August 18; Revere Beach, MA: Coast Guard Mobilization for Beached Whale Rescue Turns Out To Be False Alarm.
August 20; Gotham City, USA: Batman’s On His Way, He Knows; It’s Important, He Gets It Already.
August 20, Gotham City, USA: On the other side of Gotham City, Captain England Feels Very Underappreciated.
August 22; London, England: London Unveils New City Motto: “The Other Green Bay”.
August 24; Beijing, China: Olympics End In Tragedy As Zombies Attack and Devour Chinese Basketball Player Yao Ming, Are Hungry Again An Hour Later
[tags]Week In Pictures, Olympics, Beijing, China, London, Dark Humor, Satire, Parody[/tags]
WRT August 20, it’s not Captain England, it’s Captain Britain, leader of the Captain Britain Corps. Together they form one of the most spectacularly stupid ideas ever to come from Marvel Comics.
I mean, when I was drunk in college and developed an idea for an action/buddy comic about a cop on the edge of retirement paired with a hair-triggered violent, possibly pyschotic, mexican, Pope who drives a ’73 Pinto, I was still light-years of quality ahead Captain Britain.
When faced with spending three bucks on a copy of Captain Britain, or spending three bucks to hire a homeless guy to kick you in the nads for half an hour, the smart money goes with the ‘nad kicking.
No, it’s Captain ENGLAND, Goddammit. I’ve been to THREE Comic Cons; I’m aware of Captain Britain and his innate suckitude, but I am sensitive to the idea of copyright infringement. Unlike some people I could mention…
“When I was drunk in college”… like you had time to develop a comic book in the twenty seconds between your mom’s car and the freshman dorm’s door when you WEREN’T.
Were you listening? My pope is Mexican. Mex-I-Can.
God, my idea for Popapillas (Like sopapillas, but ain’t nothing sweet about this Pope!) is derivative like Gobots were derivative of Transformers. Which is to say, not in any legallly actionable sense.
Plus my Pope was invented in 1991, or earlier if necessary.
Racist.
Isn’t that just like an eskimo, to pull the race card. Didn’t think I knew, did you? Well you’re a dirtbag, just like your filthy eskimo brethren.
You just HAD to take the low road and call me a filthy blubberchugger, didn’t you, you grimy, drunken Welsh goatfucker? My people are NORTHERN CANADIAN, you tone-deaf Scot-raper! NORTHERN CANADIAN!
Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s the Feast of the Formally Dressed Flightless Water Fowl, and I need to go and chug Uncle Ingtuck’s blubber.
Wait – that came out wrong… but it goes down so, so right…
Fuck you, I’m sick Where the fuck is my Old No. 7 Tennessee Medicine?