onscreen thus far. Trust me.
No. Alan Moore's Miracleman (in US publications) repackaged Alan Moore's Marvelman.
If one is going to play all lore-superior, get thine citations aced, please. SHAZAM!
BOOM
Shazam?
No, no, that's only the magic word. The big, red manly cheesy-looking dude in a fluttery little white cape before you has had another name. CAPTAIN!!
M
A
R
V
E
L!, spell it any way you like. He's more or less au fait with the superspiritual side of things, thanks very much. The original, real (well...) Captain Marvel could've tanked a full-force face-shot from Superman, if it happened in either's then-comics universe. It took the full force of the S-man's law team plus the calamitous downturn in super-funnies (WWII had ended: duh) to put the C-Man ("CAP!") out of commish.
You should see his sidekick, though. The one in the white suit (later on, down the line), or if and as you prefer, the one in the blue. I understand the team's been recruiting too, lately!
Under another name.
ALAN MOORE?
Oh, shoosh. That man does not like a lot of the remakes and adaptations done under HIS character's names! Shazam! How Ironic? "KIMOTA!"
Now we're talking. Ka-Jeesh.
Yes, because that's TOTALLY UP to him, her, or themownself.
I kid or sh!t you not.
That was a real clickbait headline! Verbatim, I believe, though naturally I didn't cluck it to copy-paste.
I crap you not.
His immorality plotline. Immortality? Nope to the wope. It's Palpatine's immorality plotline.
Breaking news. That's precisely all of that guy's plotlines, number one. Number two: everybody's "immorality plotline" somehow manages to make "perfect sense"...from a certain point of view.
That's a big problem with viewing force in terms of binary L/D, instead of oh, I dunno...R/W? G/E?
PALPATINE'S. IMMORALITY PLOTLINE
...!
Palpatine's.
Oh, do we mean Darth Stan Satan? No, that was Lucasifer, after the fall - I mean, Disnefication.
Carry on then. Palpatine and his immorality...plotline, that's some singular cheek, please. Check!
Pretty sure UPS doesn't festoon its subject lines with bell, box and "DO NOT ENTER" emojis. Nor does UPS, really, see the need to slap a "copyright" ("copywrite" I believe? Could be either, sensibly) (some big "IP geek/fan" I turned out to be!) circle-c dealy on the initials "UPS" in the sender space.
These are signs fit for imbeciles. And truly, I doubt even them.
