skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com
Thursday, 03 March
Forgotten Super Heroes
Nick Taylor is a hero in a world he never made . . . and he's running low on newspaper to lay down. Born with a mutant gene that allows him to tap into the Extradimensional Specific Canine Aether, Taylor is able to summon an unlimited number of pug dogs at any time. In his last fateful encounter with The Bank Robber (one of Marvel's more uninspired villains), Taylor stretched himself to the limit and summoned an veritable army of adorable pug dogs, who immediately cowered nervously in place and peed.
Holly Pawnn was your ordinary teenager just trying to fit in until one day she was exposed to experimental mu-rays generated by a lab experiment gone wrong involving the artificial (and unstable) element Garyon. The same experiment that also empowered her nemesis--and Holly's former lab instructor--Dr. Burghoff, aka Radar, who was driven irrevocably insane by the same Garyon radiation. Radar madly stalks our nation's highways using his powers to disable speed traps, and our hero Holly counters him using her newly found ability to exchange personal belongings for cash. Holly was last seen in World's Finest #452, in which she saved the day by pawning a can of Bat-Worcestershire for nine dollars.
Hardly anyone knows about Floss, and that's never going to change. Floss wouldn't have it any other way. Preferring to operate from the shadows, he is a street mystic, a quiet revolution, a rogue through and through. And though Floss may live in the crevices, in the nooks, the world needs him: because Caraway is coming. In an uncaring world, it's all up to Floss. This is all covered in the limited run of Crisis in Infinite Gums, to be published independently by Tobin's Periodontical Concern, Ltd.
The Hairier Jet
Emil Bardo never asked for the ability to be able to grow hair on commercial airliners, but it was his birthright as the starchild of R'xxyll and Paul Jennings. Forever doomed to be a minor player on the superhero stage, Emil nonetheless earned his superhero stripes when he was able to keep passengers warm after an Arctic flyover went wrong, and the DC-10 lost its climate control. Bardo singlehandedly grew a thick coat of luxuriant hair over the lost jet . . . and, heroically helped shave it all off after landing, which unfortunately cost him his sanity. He now resides at Sorghum Sasylum, where he giggles nervously as he builds tiny, whiskered model airplanes.
This modestly talented superhero made a name for himself (briefly) as a crimefighter who thwarted minor criminals. Utilizing a mental domination ability that allowed him via vocal command to make anyone sit down proved unsuccessful when, during a bank heist, he came to ruin. "SIT DOWN!" cried Johnny, and the criminal did. Then the robber shot him in the head. The villain, however, remained seated until apprehension, and complained of contact sores. The city commemorated Johnny with a statue of his likeness, and people to this day view it with awe, and look for places to sit down in his honor. Several funding measures to provide benches for this monument have failed, but the city remains hopeful.
(You know, I'm just going to stop here, because . . . oy. I was just about to launch into the secret history of the Brazil Nut, whose enchanted thong conferred the magical power to become insane at any time. Other rejected heroes: Beet Happening, Dr. Moog and The Last Barfighter. No. This is all bad enough.)
Friday, 12 December
Look! Up In The Air! It's A Shithead!
I had this hilarious delusion at the start of this month: that I would somehow make it through the month (with gifts purchased and all!) without having to dip into my sad little savings. With this in mind ("I've been doing great!"), I meekly checked my bank balance today.
I stared at my laughable, Burkina Faso-esque funds for a small while. And nothing on Burkina Faso. It's a small country with lots of problems, but then again, so is my financial state. In fact, they are terribly similar. Burkina Faso and I have some cash--not a lot--but some; and then some reckless nutfuck gets a hold of it and buys a bunch of booze and comic books. That's what happened to me, and I'm betting something similar happened in Northern Africa. Somewhere on the veldt, there's an irresponsible schmuck sitting around going, "Well, I guess I could use this money to . . . crap, I don't know, do good or something. Or, on the other hand, I could just buy some whisky and see what Wolverine is up to."
So basically, I suck. I go shopping for slinky bras or something (because who doesn't want his wife to wear slinky bras?), and then I get sidetracked.
"Sir? What size does your wife wear?"
"Uh . . . I don't know. They're really great, though. Her breasts. Do they make 'great?' "
"Hmmm. Well. They're certainly bigger than yours. These bras all look depressing. How do you make tits depressing? It's kind of incredible."
"Yes. Well. I'm on break now."
And that's when I suddenly find myself in the comic book section, spending utterly ridiculous amounts of money on unspeakable comics like "The Unbelievable Panty-Hose Man" and "The Corn Dog Eater." Square-jawed men who battle crime! They seem to meet busty women every third page! It's so weird how these comics appeal to dorky men! I spend all my money on them.
Comics are going to ruin Christmas. I can just tell.
Tuesday, 07 October
The Punchy Dork
I've recently been going nuts reading all kinds of graphic novels (read: comic books with tits and swearing), and while I know I'll never write one, I do like to come up with superhero names I'd like to see. You have to imagine them being shouted out by musclebound people in spandex. I particularly like the ones that make no sense at all.
Yeah, I don't know either.