Xtinction Agenda

She is living in a material world and she is a material girl. "Sea bear!"

Endless streams of words, jumping like fish from the cool flowing river, frolicking and diving, feeding green and grey, leaving readers rolling on floors and hiding their tears. This was the literature of youth, handed over to us by a man who could not grow up. We only miss him now that he is aged, broken, and gone. "Hold it men! Better do as she says!"

Silence, having emptied guts onto mossy rock, meanders through mud. Then, long days of salt, fog and wave, God of death, up from hell, voiced by child, marks his teetering grave, offering life for life, innocence saved. "God brought us out of that mist for a reason. We claim this land in His name."

Hear us Oh Wise Odin, we who hang from the world tree and slither our lives like vines fated along branches. Hear our call. Send seeress and he-witch to wake us from our hatreds. Give us a choice between kindness and kin. So that we might choose what must be done. "Prowl in shadow, slayer of my people. Hide. Even though your brother stole my eyes... I see you."

The trees move. The trees themselves move in the wind. Like the fire snake moves. And weaves down into the farmlands and the throne room. Stakes laid sharp to keep it out. But only in the cave shall you face it. Her. With her big breasts and venomous fang. "Merciful Father, I have squandered my days with plans of many things."

Thou dost speak without care, spouting ill of Jerry Ordway. His hoary pencils mark a lost greater age. Similarly, does thou show thyself a villain true to favour Jose Ladronn. I stay my hand only in respect of your good view of Dan Jurgens. Count thyself fortunate. "Kneel before the might and fury of Mangog!"

Lotta fucking technical difficulties in podcast land for your Xtinction Crew. We've had some casualties. We've had some setbacks. Even the recording on this one is all computer-y and fucking garbage. Still though, we've again--despite the adversity--produced yet another A+ product for the ages. You ever wonder who would come out on top if Spider-Man's villains fought Batman's villains (mostly)? Wo...

Eat the Rich April is on pause for a moment. Old Man Stuff. Crisis upon us. For the time being, let's see what happens when hack writers from the 70s are given free reign in their own universe. Spoilers: they devolve to their natural state, cruel and mischievous. Or show themselves to be otherwise hopeless and nonsensical. Where in Sam Hill was the editor on this one?! Oh, right, he was the one wi...

Without natural features and only thin walls, the wizard holds back the horde. Dirty and poor, children stolen for parts, they hunger. Planning, probing, and slowly learning, the low must be brought high. The wizard, standing alone, awaits his heir, thinking it all part of his scheme. "My friend, you suffer from the misplaced optimism of the doomed."

Most people, when they set up a chess board, do so with the intention of afterwards being able to play a game. Not these people. This movie sets up the X-Men franchise in the same way that Mister Magoo walks successfully through a burning building, never knowing they were almost killed. Here the board is merely a helpful suggestion and the chess pieces themselves easily replaced with play-doh vers...

Pull wide the curtain, send fist through face, and split the fascists open. Set sail through the bleed along a course of retribution against a failing status quo. With blood-soaked hands, we must teach these will-less children to behave. "I'm here to save the Earth. I'm here to get us all through this century."

Black slithering ooze under the skin, proptosis gestating, hybernating doom. Wars of injection rise up from under the sands, bees bred under clicking slats released like a twenty one gun salute. Enter the white surface cavern concealed where love hovers frozen, intubated. Release her and fight another day. "Five years together, Scully. How many times have I been wrong? Never!"

Certainty, like an arrow, speeds forward into walls. Confusion, that spiked-drink paralysis, does the same. Stumbling blind-folded through the flooded basement of secrets, you must step carefully but never stop. Stay calm, senses open; wait patiently for the vouchsafing signal. Believe, and in believing, find doubt. "What I don't want to see is the Bills winning a Super Bowl. As long as I'm alive...

At benthic depths, a woman hides, working pelagic intrigues from the bottom upward and then back down, twisting memory and thought in on itself until there is nothing. Her world spans centuries, a lake at midnight, the littoral zone a chalk outline of a murder mystery. So tired, annihilated, empty-handed, she cannot go on. There is only one conclusion to draw, she says, there is no truth out there...

Floating adrift on tattered raft, surfacing the blue-into-black abyss, eyes scan nightmare heavens, hoping for a sign. In the distance, the galley awaits. Behind, the colony. Pulled along an incomprehensible current towards the unknown, hands clasp tight into prayer. I want to believe. "The men you've been seeking are the progeny of two original visitors, clones who have been attempting to establi...

The cartoon world of No Girl sprawls rotten, cable-ridden among dislodged monuments, a landscape of fouled water and lonely souls. Here a mutant death machine towers over young lovers, jealous and drowning, pulled by the riptide of its broken heart into the trench of darkest despair. The hope of this world can only be found in a forsaken union and in the blessed release of fire. "The supermen figh...

Shakespeare is not the source of the phrase "Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely." But don't tell that to Bill Jemas. Walk silently through the halls. Keep your head down. Don't talk back. Keep your job. Keep your job. Keep your job. The rains will come. Just wait. And don't talk back. "...and where would we be without a laugh?"

The lies travel from big fight to big fight, hiding right before our very eyes. Is he or isn't he? Can she or can't she? Do they or do they not? Watch carefully. Ask yourself: where is the ball? Something dangerous is being made safe again. Profitable. A Dark Knight is made to truly return.  "Car? That's a relic!"

Hallway audio like a fun house welcomes us to Renaissance Station. Here they were seeking solutions to the problems of peace and war. 3D printed rape crabs. Black Lovecraftian goo. What more would mankind need to ascend? Dig, horrors, dig, and die for the Company. "Get away from her, you bitch."

The forearm flakes black like burnt paper into the wind and into the river, seeding and plumping molecules into adventurous life. Come find us, the caves say, run through the night and dig up our tomb. Our hands crafted you but our voice cannot be heard. Nor our final judgement. But you can guess. "Why do you hate us?"

Great beast, black carapaced and limbed, hiss and spit for us this continued acid drama. Rise from your grey silt, beetle humped, and give us your bloody tale. Let our lungs touch and entangle in the breath of this swamp. Your mother needs more time on the stage and we have little on the page. Ideas man, quick. Give us an ending oily and slick. "That's right. Come down and have a look--"

Let thunder awaken the senses and fire burn away calm. Raise the palisades against these nightmares, for we are now soldiers turned victims. Victims of weak willed men and rapacious rogues. Victims of nature itself. Like the one who crawls along the beach, dragging their lost limb, let us call out for mother. She is our only hope. "What do you mean *they* cut the power? How could they cut the powe...

Slithering reptilian shadows turned to bone and left in the dark for fools to blunder into. Mother knew the meaning. She knew and she did not care. Through her, the Company scrapes the stars, a troubling cosmic dragnet that this time turned up something that could not be contained. "It's almost primordial."

Paul Chadwick. Dave Gibbon. Gray Morrow. Eric Shanower. John Byrne. Andy Kubert. Coleen Doran. Ty Templeton. Alan Brennert. Dick Giordano. Mark Waid. 1989. DC Super-Heroes. Christmas. Today. "Vell, and isn't this nize!"

True loss is wordless. Vengeance is pure. We are all grieving fathers driven into torn flesh isolation, garage drunk and cursing inflation, plotting our cold, bloody revenge. Prepare the stunt car and fill pistols with tears. Santa Claus arrives early this year. (newspaper ripping)