Arthur left the bar and hitchhiked back to the Shopping Cart Graveyard. At 1:30 in the morning few people go to the Shopping Cart Graveyard except shopping carts, and ever since the new Ralph’s came downtown all still-captive shopping carts have been under 24-hour surveillance.
Arthur managed to hitch a ride just past the last bar on Broadway from a large man in a loud shirt and a rental car.
“You can put your toy shopping cart in the back, kids,” said the old man. “What’re you doing out so late, anyway?” he asked.
“Going home,” said Arthur. “What are you doing out so late, mister?”
“I’m searching for the American Dream, boy.”
“What is the American Dream?” asked Arthur.
“Gorillas and Hawaiian Shirts.”
“Do you know any gorillas?” asked Arthur.
The mystery man sighed. “No,” he said. “But I know Hawaiian shirts intimately.”
“Oh,” said Arthur. He wondered how badly he would be hurt if he jumped from the car immediately. He decided against it.
Arthur glanced in the back seat of the car to make sure that Fisher was okay, and saw boxes and boxes of comic books. All of the comic books had gorillas on the cover, and some of the gorillas had Hawaiian shirts.
“You sure have a lot of comics, mister,” said Arthur.
“Comic books are good,” he said. “They’re good for you. Go ahead and read one.”
Arthur took a comic book about a gorilla at a prom peeing on the floor for himself, and a comic with a couple of gorillas wearing Hawaiian shirts and dancing for Voniece. They read them until Arthur saw the sign for Ocean Beach. The gorilla-loving stranger brought them to the beach all the way to the end of Newport Avenue. “This is where we live,” said Arthur, so the stranger let them off.
“I hope you find your gorillas, mister,” Arthur said as the mysterious stranger drove away. Voniece was asleep in Fisher’s basket.
“Gorillas? I think you need a drink, kid.”
It was Arthur’s Chicago newspaperman. He handed Arthur a beer, and gave Voniece a soda made to taste like lemon meringue.
“Aren’t I too young to drink?” asked Arthur.
“Not in Mexico,” said the newspaperman. “And this is Mexican beer.”
There was some sort of party going on at the beach. There was a fire and there was beer, and everyone had comic books. Everyone except Arthur, since he had burned his and he’d left the gorilla in the car.
“Can I have a comic book?” asked Arthur.
“No,” said the newspaperman. “You aren’t old enough.”
“But I thought comic books were for kids,” said Arthur. “How come all these adults are reading comic books?”
“These are alternative comics,” said the newspaperman. “They’re different.”
“I heard that comic books were good, and good for you,” said Arthur.
“Well,” said the newspaperman, “these comics are evil, and they will rot your mind.”
“I think I’ll just drink my beer,” said Arthur.
“Good choice,” said the newspaperman. “Now, can I have my cigarette lighter back?”
“Oh, sure.”
Arthur handed back the lighter which he had used to burn Ronin #1. The newspaperman lit up a cigarette and sat down in the sand in a circle of comics fans and creators. Arthur looked down the beach and saw a number of people playing in the waves. Far down the beach he saw an old man walking slowly, baggy red, blue, and yellow trunks, looking at the ground, staring down, scanning left and right, looking for something, his eyes glazed as if he were looking at the center of the Earth. He looked like an old prizefighter still in his winning trunks, just shuffling along the sand. He looked and acted a lot like one of those old guys who walks around with a metal detector, but without the detector.
Arthur snuck up on him to see what was up.
“What are you looking for?” Arthur asked the old man.
“Buried treasure,” said the old man.
Then he hiccuped. Arthur smelled alcohol.
“You been drinking?” asked Arthur.
“Hic. I had a big birthday party today. So the answer is yes. Hic.”
“How old are you?” asked Arthur.
“Sixty years old in July. Give or take a few months,” said the old man.
“You don’t know when you were born?” asked Arthur.
“It depends on who my parents were,” said the old man. “Was I born when I came into the world, or, mmm, when the doctors let me leave the, mmm, hospital?”
“I don’t think there’s any question of that, is there?” asked Arthur.
“You’re too young,” said the old man. “When there’s money involved, there’s always a question of everything.”
“Why are you looking for buried treasure?” asked Arthur.
“So I can pay off the doctors,” said the old man.
“You’re sick?” asked Arthur.
“No, just old,” said the old man.
“How can you find buried treasure without a shovel or a metal detector?” asked Arthur.
“There isn’t any treasure here,” said the old man, “and I can see farther than you.”
“If there isn’t any treasure here,” asked Arthur, “why are you looking?”
“Because there used to be treasure here,” said the old man. “It was wonderful treasure, I found it, and used it, and stored the rest here, when I was younger and stronger. But it’s gone now.”
An old man, this one bald, and a white-haired elderly woman drove by in a Cadillac. The Cadillac driver tossed a bottle at the old prizefighter. “Take that you super wuss!” yelled the man in the Cadillac. He drove away laughing. The old prizefighter blocked the bottle with his forearm, and the bottle shattered with the force of the blow. The old man’s arm didn’t seem harmed at all.
“You seem pretty strong right now,” said Arthur.
“But I can’t do what I could before,” said the old man. “That’s what counts.”
He left Arthur there and walked away, searching beneath the sand for the glorious treasures of the past.
Standing alone in the ocean, Arthur saw the woman who had knocked him over the first day of the convention yelling “Darla”. He ran over to her.
“Hi, Darla,” he said.
She ignored him.
“Hey, Darla!” he yelled.
“Hm?” she replied, looking towards him. “My name isn’t Darla.”
“I know, I just heard you yelling that at the convention center. Why were you doing that?”
“It’s one of my favorite comic books,” she said.
“So you’re supposed to yell out the name of your favorite comic book?”
“Sure,” she said. “Why not? It could be quite therapeutic.”
Arthur tilted his head towards the sky and yelled “Felch!” The woman who was not Darla started.
“That’s your favorite comic?” she asked. “That’s one of mine, too! Who let you read that?”
“My father had a copy,” said Arthur. “He used it to show how silly the constitution was, that a man could go into a store, buy a comic like that, and give it to his son, without getting put in jail.”
“He wanted to get put in jail?” asked Not-Darla.
“No, he wanted to put other people in jail,” said Arthur. “He was a senator.”
“Ahh!” said Not-Darla. “I understand.”
There was a table set up next to the bonfire with the letters “UH” on it and some really big hair. It had a sign that said “Urban Recruitment” and a huge stack of pens. People were walking up, signing a form, and taking a pen. Arthur walked up to see if he could have a free pen.
“Would you like to sign up?” asked the man behind the table.
“Why are you having people sign stuff?” asked Arthur.
“Because I’m a lawyer,” said the man behind the table. “That’s what we do.”
“No, what is the reason for signing? What is the recruitment for?”
“Really, we don’t need a reason. But this time, we’re signing people up to take over the world,” said the lawyer. “Hah hah hah!” he added. He was trying to sound evil but he was a bit drunk and it just didn’t work.
Having saved the world from Llamas once, Arthur didn’t look on this too kindly.
“Why do you have so many pens if you want to take over the world,” asked Arthur. “Where are your weapons?”
“The pen is mightier than the sword,” said the lawyer.
Arthur took out his pocket-knife and tried to cut one of the pens in half. The knife sliced through the pen pretty easily.
“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. He decided against signing up to take over the world.
Arthur sat down next to some old guy (he had to be at least 35) and took another Mexican beer. There was a bag in the center of the circle. The old guy and the newspaperman and the woman who he had taught to write and draw were all listening to some psycho guy (he said that’s what he was) talk about witless whores. Because Arthur came into the conversation late, he couldn’t tell whether the guy liked his whores witless or was complaining about them being witless.
At the end of the story everyone laughed. The man next to Arthur, whose name was Terry, said “Doesn’t it just make you want to kill yourself sometimes?”
“I have a solution for that,” said Ivan.
“Don’t fuck witless whores?” asked Arthur.
Everyone looked at him like he was a creature from another planet.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk like that,” said Terry.
“He’s right, though,” said the newspaperman.
“Doesn’t that cut down your selection?” asked Terry.
“We’re getting off topic,” said the psycho guy.
“What was the topic?” asked the newspaperman.
“How not to kill yourself,” said the psycho guy.
“Don’t fuck witless whores,” said the new writer, the lady he’d taught to draw.
Everyone broke down laughing. The psycho guy sulked.
“Okay,” said Terry, “go ahead with your story.”
“I make a list of everything that needs to be done before I can kill myself. I’ll never get it finished, so I never do.”
“Sounds like how I keep myself from publishing comics,” said the newspaperman.
It was very, very late. Arthur got up and wandered over by the fire. There was a guy with a strong southern accent talking about the first amendment to a bunch of homeless beach drifters. Arthur knew a lot about the first amendment from his father. He knew it was a bad, bad thing. The southerner thought it was a good thing, and destined to get better.
“What about evil comics that rot men’s brains?” asked Arthur.
“It is every man’s right to rot their brain if they desire it,” said the southerner. “That’s why I’m proud to be an American. We’re the only country in the world where we can choose how to rot our brains instead of letting someone else choose it for us!”
“How should I rot my brain?” asked Arthur.
“Oh, you can’t,” said the southerner. “You’re a child. You can’t rot your brains until you’re an adult.”
Arthur smiled as the southerner left. He knew how the Senator wanted to define kids. Arthur curled up next to Fisher and Voniece at the fire as the homeless stoked it and drank the last of the beer. These comic book people weren’t very colorful, he thought, as he drifted off to sleep.
He dreamed of gorillas in Hawaiian shirts with metal detectors taking over the world.
First thing in the morning after purging was Scott Shaw!s “Oddball Comics”. Scott recognized his fetishistic tendencies at a very young age: “I noticed that if it had gorillas on the cover, I’d buy it.” Like everyone else, he has a prescription for what ails comics: “Industry should do more oddball comics--throw everything at the wall and see what sticks. Who knows? Maybe gorillas would sell like crazy. I’d buy them. And I have a bigger budget now.”
Rather than a second Oddball card set, Scott and Denis Kitchen are talking about an Oddball book.
Jeanette Kahn talking to Julie Schwartz on comics marketing: “Well we know that purple gorillas sell comics, but if it’s a talking purple gorilla it’ll sell more comics.”
Following Oddball Comics was the annual Fan vs. Pros trivia contest, moderated yet again by beleaguered James Hay. The Fan team this year was the Usenet Chapter of the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club, complete with bow-ties. Jim Drew, David Goldfarb, and Tom Galloway joined ringer Rich Morrissey. The Pros were Len Wein, Kurt Busiek, Mark Waid, and Roger Stern.
Tom was dissed for carrying a cheat sheet, ostensibly just for keeping score on, since he doesn’t trust the official scorekeeper. Hey, it’s a gorilla-eat-ape world out there.
Apparently the presence of Morrissey struck fear into the hearts of the Purple Pros. As part of their psychout strategy, the Pros took the name “The Guys Who Kick Morrissey’s Butt”. James Hay to Len Wein: “Len, remember, you have already won because you have a life. That’s your consolation prize.”
The Topic: “Superman. When he was good.” The Bonus categories: Enemies List; Extended El Family; Super Substitutions; Book of Super Lists; Don Juan de Clarko.
Mark Waid: “Oh, wait, you said the Baseball team? Crap.” But he got it right.
This was a lopsided battle: Mark Waid vs. Tom and Rich. I kept track of all questions answered (including some that didn’t count towards the score):
Mark: 15 right, 6 wrong.
Rich: 9 right, 2 wrong.
Tyg: 7 right, 7 wrong.
Len: 1 wrong.
Jim: 1 right.
Note, of course, that some of those were the result of consultation with the group. But not very many. Tom and Mark missed the inscription on Jimmy Olsen’s signal watch. Not too good for the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club.
Len got his question wrong, of course, as usual it was about something he wrote. Len to James: “Jim, if necessary we will go home and write a story that has it.”
The Fans being nice to the Pros: “We give it to him on condition that we get to replace Mark with his Bizarro duplicate.”
“Ah, Craig King not Chester King, crap.”
After Rich Morrissey answered out of turn--correctly, of course--Mark Waid took the correct answer and used it. “Brainiac would be proud of me.”
Neither Rich, Tyg, nor Mark needed such prompting in general, however. The most common audience remark: “Finish the question, please”, as one of those three generally answered--correctly--before James Hayes could get past the word “The”. James: “After I leave the stage, set off the mines.” The other most common remark, from the Fan Team, was “Len wrote that one.” Last year, of course, Len had the opportunity to get more of those wrong, as both he, Kurt Busiek, and Roger Stern were allowed by the mighty Waid to take part.
The final score was Pros 150, Black Ink Irregulars 135.
The only useful tip to come out: Kurt Busiek will be re-introducing an unspecified Hostess character in an unspecified Marvel Comic within three months.
The line waiting to see the old John Steed was as long as any other I’ve seen here. Having just seen the new Avengers, I can understand why. The acting was good, but the movie itself was even sillier than the trailer implied.
“My name is Mark Waid. I worked on Kingdom Come.”
“All the rumors about Kingdom are true.”
Ostrander: “We don’t have to worry about spanking Marvel, they’re doing a good job of it by themselves.”
Waid: “Once you read Kingdom you will know there are no boxes. It’s all true.”
Suicide Squad may have a return? Probably not. Every year John makes a new proposal and they ask him what he would change to make it more successful. He answers “nothing” and that’s where it ends. With regards to the Martian Manhunter, he will be giving J’onn a rogues’ gallery.
Waid: “We bought you guys another six months at least” of Grant on JLA. Rumor mills around the Con had Grant and Mark practically inseparable.
There was a question about some loophole letting Barry Allen come back? Mark Waid replied “Over my dead body.” “But John Byrne said there was some sort of loophole.” “Over John’s dead body.”
Came in on the tail end of Eddie Campbell’s talk, he is a very good speaker. He may be doing a painted version of Alan Moore’s “The Birth Caul”. Hard to find on CD, only one person in the room had it and they had a bootleg version. Big Numbers is definitely dead. Like that’s news.
Grant on magic: “I’m into magic and I practice magic a lot. Comics are all magic.”
The Invisibles are coming to an end at the end of 1999. “Robin’s gone at the end of volume 2, I’m afraid.”
Barbelith: Alien stone.
Fan: “How much does your drug use influence your writing?”
Grant: “Pretty extensively.”
Fan: “Not that that’s a bad thing.”
Grant: “No, it’s a wonderful thing.”
He has a book of short stories coming out “next month”: Lovely Biscuits.
“I don’t want to change the line-up now until the characters die at the end.”
Who are some of his favorite villains? “Oh, Nixon, Pol Pot.”
Grant: “Now the official line is that Batman has never had sex. What kind of a playboy is he?”
Grant doesn’t read alternatives. “I can learn more about the culture through stupid stuff.”
It is definitely hot here. I stopped back home to take a shower, stuffed my trunk full of beer and soda (lemon meringue, key lime, orange crème) and headed downtown. Saturday night is traditionally the Comic Book Legal Defense Fund debauch and the Ocean Beach bonfire. The Fantagraphics & others CBLDF fundraiser involved body painting and all the beer you could stand in line for. Very loud, cool music, lots of comics folks. I’ve never quite understood how people can carry on conversations in that atmosphere, although it did allow me to get very close to Denise. Sometimes I think I have a hearing problem. Most of the time I think nobody is listening to what anybody else says.
Glenn and I--being as we had vehicles--haphazardly organized one large group that gathered for guidance. Denise, Sam Henderson and someone whose name neither Denise nor I can remember (honestly, I didn’t even have a beer at the Fantagraphics party, the line was too long) gathered to go, but Sam and the lost name had a third person to bring: somewhere lost in the party was Ivan Brunetti and they re-entered the party looking for him. This would mean five individuals in my Mustang, which is the absolute limit for people who are not sexually depraved. Right about then some guy too drunk to take his own truck and too piss-assed to let his friend drive it wanted a ride as well. I gave them directions and told them to use the truck or get a cab, it isn’t that expensive.
In order to fit five, we had to open the top and grab onto everyone’s legs.
The beach was surprisingly empty for a hot day in mid-August on a Saturday night. Probably the Piccadilly sent word that crazed cartoonists would be invading the beachhead.
Matt and Jessica brought native Mexican beer from, well, Ralph’s I think. It was well appreciated. Even the eclectic ten-pack I’d put together of microbrews and British brews and sodas depleted itself quite steadily and was gone by the end of the night. Glenn Carnagey brought his own bottle of cheap whiskey and shared that with all unwitting persons.
Yes, I helped. There was no line for the beer here. In fact, there was no wrestling, nor running around naked in the surf, nor even any knife fights. A relatively bland party for the San Diego Con. Stripping down to underwear doesn’t count, we wear less than that in California fully clothed.
Ivan regaled us with his tale of street-fighting at the “Political Correctness” panel. In response to a question, he called “Friends of Lulu” a bunch of “witless whores”. Most people at the party agreed with him. The general consensus is that they are heavy-handed, expect everyone to join (especially female creators) and aren’t actually doing anything. As a member, my concerns were raised not so much that people agreed with him but that they congratulated him. This is more than just thinking we’re worthless, this is sincere resentment for Friends of Lulu. We have to face up to this, or fade into the hated past as the new breed of cartoonist comes to power.
There was question about his judgement in saying this on a panel that included Jackie Estrada’s husband Batton Lash. Jackie Estrada is the prez of Friends of Lulu, and also a big name in the Comic-Con. (Batton Lash is the author of the hilarious “Wolff & Byrd” comic book.) Apparently Jackie came up to Ivan at the CBLDF fundraiser and instead of tossing a beer in his face apologized for giving that impression and said that Friends of Lulu has changed. I assume that this must have been a filtered exchange because while I suspect that Jackie would not currently characterize Friends of Lulu as witless whores, I doubt that she would say that they used to be. Jackie says that, according to her husband, the phrase used was “Everyone in Friends of Lulu should get cancer and die.” I vaguely recall that at the beach as well--perhaps he screened the tirade. Also, she says that when they talked at the CBLDF fundraiser, he apologized to her as he tends to “run off at the mouth” about “stuff he knows nothing about.” I’ve been worried about what would happen to comics insiders when Gary and Harlon kick the bucket.
Pursuant to this, Ivan has a sure-fire way to keep from committing suicide. He periodically makes a list of everything that needs to be done first and realizes he just doesn’t have the time. Me, I think that would be a catalyst. Ivan’s next comic may involve pointing out to his therapist that he isn’t really as well as his therapist thinks, juxtaposing therapy sessions with suicide lists.
As the party wound down (and while it wasn’t that ‘up’ to start with, a bonfire at the beach has a certain level of coolness which it cannot drop below) and Terry Laban and Ivan were comparing suicide notes, Chris Oarr of the CBLDF stopped by to talk to the homeless who had begun to stoke our fire. By the time I left, only Denise was left from our party, which meant that there was no leg grabbing necessary on the return trip. The party lasted until after 4 AM, which is why this particular report did not arrive until two weeks after the con ended.
They hate me, I know they do. The first thing the board did was thank everyone for showing up so early on a Sunday morning. If they really wanted to thank us, they wouldn’t have clapped so loud.
Other than that, there isn’t much to say. The main topic of the day was deciding whether or not we should have our next convention at Chicago (so we can shove it in their faces), or in New Orleans (where we can skip the convention and get drunk dancing). Both noble goals.
There may be a “Created by Stan Lee and Jack Kirby” or “Joe Simon and Jack Kirby” tag line on many Marvel comics in the future.
The tribute book probably won’t happen.
Joe Simon was on the panel. One of the stories involved Victor Fox, the accountant for DC, who saw sales rise, and moved downstairs to start his own comics, Fox Comics. Fox Radio. Fox TV. Eisner & Iger were supplying all his art and story material.
After the Kirby tribute, Vince Sullivan had a one-man panel. It was somewhat interesting. Sullivan had a habit of saying “I don’t recall” to most questions, but then pausing and going into an interesting story about the item he didn’t recall. His handler, however, had the habit of stepping in after the first “I don’t recall” on many questions, breaking off the second part and answering the question himself. One interesting point to come out is that Sullivan apparently still owns all of the Magazine Enterprises characters, including characters such as “Straight Arrow”.
Other random things from that include “Science & McCall”, a distributing company, and “Sol Harrison”, one of the engravers with Strauss. I don’t expect you to be interested, those were the only notes I took because they might impact some information in the 1993 Sullivan interview I transcribed, and I need to put it somewhere or I’ll forget it.
I did manage to pick up a few comics and related items at this convention. If you are a heavy drinker, you cannot miss the Flaming Carrot Shot Glass. Only $6 from Dark Horse, each individually wrapped in a Dark Horse shopping bag perfect for wandering the streets.
Chris Ware was all over the convention material this year.
Superman, on the cover of the latest CCI update, has apparently stolen Spawn’s cape.
Flaming Carrot Album 3 is out, collecting issues 12-18 and a little bit of new material, including the wonderfully odd “Invincible Man and Nifty Boy.”
Dark Horse is returning to the seventies with “Meanie Babies”, from Garbage Pail Kids creator John Pound.
The Souvenir Book contains numerous interpretations of Superman and Elfquest (and a few with the Legion of Superheroes). The high point has to be Donna Barr’s Clark Kent using Super-Grecian Formula.
Comic-Base continues to amaze, although at the $130 price tag it is probably worth the price only to collectors. Now includes video clips from comics-related movies.
Fantagraphics is coming out with “Spicecapades”, with Spice Girls art and stories by R. Crumb, Gilbert Hernandez, Mike Diana, Dame Darcy, and Peter Bagge. Edited by zinestress Queen Itchie.
Fantagraphics was accepting applications to fuck Ivan Brunetti, with priority given to lesbian couples. Photo and résumé required. Ivan is the creator of “Schizo”.
Beanworld Book Three is available. Brilliant as usual. What was it someone said about the Wildstorm-DC merger? “Perhaps Larry Marder can spend more time on Beanworld.” Baby Beans and more about Beanish’s secret friend. Highly recommended.
The JLA is teaming up with the Teen Titans. “Hey, is it my imagination, or did that thing just diss me?” Cool lingo from Robin. I’m afraid this looks to be missed. It reads like a Marvel/DC crossover without the vague uniqueness of having Gar Logan and Logan in the same comic.
The announcement of the Pro/Fan Trivia contest results:
In a close fought display of esoteric Superman knowledge, the Purple Pros (Len Wein, Roger Stern, Kurt Buseik and Mark Waid) outstripped the Black WK Irregulars/Usenet Rep. Jimmy Oslen Fan Club (Tom Galloway, David Goldfarb, Rich Morrissey and Jim Drew) in this years’ Pro vs. Fan Trivia Challenge. By a score of 150 to 135, the Pros brought the series of annual competitions to an overall two to two game tie.
I managed to acquire the first Hothead Paisan collection for a mere $6.50: half-off the cover price. I found it in a small booth towards the end of Sunday; the rest of the booth was mostly mainstream superhero stuff. The owner knew that it would go at this convention, however, “because of all those Lulu people here. I didn’t expect it to go to someone like you, though.” I ducked out quickly before the Homicidal Lesbian Terrorist popped in. I look too much like the enemy.
Urban Hipster, the comic set to wrench the world from superheroes:
Fresh out of Seattle it’s what the “cool kids” have been waiting for. Two of the hippest young talents in comics have teamed-up to create a book that speaks to their alienated yet powerful generation. Hip young dudes and goth-girls look for love and meaning in a “post-grunge” Seattle. From pompous rock stars, to body piercings, to big hair, it’s all here, And it’s “all that.” All systems go!
Available October 1998. David Lasky and Greg Stump. Alternative Press.
Bone Book Five, “Rock Jaw, Master of the Eastern Border”. Maintains the level of quality we expect from Bone but doesn’t actually advance the store much. A good read, however.
I remember reading Terry Brooks’ “The Sword of Shannara” and being absolutely amazed. I remember glancing through “The Wishsongs of Shannara” and being glad that Tolkien had the presence of character not to keep writing sequels. Del Rey was handing out free previews of “Running with the Demon”. I’m afraid I have no real desire to pick up the book after reading the preview.
Dee Snider (Twisted Sister) stars in “Strangeland” starting October 2, 1998.
While I am likely the last to know, Artbabe’s 2 and 3 are out. Great full-length stories.
“From Hell: Dance of the Gull-Catchers” came out just before the con. It’s a hilarious book, it’s about all the people who write about the murders, and how silly they all, including Moore, look doing it.
“Buddha on the Road” #5 is one that I missed while Colin Upton was doing this comic. If you haven’t had a chance to look at this, and you like dissing (god, I love that word) God, I recommend trying to find it. Start from issue 1, you ain’t going to figure it out piecemeal.
Picked up issues 1 and 3 of Jon Lewis’ “Spectacles”. Another Swamp story and more; Jon will stop doing single issues and start doing 100-page epics twice a year. Still through Alternative Press.
If you didn’t see Billy Dogma in the pages of Keyhole, look him up in “Billy Dogma: Dreamy Dystopian Diatribes & Unexpurgated High Romance” from Modern.
I do believe that that’s it. See you next year.
Jerry