[images & words is the comic book pick-of-the-week at OL. equal parts review and diatribe, the post highlights the most memorable/infuriating/entertaining book released that wednesday]

When I started reading comics in the early 1990s, I was diehard fan of the X-Men. Was it because of the riveting dichotomy of Charles Xavier and Magneto, analogues for the contrasting perspectives of civil rights activists Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X? Or was it the fact that the mutants of the Marvel Universe represented the repressed others of society, forced to live under conditions not dissimilar to our own rampant homophobia? Or could it be the introduction of new characters like Gambit?

Fugg that noise, bub. I loved the X-Men because of Wolverine.

Even as a four-year in ratty sweatpants and a mustard-stained B.U.M. shirt, I understood the wonder of Weapon X. He’s a mysterious, beer-guzzlin’ Canadian who beats ass as he sees fit but secretly has a heart of gold. His costume is bright yellow and blue, with some seriously sick earflaps. And if you ever need someone to clear out a room of bad-guys, just cheese him off enough and let him do his thing.

Unfortunately, I feel as though Wolverine’s become a bit watered down over the last few years. In the comics world, Logan’s been given a lame-ass son and an unnecessary origin. In the larger world of pop culture, a Wolverine received a cash-grab origins flick. The truly great additions to this Canuck’s mythos have been few and far between.

But I think Wolverine: The Best There Is gives the character his just due.

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