I was neatening up my comic stacks this weekend when I came across a four-issue mini-series of note that I purchased at SPX and decided it need some front-pageage action. Jason Brightman’s Frayed Ends, probably one of the best stories you never read. It’s an amazing story that really sucks you in with simple yet beautiful illustrations and lovable characters. The plot has a fun, whimsical feel to it, an adult Paul’s imaginary friend, Edward, returns when Paul is most vulnerable and needs Paul’s help; Edward has lost his heart. What unfolds is a tale of love, friendship and finding your youth. It’s really worth checking out.

And speaking of great comics, Guy LeCharles Gonzalez is giving out two copies of Elk’s Run #1 on his blog; all you need to do is leave a comment about your LCS or favorite indie book. A free comic just for typing your opinion! Most of you people give it out for free, no matter how irreverent! I meant important. To match Guy’s altruistic contest I am going to be giving out three “Get to Know H&B” gift packs featuring Western Tales of Terror 1-3 and Elk’s Run #1. Except, we’re going to do this Jason Rodriguez style. To keep with the spirit of my blog, I want you to tell me a short story about YOUR past. Doesn’t have to be long, doesn’t have to be funny, just has to be honest. Of course, I have a bunch of people that supposedly read this blog and about five that post consistently and those five all have the books I’m giving out. So here’s a good chance for lurkers to get involved. Don’t make me look like a loser.

And finally, before my story, I have something I need to say. I generally shy away from social commentary, I just try to put life out there and let you come to your own conclusions. But, something occurred to me today that I feel needs to be addressed. I was at the grocery store when I realized that no-one makes barbeque ranch salad dressing. Doesn’t it just fucking make sense to combine the cool taste of creamy ranch with the sweet hickory flavor of barbeque? I think so. But apparently Newman, Ken’s Steak House, Harris Teeter, Wishbone, etc don’t share my belief that barbeque and ranch where meant to be together. I had to get Balsamic Blue Cheese, whatever the fuck that is. Ok, story time.

Continuing with the improv story from yesterday, I think I should talk about Chris. Chris was insane. And I don’t mean insane in a Steve Martin “wild and crazy guy” kind of way, I mean that he is quite possibly insane. His comedy was unique in that he was this 6’-6’’ doofy white guy that had this wide-eyed stare that he coupled with off-color and random comments that usually, USUALLY, were funny and not at all awkward. The thing that made him funnier to the people within the troupe was the fact that this was the way he actually was. 24 hours a day Chris would lurch around campus with those wide, shifty eyes and say really weird things that sometimes just had nothing to do with what was happening within reality.

He would occasionally bomb on stage, I remember one time in particular he played dead and then hijacked someone that was playing the paramedic by shouting out “There is no spoon” while being body-bagged. I mean, seriously, what the fuck do you do with that?

Let me tell you about improv “dick moves”. You never ask someone a question that’s meant to drive the plot (i.e., “What do you think we should do?”); it always leads to an awkward pause usually resulting in the askee asking the asker, “I don’t know, what do you think we should do?” Also, you never change the direction of a scene for no apparent reason, especially when a group of performers have already adjusted to your role, as in, you decided to die in a skit. If you decide to come back to life, do it as a zombie or something that makes sense, don’t randomly shout out, “There is no spoon.”

With Chris, we got a lot of the second dick-move, mainly because that’s just the way he was in real life. Observe:

We had a show once where we just killed, it was awesome. The cast party was therefore stuffed with ladies (and mens) that believed they could have a good time hanging out with a bunch of funny guys and gals. We were having a blast, drinking a lot, playing Twister, dancing, just a good, rowdy, cast party. We were all fucking wasted.

Quick side story about this party, not worthy of its own post: At one point, I stuffed about 3 or 4 of those big-ass pretzel sticks in my mouth, chewed them up and stood over Guam, who was making out with some girl on the couch, and opened my mouth wide and said “Ahh”. The three of us started laughing, which resulting in the chewed up pretzel mass falling from my mouth and onto Guam’s crotch, causing the three of us to laugh even harder until we were crying, hardly able to talk, but Guam managing to force out a, “Dude, you’re spitting pretzels on my crotch.” Anyway…

At one point, as the party was winding down, Chris enters the main room drunk as fuck and starts doing improv while people all over the room were making out. He was asking for suggestions and at first we would humor him but eventually we ignored him and you can tell he was getting frustrated. At which points, he motions to our friend, Annie, passed out on the couch and says, “Hey, Annie’s passed out, let’s rape her!”

Well, nothing clears out a party faster than threats of rape. None of us got ass that night but nothing was more awkward than telling Chris why rape jokes weren’t funny, especially when they’re told while a bunch of people are about to get their fuck-on.

Chris got married recently. I didn’t go but I heard it was, well, odd.

equilibrium sucks, fanboy: Kids