Holy fucking shit. James Stokoe is bringing his own insane, beautiful, insane, kinetic, insane talents to a fucking Aliens mini-series? We are not worthy, but we will be lavished all the same.

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James Stokoe has the sort of mind I’m fucking jealous of, man. Not to mention his goddamn talent. His ability to conceive of such outrageous concepts (Orc Stain) and execute gorgeous artwork (His enormous Galactus from a couple of years back) is fucking staggering. Woe be to someone like me, rife with grammar errors and cheap dick jokes. So it should be no surprise that his cover for What If? Age of Baddy-Guy Event #2 has me willing to prostrate myself before him. Pour Campbell’s Chunky Stew on my head and make me fetch the paper! I’m down with it. (Huh?)

Hit the jump for the glory. Steel yourself tho, you’re not worthy.

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Bro! Are you even serious right now? Don’t fucking tease me. Don’t tease me! It can’t be like that time where you told me Jenny Lawrence was in the back of that van ready to peg me! I lubed up! I stripped down! Then it turned out to be Uncle Al and his local rendition of Punk’d. Fucking douchebags. Still got the scabs on my berries from when I tripped backwards out of the van in fear. Anyways! This is that level of excitement.

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One of the great things about comics is the medium’s penchant for reinterpretation and reinvention.  An endless catalogue of characters, fictitious and real, lie dormant in old books and film, waiting for another chance to tell their story.  Hit the jump and let’s discuss a few of those appearing in comics this week, and I PROMISE I won’t make another crappy Die Hard reference!

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Greetings, Earthlings and interdimensional lurkers. It’s Wednesday, and that can only mean one thing. Time for me to lumber down to the LCS, notice that they don’t have the two comic books I want, and flip a shelf. Scream loudly. Dive head first through the glass, trailing blood and tendon dangling from said shards. Scream at drivers as I run wildly through traffic, picking bits and beads of skin and  skull out of my Kingdom Come Superman t-shirt. Stumble into a ditch. Write this column telepathically, using the fading moments of my consciousness to commune with you folks.

Let us share, as darkness dawns on crumbling psyche, the comics we want to buy this week. Certainly, with shredded skin and violated visage, I’ll miss something you’re eager for. That is half the fun. Don’t know what’s coming out? Hit up Comic List.

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It was a real, mean-as-hell, man-eating tiger.

He tried to assuage my anxieties. “A pot of coffee wouldn’t affect a cat of thissere size. Neither would those there beers I fed it. Thawwaz just some fun for the tourists, get `em to toss me a coupla extra bucks. Tough `conomy means we all gotta scrappup bucks in ways we wouldn’t otherwise.”

But there was no way that I was going to feel comfortable. No matter what this guy told me. No matter how carefully the bus driver navigated through the streets. The fact of the matter was that on this particular commute home, I found my normal spot on Metro-Transit Bus 142 occupied by a seven hundred-pound feline that’d spent the day being force fed coffee and alcohol in the hopes of entertaining sunburnt yahoos. I was still six blocks away from my apartment, but I tipped my cap to the trainer and got off at the next stop.

Bus had barely vomited its fumes into my face when I heard jungle growls and smashing glass.

It was a real, mean-as-hell, man-eating tiger.

—-

Welcome to the Monday Morning Commute! I’m going to show you some of the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself in the following days. Then you take your turn to hit up the comments section so as to display your own ennui-destroyers. What’re we all doin’ for fun these days?

Let’s find out!

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There is no shortage of taxons for comics creators. There’re the Marvel guys and the DC guys, the independent bros and the artsy-gals. Some artists are known for illustrating superheroes and some writers are summoned to script crime noir. When we think of members of the comic book community, chances’re pretty good that we pigeonhole `em.

But I think I’ve come across a breed entirely unique unto itself.

As a writer, this being has brought fan-beloved and critically-acclaimed series into existence. In the editorial department, this same comics-creature has made contributions that have earned him both an Eisner Award and a Harvey Award. Upon further inspection, it appears that this individual is now rummaging through the Creator-Owned Forest, using Kickstarter to put comics directly into readers’ hands.

What are we to call this amazing creature? Here’s a name – Mark Andrew Smith.

Mark Andrew Smith is the writer behind such works as The Amazing Joy Buzzards, Gladstone’s School for World Conquerors and The New Brighton Archaeological Society. Moreover, he is one of the editors that helped elevate Popgun to the award-winning status it knows today. So after learning about Mr. Smith’s plans to distribute Sullivan’s Sluggers (a collaboration with the mighty James Stokoe) via Kickstarter, I sought an interview and was obliged!

Hit the hyperspace jump to check out Mark Andrew Smith’s thoughts on finding inspiration, the daily life of a comic book writer, and what conditions would have to be met for him to drink with Hemingway!

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Regulars around here know that we worship at the altar of James Stokoe and the unfettered insanity that is Orc Stain. The good Stokoe has teamed up with writer Mark Andrew Smith (Gladstone’s School for World Conquerors) to bring the world another flavor of bonkers. Old baseball sluggers versus zombies? Hell yes. Don’t get too excited, though. These good people, they need our goddamn help.

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Here at OL we’re pretty, pretty, pretty fucking jazzed on James Stokoe. The dude’s comic Orc Stain  is  unadulterated talent ripping through the veins and capsules of the comic page. The level of energy and detail on every page literally makes my taint sing. I’m serious. My taint opens up, and it sings. This weekend IDW announced that Stokoe would be writing and drawing Godzilla: Half-Century War  for them. That taint that sings? It wailed.

Details and previews after the jump.

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Last fall, Caffeine Powered started telling me about a comics creator by the name of Brandon Graham. He told me that he was hooked to this Graham fellow’s blog, as it featured some absolutely mind-bending artwork. Always the petulant younger brother, I scoffed at Caff-Pow’s suggestion that I visit aforementioned blog, and returned to my regularly scheduled activities (which probably consisted of drinking beers, listening to Mastodon, and playing Mario Kart).

At the time, the name Brandon Graham was whisked away to the mental data file I’ve labeled The Zillions of Things Caffeine Powered’s Tried to Foist Onto Me.

But by mid-January, the file was retrieved and brought to the forefront of my mindscape. After all, this is when Prophet #21 dropped. This comic – a relaunch of an early 90s Rob Liefeld series — massaged naughty regions of my nerd-mind that’d gone chaste for years. The panels before me contained images of kooky monster-beasts and bio-technology and gritty action, presenting them with a multicolored urbanity. After mainlining this single issue, I was addicted to John Prophet’s post-cryostasis adventures.

And when I realized Brandon Graham was the scribe of Prophet? Well, I called up Caffeine Powered and told him, “Goddamn dude, you weren’t joking.”

To atone for my sins, I reached out to Brandon Graham to see if he’d be willing to share some thoughts with Omega-Level. In the following interview, Graham reflects on inspirations old and new, teases prospective releases, and reaffirms the adage that the greatest rogues rock eyepatches.

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