In the world of
black and white,
there is . . .
Columns
Hairy
Gravy
What's The Use Of Getting Sober?
Reviews
Original Material
Rants In E Minor
By
Alysha
McKinney
Go...With A Smile
My
ten-year high school reunion is rapidly approaching. I luckily avoided my five year, as I was living our of state
at the time and had absolutely no desire to drive eight hours to get
dressed up and see two hundred people I didn't want to talk to when I
saw them on a daily basis. But
now... Now, I'm back, near enough to my hometown that it wouldn't be a
huge hassle.
Other
than seeing all those people, of course.
I
was at least a year younger than everyone in my class (courtesy of my
big brain) and didn't really fit in with any cliques. I was the quiet, scary loner that everyone just knew as
"the smart girl who writes."
Teachers tended to like me because seeing my Megadeth t-shirts in
their Advanced Placement classes gave them something to talk about in
the lounge.
So
I guess I'm still that scary smart girl who writes. And still wears Megadeth t-shirts.
Since
I still have a year until the reunion, I have planned carefully; the
following is my master scheme. To
accomplish this, I might even have to sell my soul directly to Satan.
Be afraid.
I
pull up in my brand-new blue Viper (complete with white rally stripes,
natch), blaring the CD burned expressly for me by Aaron of Reel Big
Fish. As I slither out of
the car in an outfit so form-fittingly stunning that it'd make Linsner's
Dawn jealous, I take the arm of my companion.
He's tall, blond, and goateed, not to mention devastatingly
handsome and charming. Bruce
Campbell is obviously out of the country so he regrettably couldn't join
me.
As
we walk into the room, the music stops, all eyes focus on the door.
Being the well-versed publicity whore that I am, I give my hair
that Farrah Faucett/Breck girl hair flip.
It's obvious that people are trying to figure out who the hell I
am, and why I'm not remembered too distinctly.
I
see the guy who taunted my all through elementary and junior high
school. The one I ended up
almost getting detention for, since I beat him with my gym bag
repeatedly. I smile; you can almost hear the Perl Drops *ding* as my
teeth sparkle.
"Alysha?
Is that you? It's been ages!" Since
he shot at me with a BB gun while I was walking home from school?
Yes.
"It
has, Anthony." Ever
the diplomat. Bygones are
bygones. "What are you
doing these days?"
"I
was recently promoted to manager at work..."
"Ahh,
new paper hat, then?" Fuck
diplomacy. He flicked paint
into my hair in seventh grade.
"Heh,
yeah. How are things with
you? What are you up
to?"
I
grin slyly. "What do
you think I'm doing?" I'm
pretty sure it was expected that I'd join a cult or something.
"I
dunno...are you still writing?"
He's getting nervous. My
beauty has that affect.
"You
could say that." A
snide, condescending snicker is shared between my consort and myself.
"Really?"
Now's
the time to really let 'em have it.
"Well, yes. Colin
and I have been working on a little book. Pauly Shore's interested in
making a movie version." I
know, I know. Pauly Shore
certainly wouldn't be ideal, but at least it's realistic.
"Wow!
That's amazing!" Of
course it is, you peon. "We
always knew you'd be doing big things!"
Translation: "Wow! That's
amazing! We always thought
you'd die of a heroin overdose, in a puddle of your own vomit next to
Don Dokken!"
I
think this is about the time I pull out a shotgun and blow everyone
away, passing judgment on them all, not unlike the Punisher.
As I stand atop a pile of former cheerleaders, I rest my gun on
my shoulder and throw my arm around the waist of my trusty companion.
"Name's Alysha. Comics.
Good...bad...I'm the chick with the gun."
Comics
For Boys
This
column's bande desinee du choix is good for boys, girls, hermaphrodites
and small animals. Hell,
big ones, too. It's Hammer of the Gods by Michael Avon Oeming and Mark Obie Wheatley.
First of all, you've got Oeming's wonderful cartoony art that I
drool over monthly in Powers. Secondly, you've got mythology, which I tend to have a
huge jones for. Thor!
Sif! Kick-ass
storytelling...with the *new* gods. How can you pass that up?
It's definitely not the Thor you know from Marvel.
This is the good stuff. And
how could you EVER go wrong with the line "But the wind is cold
enough to freeze piss?" This
is a book worth searching for. Go
check out the Norse gods the way they should be written.
For more info -- and really cool strips -- check out http://www.sunnyfundays.com
for more godly goodness!
Copyright©2001 Alysha McKinney