Azn Badger's Blog

What About the Lysine Contingency…?

Channel 101: The Comic

Alrighty folks, I’m still kind at a loss for decent articles/posts for the blog at the moment, so today is more of an announcement than a proper post.

That being said, in my opinion it’s a supremely awesome announcement; so hopefully that’ll make it worth it for everyone (myself included).

Anyway, to those who are unaware, the Channel 101 of the title of this post refers to a stupendous website that hosts 5 minute internet shows.

My buddy Mencius introduced it to me way back in high school, and I found it to be a truly awesome concept.

Basically, the shows hosted at Channel 101 consist of 5 minute shows that are submitted by filmmakers throughout the country.

Anyone can submit an entry, and every month the submissions are shown at a live screening event in Los Angeles, with the live audience ultimately voting for the top 5 best shows.

After the screening, the top 5 shows of the month are hosted on the website, as well as a select few of the “failed pilots”.

The prize awarded to the film crews that make it into the top 5 is the right to continue their show and submit a 2nd episode!

If said show is truly a work of art from month to month, this process can continue indefinitely; though many directors choose to “self-terminate” by making a finale episode over the 5 minute limit.

Anyway, most of the fun with Channel 101 springs from the fact that most of the really good shows are produced by a select few individuals.

While most of them might not be celebrities in the mainstream sense, after you’ve watched them every month for so many years; they start to feel like big-time movie stars in their own little universe.

Anyway, after much bitching and moaning about how I haven’t drawn in so long, and really want to make a comic; today Mencius and I came up with an idea for a comic book that not only sounds do-able, it’s simply too awesome not to do.

Said comic would consist of a cast made up of Channel 101 (and a few 102) regulars, AS PRO-WRESTLERS.

The Dream Match: Mike Mccafferty vs. Dan Harmon

I know it makes no fucking sense, but to me; it sound fucking GENIUS.

Many of the Channel 101 actors have a “method” to their acting, and as such; I found it was a pretty simple affair in applying the sum of their stage personalities to the heel/face dynamic of pro-wrestling.

As mentioned earlier, Mencius is the real Channel 101 jedi; I’m just the padowan learner.

In that sense, I’ll probably end up relying on him to serve as a “technical advisor” in regards to the Channel 101-isms, while drawing from my impressive breadth of pr0-wrestling knowledge for the rest of it.

I don’t know when I’ll get started on this, but unlike virtually every project I’ve announced on this blog; I’ve got a feeling I might actually get around to doing this one.

Wish me luck!

Filed under: Comics, Movies, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Azn Badger Has A Nickname

"WELL LET ME TELL YAH' SOMETHIN' MEAN GENE!..."

Last week, the Azn Badger was fortunate to discover that he has a nickname at work.

As a result of my repeated references to old-school WWF wrestlers, as well as my frequent impressions of Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage, I’ve henceforth been given the nickname of “Bonesaw” among certain social circles in the Amazon.com warehouse.

Who, or what is Bonesaw, you ask?

Well, in case you’ve been living under a rock for the past decade, (or don’t about movies half as much as I do) Bonesaw McGraw was the name of the wrestler that Randy Savage played in the first Spider-Man film.

"HEY FREAKSHOW! I GOT'CHA' FOR 3 MINUTES! 3 MINUTES OF, PLAYTIIIIIME!!!"

While he only had a few lines of dialogue, make no mistake; every last one of them was unbelievably epic, such that I’ve memorized, and am able to imitate each and every one of them with stunning proficiency.

In other words, it’s not uncommon for me to start the work day by shouting retarded shit like:

BONESAW IS REEEAADYYY!!!!”

Well, that went on a helluva’ lot longer than I was expecting…

Anyway, let it be known, the Azn Badger’s charms are something that appeals to a very select group of individuals

Mostly retards, nerds, gamers, and in very rare cases, people that are actually more socially inept than the Azn Badger himself.

 

Pictured: An example of the type of person that legitimately finds the Azn Badger's behavior "endearing." The Azn Badger rarely feels the same in regards to them...

Mostly just retards though…

Anyway, I figured I would share this little tidbit of information being as I am dead tired and have absolutely no inspiration to write anything of significance following yesterday’s mega-prediction post regarding the Manny Pacquiao vs. Antonio Margarito fight.

Seriously, that took a lot out of me…

Anyway, until tomorrow!

Filed under: Movies, Uncategorized, Wrestling, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I Hate Sting.

I hate Sting.

I hate his goofy singing, I hate his perpetually frosted hair, but most of all, I simply hate the man that is Sting.

Wrong Sting. Although he kind of sucked too. Especially after he took on that whole "Crow" schtick...

You know how every now and again you run across someone you just plain don’t like, seemingly for no good reason?

Okay, maybe you haven’t, but you know what I mean, right?

Well, that about sums up my relationship with Sting in a nutshell.

He never stole from me, he didn’t kill my father; and he most certainly never touched me as a child, but for whatever reason, I’ve had a severe hatred for Sting for as long as I can remember.

Near as  I can recall, the first time I encountered Sting in my youth, came in the form of a TV broadcast of one of his performances.

I want to say that it was a stage performance from one of his appearances on Saturday Night Live sometime in the 90’s, but either way; my first impression of the man was to think:

“What the hell is he wearing?…”

While I can’t find any photos of it, the man was dressed in a massive leather jacket, easily 2 sizes too big for him, while straddling a guitar and clomping around in 3-5 inch platform boots.

Pictured: The first time I ever saw Sting...

I don’t recall what songs he performed that night, nor did his singing voice leave an impression on me at the time.

Honestly, I think I was simply too blown away by the sheer volume of fail put on display that night to have remembered anything else.

All I remember of Sting from that night, is that big-ass jacket, those Frankenstein boots of his, and his odd quirk of violating his fellow performer’s personal bubble just a little too much.

... And if that wasn't bad enough, he also has a tendency to bust out flying knees to the faces of his fellow performers.

Seriously, the man has a tendency to rub up on people.

As my father would say: “He wouldn’t make it in the Projects…”

Anyway, after only dealing with Sting once in my life up to that point, the man was already 0-1, and officially on my “Naughty” list.

That was just the beginning though.

Sometime after this initial encounter, I remember hearing some of Sting’s songs on the radio.

I had to ask my mother who it was we were listening to, and when she told me it was Sting, I can honestly say I was not surprised.

Sting has a peculiar method of singing.

I like to refer to it as a “pecking” style of lyricism.

 

Like this man's speech cadence, only applied to song.

The lyrics in his songs, especially the more pop-ish tunes from earlier in his career; tend to have a halting rhythm to them that I find annoying.

It’s like trying to listen to streamed audio that’s still buffering.

Sure, you’re definitely listening to something, but it’s so fuckin’ fragmented and disjointed that it may as well be a song recorded by someone with Tourette’s Syndrome.

Honestly, while it pains me to taint this blog with a Family Guy reference, I have to say that they did a damn good job of summing up Sting’s singing style in my eyes:

Just remember, I hated the man long before Family Guy was ever thought of.

By the way, if you ever run into me on the street someday, ask me to do my Sting impression; I’m told it’s pretty spot on.

Moving on, reason #347 as to why I hate Sting, comes from his appearance in the film Dune.

*Yawn*...

Admittedly, this was a fairly recent addition to the “why I hate Sting” list, easily within the past 6-7 years.

When I first noticed that Sting was in Dune, my initial reaction was along the lines of:

“WHAT!?  The “Zip-Zop-Zoop! MESSAGE… IN A… BAAAAAHHHH-TOLL!” Man is in Dune!?  I hope he dies in it…”

Though I got my wish of getting to see Sting die on-screen at the end of Dune, (Oops! Spoiler Alert!) the 3 hour journey in getting to that point was not easy to sit through.

Pictured: The best part of Dune. To me, anyway...

Yes that’s right, I didn’t really exactly care all that much for Dune, but that’s besides the point.

The point is, while sitting through a 3 hour movie I didn’t “get,” and also didn’t exactly like; I found myself not only having to contend with a clunky script and an absurdly over-the-top soundtrack, but with a flame-haired and frequently Speedo clad Sting.

3 hours of shitty movie I can handle standing on my head, but 3 minutes of Sting in his undies being ogled by a levitating overweight, oily pock-faced dude, was another story altogether.

I think Sting’s worst moment in the whole movie, other than the poorly choreographed and horrendously anti-climactic “knife fight” at the end, (Sorry again! Spoiler Alert!) was this one scene where Sting is handling what I call, a “kitty in a box.”

Best I could find. Sorry...

As fate would have it, the internet Gods seem to have eliminated all the good photos of the elusive “kitty in box” scene, as well as that giant-fucking leather jacket I mentioned earlier.

Sting must have a network of internet goons cleansing the web of all traces of his uncoolness…

Anyway, if you saw Dune; you probably know what I’m talking about, ’cause y’know; that was of course the most pivotal scene in the entire movie…

In addition to all of the reasons listed above, probably the single biggest reason I hate Sting, is that he’s one smug son of a bitch.

Sting on any given Tuesday.

Seriously man, he’s just got this swagger, this preening and self-important element to his face and mannerisms.

Maybe it’s just ’cause he’s a singer/performer, and that’s kind of what they do; but in his case, he does it in just the wrong way that it, well; it just pisses me off!

Sting: Knee-Fucking Since... Whenever The Fuck He Started Singing.

Don’t question my hate, it needs not logic or reason to exist!

Anyway, enough Sting related hate-speak for tonight.

Tomorrow I’ll be finally playing more Demon’s Souls, so I figured I’d vent my frustration somehow before assaulting myself with more videogame related anger and stress.

 

 

Man I hate Sting…

Filed under: Games, Movies, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Top 10 Best Overkills in Movies, #1: Robocop

Paul Verhoeven’s sci-fi masterpiece, Robocop, has the dual distinction of not only being one of my favorite films of all time, but of also featuring THE Best Overkill in Movies.

Come to think of it, overkill is something that Robocop has a great deal of.

There’s the famed ED-209 overkill sequence:

There’s the slightly more obscure, but no less brutal “melt man” overkill:

But standing head and shoulders above it all, putting all of the competition to shame, is the horrendously brutal death of Alex Murphy (Peter Weller):

While many of the other overkills on this list have a sense of excess that could be considered humorous by some, (I.E. me) the death of Alex Murphy is an overkill that has a sense of urgency and dramatic weight that goes a long way towards legitimizing  it.

Unflinchingly brutal and perhaps more importantly, graphic; watching Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith) and his gang torture, humiliate and ultimately, dismember Alex Murphy always brings a haunting, and alarming sense of wrongness to my conscience.

I love Robocop, and in particular, I love this scene; but that doesn’t keep me from understanding that this sequence was intended to be regarded as

Without a doubt; the death of Alex Murphy is easily the most greatest, most brutal, excessive, and utterly fucked-up Overkill in Movies.

That being said, what say we do a play-by-play of the carnage?:

The scene begins as Officer Alex Murphy stumbles into an ambush.

Surrounded by 5 armed men, Murphy is forced to give up his arms as Clarence Boddicker beats on him a little to try and get him to spill the beans on the whereabouts of his partner, Ann Lewis (Nancy Allen).

Best Shitty Haircut in Cinema History: Nancy Allen, Robocop (1987)

After whacking Murphy in the leg, and bashing him in the spine with the butt of his shotgun, Clarence finds himself interrupted as his fellow gang member, Joe (Jesse D. Goins), walks into the room declaring Lewis previously deceased by his hand.

Pictured: Joe's only contribution to the movie.

Yeah, Joe’s a dick…

With the threat of any remaining police presence now completely removed, Clarence and his gang lighten up and decide to have some fun with Murphy.

Kicking Murphy onto his back on the floor, Clarence paces about and starts talkin’ shit:

Throughout this sequence, it’s worth noting that Clarence, despite sounding downright chummy at times, consistently keeps his gun trained on Murphy’s head.

Placing one foot on the inside of Murphy’s forearm, Clarence stands up, looks down the barrel of his shotgun, and points it at Murphy’s groin.

While making a faux computerized targeting system tone, akin to the tone of a jet fighter’s missile lock tone, Clarence slowly brings the gun to bear, first on Murphy’s head, and then down to his still pinned right arm.

"Eagle One, Fox-3!"

The first shot of our overkill results in Alex Murphy’s right hand being rendered into chunky red mush.

If you look close, you can actually see the prosthetic hand being yanked out of the scene to simulate it's severing.

Being as Clarence Boddicker is a certified, grade-A DICK, a pun is his natural response to the violence:

Clarence Boddicker: DICK of the Ages

Following this, Clarence steps back for a smoke, leaving Murphy’s fate in the hands of his underlings.

...But first we have to watch Murphy bleed for 10 minutes.

Most likely in shock from having just lost his hand, Murphy lurches to his feet and immediately begins to slowly walk away from his assailants.

Being as Clarence’s gang is made up of coke-heads and Junior DICKS, their first act is to ask Murphy where he’s going, and then yell at him to turn around.

For whatever reason, Murphy does just this:

Like any great heel in wrestling, Clarence’s gang pick a body part and work it until it’s nothing but a bloody stump.

Well, being as these guys are using SHOTGUNS instead of submission moves, said process takes only about, oh, one shot.

Now missing an arm, the very same arm that he was previously missing a hand on, Murphy does just about the only thing he can:

Unfortunately, like bullies teasing a fat kid at the pool, Clarence’s gang are truly relentless, as with that they open fire with, literally, everything they’ve got.

First, they shoot him in his kevlar vest:

Then they shoot him there some more…

Then Lewis (who is not dead) stumbles into the room and watches them shoot Murphy in the vest…

Yup, she just stood there. Did absolutely nothing...

And they finish things off by shooting him enough times in the vest to tear it to ribbons and take some tasty chunks out of his torso to boot:

These have all been direct quotes by the way

Now, on any normal day, Alex Murphy would’ve been dead long before Clarence’s gang ran out of ammo, but this is a Paul Verhoeven film, so we’re not allowed to question the violence.

That being said, Murphy finally falls to his knees just as the gang pumps the last of their shells into his poor vest.

Seriously man, that thing had 2 days til retirement…

*Sniff* Don't worry friend, we'll remember you...

With Murphy left lying in pool of his own bodily fluids, one of Clarence’s gang, Emil (Paul McCrane), takes this opportunity to state the obvious:

"Hi, I'm Emil. I die a horrible death in this film!"

Not only that, but *GASP!* Joe takes this opportunity to be a DICK!

"Hi, I'm Joe. I, along with everyone else in this film, also die a horrible death in this movie."

Despite all the laughter and hijinks of his underlings throughout this scene, to his credit, Clarence finally steps forward and decides to put Alex Murphy out of his misery.

Well, either that or he was done with his cigarette and wanted to go home…

"The Tigers are a playin' a game, TONIGHT! I never miss a game..."

Either way, Clarence promptly walks up to Murphy, and casually puts a bullet through his head to call it a night:

Thusly concludes, the Best Overkill in Movies.

It’s brutal, it’s equally difficult and entertaining to watch, and in my mind, it’s simply the only top choice for this particular Top 10 list.

Anyway, thanks for reading, maybe we’ll do another Top 10 sometime.

With that, I’ve decided to go out on a high note by leaving you with this Robocop Rap:

Filed under: Movies, Uncategorized, Wrestling, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Boxing and the Azn Badger

Boxing is just about the only professional sport I pay attention to.

That’s not to say I don’t enjoy watching sports, I simply haven’t devoted as much time to appreciating and learning the subtleties of them as I have in the case of boxing.

SUBTLETY.

The first time I can remember seeing boxing, was when I was really young, maybe 5 years old.

My parents were watching the end of Rocky III on TV, and I walked into the room (past my bedtime) thinking it was a real fight.

I remember yelling “Jesus!” every time Rocky got, um, clubbed; by Clubber Lang.

"JESUS!"

After 3-4 cries of “Jesus,” my mom ushered me out of the room and told me to go to bed, but not before telling me to say “jeez” instead of “Jesus.”

Now that I think of it, that was kind of weird.

I remember going to church every now and again as a kid, but my parents never enforced any sort of religion in the house.

Oh well, my best guess is that, at that point in my life my parents hadn’t yet decided if I was going to be raised with a religion, so they didn’t want me taking the Lord’s name in vain just in case.

To this day, I have yet to establish any religious affiliations.

Although I did spend some time in the Kamen Rider Kult for awhile... Does that count?

That awkwardness aside, Sylvester Stallone and Mr. T’s climactic brawl at the end of Rocky III served as my introduction to the sport of boxing.

That fight also ranks as one of my favorite in AMERICAN film history, so it’s gonna’ get posted below for your enjoyment:

I remember years later, during Mike Tyson’s big comeback in the mid-90’s, my brother and my dad would “watch” some of the scrambled Pay-Per-Views.

You see, this was back in the day when Pay-Per-Views came via a cable box, (which my home didn’t have until my brother started ordering WWF Pay-Per-Views) but the channels they aired on could still be accessed in “scrambled” format.

That’s right, my brother and my dad cared enough about boxing that they would plop down in front of the TV and watch a scrambled snowstorm just to get the live audio.

"Oh, LOOK at that crushing right hand from Arguello! Boy Jim, that sure LOOKED painful, didn't it!?"

It was around this time that I came to realize that boxing meant something to my family, primarily my dad.

My dad loves all sports, don’t get me wrong; but boxing has always seemed to have a special place in his heart.

When I was little, and would sometimes sit in and watch the fights with him, he’d always amaze me with his ability to predict the outcomes of fights.

I didn’t know it then, but it turns out my pop had done a bit of boxing in his youth.

Pictured: My Dad.

That’s not to say he was some retired legend of the ring or anything, but even so, he managed to do a few neat things during his time in the sport.

For instance, in his youth he competed in the Philadelphia Golden Gloves tournament, even going so far as to the reach the semi-finals.

He was eliminated by a young fighter named Willie “The Worm” Monroe, a man who would later go on to defeat middleweight legend, and easily one of my favorite fighters of all time; Marvelous Marvin Hagler.

Sum' bitch, beat mah' daddy...

Oh yeah, and get knocked the fuck out by Hagler a few years later.

Click below for vengeance by proxy:

During his time in the Vietnam War, my dad made his way over to Thailand once or twice.

While staying there, my dad was invited to participate in a friendly exhibition match with a local fighter.

Nobody told my dad who he was fighting before the match, but as it turns out, his opponent was Chartchai Chionoi.

The same Chartchai Chionoi that had been sitting on the world flyweight championship for a few years by the time my dad met him.

According to my dad, the fight really did play out as a friendly exhibition for the most part, with neither man getting hurt for the most part.

My dad always said he was just glad he on his feet the whole time and didn’t end up embarrassing himself.

He and Chartchai exchanged holiday cards every now and again for years after that.

According to my dad, Mr. Chionoi got kind of pudgy at one point, so my dad used to poke fun at him for it.

Pictured: Chartchai Chionoi in the twilight of his career.

It was my dad’s love for/knowledge of boxing that drew me into it.

I always wanted an excuse to hang out with my dad and shoot the shit, and boxing was the venue I chose to do it from.

I spent my youth listening to the little fundamental tidbits my dad would throw out during the fights, and by the time I was in high school, I felt I knew the sport pretty well.

That’s one of the major differences between boxing and other sports for me.

I get boxing.

I didn’t really pay much attention to other sports as a kid, and as a result, I don’t know them as well.

It makes a huge difference, knowing what you’re looking at, and knowing “how” to appreciate it.

Art....?

When he was in high school, my brother went to live in Kobe, Japan for a year.

During this time he took the time to join Senrima Keitoku’s boxing gym, the same trainer that would go on to train recently dethroned world bantamweight champion Hozumi Hasegawa.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Hasegawa is a Japanese boxer that is actually GOOD.

I don’t know the extent of my brother’s training in Japan, but I think he did it for the same reasons I wanted to:

To have something in common with dad, and to say that he “did it.”

These guys "did it" too.

Seeing as boxing was one of the few things I could really relate to my dad on, I was always envious of my brother for having that connection.

Unfortunately, I was not in the best of shape as a kid, and I always thought I’d never make it in a gym, so I never really tried.

Pictured: The Azn Badger in his youth.

As fate would have it, I found myself faced with a school project that required one to join a community and do what is called “appreciative inquiry,” I.E. giving and taking while never really implying that you’re overtly “taking.”

Yeah, I know, hippie-dippy-gobbledy-gook at it’s best, right?

Because the project was sprung on us with little notice, I took it upon myself to take advantage my my newly in-shape self, and I joined the local Police Athletic League to try my hand at boxing and do my project at the same time.

I had a lot of fun at the gym, in fact I still miss it to this day, largely because of all the time I got to spend helping out the little kids.

Not in THAT way, you perv.

This way:

At the gym, I was surprised to find that I was more than able to keep up with the training regimen, however my eyesight was a huge problem.

Let it be known, that people that wear contact lenses or glasses should never, ever consider pursuing boxing as anything more than a workout.

Don’t be an idiot like I was, you’ll be better for it.

In sparring, I never told my coach that I was wearing disposable contacts that would come out after getting hit about, oh, once.

As a result, I was blind for most of my sparring sessions, though I did alright anyway.

Never got hurt, anyway.

On my last day in the gym, when my class and the project attached to it ended and I was forced to get back to my normal schedule, I got my ass torn up by a new arrival at the gym.

The guy was about 17 years old, 2 inches taller and 10 pounds heavier than me, and had a few years experience under his belt.

It's true, it's true. I did in fact fight Ivan Drago.

All I had going for me was a thick skull and ridiculously big hair.

Oh yeah, and I'm a FUCKING DOCTOR.

I got my face pounded in that night, and even though it was my last night there anyway, it truly felt like the world was telling me to get out of the ring.

Some of us are made to be fighters, some aren’t.

AREN'T.

I can’t say which I am, but I will say this, starting out in boxing at 21 years of age is not the way to find out.

I never got a chance to fight in a real match, however I was scheduled for one, which I made weight for and everything.

At 152 lbs., there were a lot of other fighters vying for the same spot as me on the card, so I ended up getting pushed aside in favor of more experienced guys.

That match will always be a big “what if” I’ll have in the back of my head, but such is life.

These days I play armchair quarterback with my dad.

I prefer to watch fights alone, or with my dad; rowdy crowds tend to make me nervous on account of how they sensationalize the fight.

Kind of like these guys.

I’ve always said that, in boxing, I never applaud violence, (unless I HATE the guy getting his ass torn up) I’m just there to see what happens.

It’s for this reason that I also prefer to watch fights after they’ve already happened.

I don’t really care about being surprised, I just like sitting back and evaluating, and learning from the situation.

Boxing is a sport that encourages it’s fans to review it’s long and colorful history.

I have spent most of my life doing this, and for that reason I guess I’ve been conditioned to know what is coming ahead of time.

Some would call my preference blasphemy, however in my eyes, boxing is something I “appreciate” more than I care about “being there” for.

I’m not sure if I should thank my dad for getting me into a dieing sport that no one really seems to talk about these days, (try finding a boxing magazine among all the gun, bodybuilding and MMA ones, I dare you) but I will say this:

I am thankful for my father and everything he’s taught me in life.

Sure, I can’t ride a bike, but I can tell you the names of probably 80% of boxing’s hall of famers.

Life skills, that’s what dad’s are for.

Thanks dad, here’s to sittin’ around watching the fights together for the rest of our days.

Happy Father’s Day!

Filed under: Boxing, Uncategorized, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Let’s Look at Comics: Dark Reign – The List: Punisher #1

Hey everybody!  Once again, it’s time to look at comics!  Today we’re going to be looking at the Marvel one-shot, Dark Reign – The ListPunisher #1.


A word to the uninitiated, Dark Reign is not a character or book series in the Marvel universe, but rather a company wide story arc.

Specifically, Dark Reign is the period of time in which Norman Osborn AKA the Green Goblin and former dead guy, has control of U.S. national security, an era that is just now coming to an end with the coming Heroic Age.

How did this happen?  Well, the Skrulls (shapeshifting alien douchebags with wrinkly chins) showed up a few years back, and during an event called Secret Invasion, raped our nation’s defense network.

IT'S A FUCKING DONKEY! I MEAN, SKRULL!!!!!

Said defense systems just happened to be manufactured and regulated by Tony Stark AKA Iron Man, who also happens to be the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. following his victory during Civil War, which took place just prior to the Invasion.

Long story short, Norman Osborn lands the killing blow against the Skrull Queen, and is somehow promoted to hero status in the public eye, which he then parlays into usurping Tony Stark’s control of S.H.I.E.L.D.

*Whew!* Now that we’ve gotten all that nonsense out of the way, we can finally get to opening the damn book!

...but not before we get past the Nissan ad.

Right off the bat, our first page is… explanation detailing what happened earlier in the Punisher comics during Dark Reign.

Okay, fine your majesty, I shall summarize:

The Punisher wasn’t too happy about a total nutjob like Norman Osborn taking control of S.H.I.E.L.D., (now changed to the more AMERICAN sounding, H.A.M.M.E.R.) so he did what any concerned citizen would do, and tried to put a couple of bullets in Osborn’s head.

I think it goes without saying that the Punisher missed, no thanks to that golden-haired son-of-a-fuck, The Sentry.

Sentry = This, with a golden costume and oh yeah, RETARDED.

Naturally, Osborn wasn’t too happy about the whole attempted murder thing, and thusly decided to use our tax dollars to send a fleet of space ships and a few hundred soldiers after old man Frank.

I like how this story is a one-shot, usually requiring no prior knowledge of previous storylines to be enjoyed.

One-shot my ass…

Anyway, our story opens with a quote from James Thurber:

Pretty deep for a comic that opens with a Nissan ad.

In case you’re wondering, James Thurber was cartoonist and writer for the New Yorker back in the 20’s.

You can thank Wikipedia for that last bit.

We are then treated to a page of some kid leaving a message on the Punisher’s voicemail while zipping off walls and over peoples’ heads on his hoverboard.

Fortunately he knows better than to take it over water.  Everyone knows you can’t do that; unless you’ve got power.

So sayeth Jason Scott Lee...

Anyway, this kid, named Henry by the way, is apparently trying to get a hold of Frank because he’s been “trolling”  H.A.M.M.E.R.’s networks, and apparently he caught word that Osborn is just about to launch his big push against the Punisher.

I don’t see how posting photos of penises on H.A.M.M.E.R.’s forums would be at all helpful to the Punisher, but oh well, I’m not about to pretend that I give two shits about Henry and what he does with his intersnatch.

Meanwhile, Osborn is floating above New York in his pimp-ass helicarrier, when one of his goons walks over to him to ask for permission to implement operation “Nuke-the-shit-out-of-the Punisher.”

"Sir, may I lick your cock?" "No, you can SUCK my cock."

Our next page opens with the Punisher hanging out in his “Punisher Van,” heating up some cocoa and ignoring Henry’s phone calls like a dude.

This page also serves as our introduction to “Punisher Speak.”

Punisher Speak consists solely of a combination of sentence fragments, gallows humor, and man-isms.

If the text box isn’t black, or the text doesn’t have an ellipses in it, it’s not Punisher Speak.

Interior decorator, he is not.

Despite missing Henry’s call, the “Punisher Van’s” perimeter alarm goes off, tipping our hero off to Osborn’s approach.

Subtle man that he is, Osborn begins his assault by doing this:

The land of the free, and the home of the THWAADOOOOOOMMM!!!!

Despite the fireworks, H.A.M.M.E.R. determines that the Punisher managed to avoid the blast.

Osborns’s first reaction is to sick a shadowy figure named Daken, after the Punisher.

Oh yeah, then he sends EVERY FUCKING MAN HE’S GOT.

... and yet I'm not worried. Maybe it has something to do with their goofy get-ups.

With Osborn’s goons on the way, the Punisher reveals to us just how he managed to survive the explosion that his pimpin’ van could not.

In between a full page ad for Halo: ODST, of course.

...Okay, so his face grew into his crotch, what else is new?

Pym Particles are, in the Marvel universe, a special form of radiation created by Dr. Henry Pym AKA Ant Man/Giant Man/Yellow Jacket/Goliath/The Wasp/Scientist Supreme, that allow one to manipulate the size of objects and living things.

Evidently, the Punisher used them here to shrink himself to an atomic size so as avoid the THWAADOOOOOOMMM!!!!

*Ahem!* SCIENCE.

With this, the Punisher takes off down an alleyway, whereupon he happens upon Henry, still crusin’ around on his hoverboard.

The Punisher greets him as only he can do.

A conversationalist, he is not.

With Henry safely tucked away in a dumpster, the Punisher finds himself set upon by Osborn’s glider troops.

In response, the Punisher, principled man that he is, elects to handle them using non-lethal measures involving, I shit you not:  a bullwhip.

What kind of Indiana Jones bullshit is that!?

He’s got Pym Particles and a fucking “Punisher Van” and he resorts to using a fucking whip?

C’mon now Frank, you can do better than that…

You see, there are two kinds of Punishers in the Marvel universe, the “suit” Punisher, and the “Max” Punisher, from the main Marvel continuity and the Max universe respectively.

The “suit” Punisher is the one with the skin-tight body suit that used all sorts of hokie sci-fi guns designed to make his arsenal seem more “friendly” and more accessible to the kiddies.

The “Max” Punisher walks around in a trench coat and a wife-beater and gets the job done by gutting people and feeding them to animals n’shit.

Just remember, “Max” Punisher’s been to ‘Nam, “suit” Punisher shops at The Sharper Image.

In either case, both drive a fucking awesome van.

Personally, I prefer Max Punisher, but that's just me.

‘Ole Frank manages to evade the glider troops pretty well, walking away with only a single laser wound to his leg, oddly enough, just as he’s reaching for some sort of “Punisher Shield” thingy.

Just a scratch really, no big deal.

Eventually he manages to escape to the sewers, where he proceeds to internally monologue to himself about things… mainly the hole in his leg and how the shit seeping into the wound builds character.

Gallows humor, check. Black text boxes, check. Where's the damn ellipses?

Remember that shadowy guy I mentioned earlier?  Daken?

Well, he decides to use this opportunity to make his big entrance.

Well now, that's just plain impolite, not even saying "hello."

Now you’re probably asking yourself: “Isn’t that Wolverine?”

Well, you’d be close, but you’d also be wrong, dumbass.

Look at the guy’s claws, he’s got two where the ‘Ole Canuckle Head has three.

I know, I'm retarded.

Okay, fine.  Daken does in fact have three claws, the third is housed on the inside of his wrist.

Dork-isms aside, Daken is actually Wolverine’s son from a previous relationship involving a Japanese woman named Itsu.

Long story short, Itsu got killed, Daken had a shitty childhood, and now he hates Wolverine… ’cause I guess he has nothing better to do.

Daken has all of Wolverine’s powers, except his claws are lined with the metal of a cursed sword (don’t ask) called the Muramasa, and he can manipulate his pheromones to the point of granting him limited control over others.

Basically he’s Wolverine, but EEEVVIIIIIILLLLLLL…

Cut to bad-ass fight scene.

"Frank Castle was sadly SHWUNKK'ed today. His last words were "RHGGAA!"

As evil and as vicious as Daken can be however, remember, this is ‘Ole Frank he’s tangling with here.

Surely he’s gonna’ have some sort of crazy bazooka or wicked-ass gadget he can whip out to save the day…

"YEERGGAAHGHH!! I said "No" Frank, not on the first date!"

…but I guess biting works too.

…and shooting.

…yup, shooting still works.

Despite all that GLAZZAT-ing, Daken’s broken-ass healing factor keeps him good and healthy.

In fact the only real damage he seems to have incurred is a side-ache with a little bit of a cough.

Okay, so the whole "swimming in dookie" thing didn't bother you, but the GLAZZAT-ing did? What kind of bullshit is that?

Taking Daken’s fat-kid side-ache as a window of opportunity, Frank hops out of the sewer and up to the surface.

But not without leaving Daken a parting gift, of course.

Uh oh Daken, I think your Tamagotchi's having suicidal thoughts...

Trust me when I tell you, there is an explosion on the next panel.

We then cut back to Frank as he stares down about a hundred or so of Osborn’s glider troops.

Frank’s mind immediately jumps to poop jokes.

A comedian, he is not.

Before the glider troops can have their way with Frank however, Daken suddenly appears behind him.

Daken talks some shit, but before he can get too out of hand, Punisher shuts him up and is all like, “Come’n git’ it son.”

What follows is probably the most violent fight I have ever read in the standard Marvel continuity.

But first…

BUTT.

Yup, they interrupted the most bad-ass fight ever, with butt.

ANYWAY, where were we?

Oh yeah:

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDD

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

Unfortunately, that last hit to the throat seems to slow Frank down a little bit, (that other shit though, that wasn’t nothin’) and Daken starts his shit talkin’ again.

Although unlike some shit talkers, Daken seems to be able to back up his bravado pretty well.

Case in point:

"Don't worry kids, I'm sure Uncle Frank has a way outta' this..."

"...Yup kids, all part of the plan..."

"...All part of the, aw hell, he's fuckin'dead kids."

No wait, just one more:

Just breaks your heart, doesn't it?

It’s funny, I don’t even think the Punisher and Daken had met up to this point in the comics.

You see boys and girls, this is what happens when a “new” writer (Rick Remender) takes charge of a character (The Punisher), while at the same time receiving orders from the higher-ups in the company to “push” a brand new character (Daken).

At least, that’s how they do things in pro-wrestling anyway.

Remember that one time when the WWF tried to “push” Kevin Nash AKA Diesel into replacing Shawn Michaels as the top dog in the industry?

Yeah, that didn’t go so hot.

Kevin Nash, you were fun to play as in WCW vs. NWO, but other than that, you can suck a dick.

I’ve never been a reader of “suit” Punisher stories.

I always found the idea of a PG-13 Punisher a little bit strange given the fact that he generally shoots people to shit every chance he gets.

“Max” Punisher however, is something I read religiously until Garth Ennis left the series.

I bought this comic because, well, IGN gave it a high rating.  That, and I genuinely cared to see how they went about killing off the Punisher, even if it was just the “suit” Punisher.

I can’t say I was impressed by the storytelling in this comic, but I will say this, John Romita Jr. knows how to draw violence.

I’ve always felt that Romita Jr.’s finest moments came almost 20 years ago, (his blocky characters seem a little raggedy nowadays, too much so) but the sheer violence and spectacle of this, a one-shot with a relatively small budget and production timetable, is pretty damn impressive by anyone’s standards.

Anyway, it’s been fun, hopefully it was as good for you as it was for me.

With that, I leave you with this preview image for the first cover to Rick Remender’s follow-up story for the Punisher:  FrankenCastle.

Guess it’s true:

In comics, “No one stays dead except Bucky, Jason Todd and Uncle Ben.

Oh wait, out of those three, only Uncle Ben has actually stayed dead.

Oh well, comics are convoluted bullshit, but I love ’em anyway.

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