Brian Bolland and The Invisibles: This looks -- interesting! Everything's -- ok!!

Brian Bolland's covers for The Invisibles are some of the best he has ever done, getting his finest freak on, with Morrison's stories giving the legendary artist the means to really get out there.

My favourite of all of them is the cover to the trade paperback for volume three, where he takes the 12 previous covers he did for that volume and remixes them in pure stream of consciousness fashion. Most of them are messy, some of them are even better than the original version, and several of them are funny as hell. 

They all look like dream comics, with nonsense phrases and absurd images from comics published in other dimension. Just about recognizable, but clearly untethered from our real world, just like an Invisibles cover should be. 

My least favourite is obviously the trade paperback cover with a fleshy, grotesque blob of humanity staring out at the reader. Wonderfully repulsive, especially in the proper tones, but nothing I want to look at for too long.

Still drying my eyes with The Streets

It's been more than 20 years since A Grand Don't Come For Free by The Streets came out, but I heard it again for the first time in ages recently, and it's still a banger of an album, with an emotional kick at the end that I've never felt from any other musical album - before or since.

It's in Empty Cans, the climactic track on Mike Skinner's rambling, beautiful album. The entire thing is a concept album, telling a whole story, and by the end, it's just the narrator alone with empty cans of beers, angry at the betrayal of his mates. 

His TV isn't working, so he gets a repair man in, but they get into a dumb fight and then he's left alone, stewing in his anger, and still down a thousand quid.

And then he rewinds the tape and goes back, and gives his mate a chance to help him out, and he gets his thousand pounds back, and has a party and is surrounded by life and love.

Concept albums may have huge ambitions, but there is real power in the simple lesson of Empty Cans, and the wish fulfillment of getting a second chance to do things right. I don't find that in a Pink Floyd album, as magnificent as they are.

I have - to my great regret - sometimes been swallowed by own bitterness and refused to move on from something, but I have also sometimes found forgiveness so easy to grant, and have enjoyed the results. 

It can happen to everybody, even if we don't all lose a wad of cash down the back of the telly. 

Fuck all the awards

People asked me about who was going to win the Academy Awards this year, like I could give a fuck.

When I was eight years old, I had a magazine that listed all the Oscar winners up to 1982, and I memorised every fact in that mag, taking note of all the big names of all the big films, and wondering how something called Annie Hall could have won in the year Star Wars came out.

That's about as much as I ever cared. By the time I got seriously interested in movies in my late teens, I realized that the Oscars didn't mean shit - they never recognised the films I thought were the best, and rewarded the bland over the innovative.

But there is a whole huge industry behind the awards, and a lot of people have a lot of money riding on them, so they're not going anywhere.

And putting on award shows is literally a big business, I once worked for a company that put them on for a little while, and went to several for things like appliance stores, with people getting very excited for taking the award for best store under 10,000 sqm.

The most awards I've been to are for news journalism, and the team I worked in has scooped a few of them. I understand why people get excited about them, but my main memories of those awards - apart from getting to catch up with old colleagues - is of unworthy winners and monstrous omissions. The very worst night of my professional life was spent at one of these awards shows, listening to the big boss at my work spew on about doing great journalism, while I was about to quit because every choice that boss was making was objectively making it worse.

Of course I do like it when my friends get honoured, because it does make them happy and I like it when they're happy and I'm not enough of a monster to shit on that happiness.

But I don't want awards, and I never, ever seek them out. I find vying for them distasteful, and purely egocentric. The work is the reward, I don't give a shit what baubles it conveys, and I certainly don't give a shit who wins best picture every year.

Alan Moore, gods and AI

Alan Moore reckons this is the most important comics panel he ever wrote, because as soon as he wrote it, he realised it was absolutely true, and much of his work since has been unpacking this strange, wonderful and utterly honest idea. 

It's also the first thing that always comes into my mind when somebody writes an article about some AI bullshit achieving sentience, because it's replied to some random prompt with something that sounds a bit human. The only place these things are alive are in the minds of dipshits who think they are alive.

Alan Moore knows the score, but I bet even he would be surprised by how fucking stupid some people can still be.

Mad Men: A place where we know we are loved

I've burned through much of my collection of movie DVDs as background noise while I worked at home over the past year or two, but this year I'm focused on the TV, and have started the year with some Mad Men.

It took me a few weeks to get through it all, but my extremely inane opinion is that it is still very, very good. It's the kind of drama that cuts to the soul, even if you don't have anything in common with these strange and ancient people who believed such weird things like smoking indoors. Sometimes you see their real selves - and they see it themselves - and it's devastating.

It's also incredibly funny - the lawnmower episode is an all time great and the scene where Roger gets to fire Burt for a second time is fucking hilarious -  as we watch these generally appalling people try to make a connection with others among the skyscrapers of the modern world. And occasionally uplifting, with the rise and rise of Peggy and Joan against a society that is full of nothing but old boys.

I've long thought that one of the greatest strengths of Mad Men is that no matter how much you hate Don Draper for the bullshit he pulls, it is infinitesimal compared to how much he hates himself - Jon Hamm's acting in the moments where he cracks and turns into Dick Whitman are actually heartbreaking.

But I've also always said Deadwood was my favourite show of that golden era of US TV because it was the one prestige show that wasn't about the death of the American dream, it was about the birth of it, as terrible people try to change to build something together, almost forming a civilized society by accident.

And Mad Men is set in the height of America, and the big twist is that it's not really a golden age, because the cracks are there, and a hell of a lot of people fall through them. It was a fine time for old white men and completely ratshit for absolutely everybody - anybody who doesn't fit the mold is kept away from any kind of power - and there are things that are taken for granted that are properly startling to the modern viewer. The most shocking thing in the whole series is still the moment where they have a roadside picnic, and then leave all their rubbish on the side of the road and just walk off.

It's the ideal of the American dream, and it's all fake ideals created by fake men, and sometimes you see the real human being beneath the suit or beehive hairdo. And al the powerful men are really scared little boys behind their wealth and influence, but at least the offices they work in and the clothes they wear are stylish enough to hide their pain.

Twin Peaks makes the top five

Deciding on my list of the top five movies ever made is something I take far more seriously than is warranted. Nobody else cares, or should, but I have thought about it a lot over the years, and have become certain in my verdicts. 

They say your tastes are defined by a very specific age in your life, when you're a very young adult and figuring out what kind of person you are going to be. And they're right because my personal list of the top five favourite films hasn't changed in decades. It was always an easy list to decide upon and has been the same since the 1990s.

(The top 10 is much more flexible and has never been set in stone, Shaun of the Dead and 28 Days Later come in and out, and Rocky Horror Picture Show and Die Hard have always been floating around in there, along with the best westerns. It's a fluid list.)

O Lucky Man! usually tops my top five, because it's always nice to have an absolute favourite film that is slightly unique, and I watched it again last year and it's still fucking awesome in what it says and sings; I have never got over the buzzing feeling of transcendence that I've got every time I watched 2001: A Space Odyssey; Withnail and I has the best quotes of any movie ever; and the original Dawn of the Dead warped my mind right at the moment it needed to be warped.

The last spot was slightly flexible, but was always a western and usually a Clint. It was mainly The Searchers for the moment where the Duke's voice cracks at the end, but on any different day it could be the Outlaw Josey Wales for the words of iron speech; or Unforgiven for the final 20 minutes of wrath; or the Good, The Bad and the Ugly for its soaring magnificence.

But I've been thinking that list recently, and have come to the inescapable conclusion that while the westerns are all brilliant and still lingering in the more vague top 10, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me is most definitely enshrined in that top five.

I saw it soon after it came out, and it's always spoken to me. It would be another five or six years before I actually got the chance to watch the TV show, and I was frequently lost by the dense plotting of the feature film. But it was such an intense experience it felt intoxicating, and I was greatly unimpressed by the critical indifference at the time (Kim Newman was the only writer I ever saw who captured what I felt about it).

I had that soundtrack on my walkman as I walked around town at night for years and years, and I got a real indication of a life in that darkness. I watched the film over and over, and can quote an embarrassing amount of it, and I finally saw it on a cinema screen for the first time last year.

It was the brilliance of that screening, and the full body chill that it gave me, that has now cemented it in my top five forever. A lot of the original show and The Return are staggeringly brilliant, and Fire Walk with Me is part of a vast tapestry of twisted genius, but it's also a genius work of cinema on its own.

I'm never gonna get vox popped by Letterbox, and that's fortunate because I'd be fucked if they did because they only want four films and I can't get it down that to just four. But those two hours in the town of Twin Peaks will always be one of them.

DC - The New Frontier: It has filled my heart with hope.

- DC: The New Frontier #4 

Written and illustrated by Darwyn Cooke 

Coloured by Dave Stewart 

Lettered by Jared K Fletcher

Jilted John: It's still a classic

It was the first record British superhero Zenith every bought, and we know this because he said it was a classic in a pop star profile that ran on the back page of a 2000ad in the late eighties.

I had never heard of Jilted John when I read that, and thought it must be nothing more than a joke record, because Zenith was always the great brat of 80s superheroes, and then I heard it years later and was delighted to discover it's the ultimate expression of the heartbreak of the whiny and problematic working class teenager, crying on his way to the chip shop - Gordon IS a moron! - and also a genuinely banging tune.

Zenith was fucking right! It is still a classic.

Outlander is gone now

I might have been the only person in the world who thought of an old poster for Outlander (2008) as a genuine cultural institution, so I'm almost definitely the only person who was sad to see it go, and I'm sure it's my fault.

I think I fucked up by pointing out that there were still posters for these films in a story I wrote for work about the state of the Majestic Theatre in Timaru. They were the last signs of the video rental store that used to live on the bottom floor of the theatre, put up and forgotten for more than 15 years.

I always liked to check if those posters were still there every time I went back home, because both the cinema and the video store were Very Important parts of my life at some points, and while the faded posters might look like neglect, the fact that they stayed up for years and years was always gently reassuring.

Then I only had to go and bloody point this out, and the last time I went home for a family wedding, they were gone. There's just a flyer for a beer festival down the bay now.

Nothing else has changed, there is no sign of any actual restoration of the theatre, but there are just blank windows instead of faded cinematic dreams. 

In this fucked up world, it's a stupid thing to care about, but I really did, and I'm sorry they were cleared away.

Doctor Who and the Blunted Sharpness of Media Criticism

I still read every issue of Doctor Who Magazine as it comes out, and have been doing so regularly since the nineties. I think it's a remarkable publication - more than 600 issues and decades of reviews, analysis, interviews and comics - and it's as strong as it ever was.

Having read it for so long, I do see how it has changed over the years. And there is still a lot to admire - the design team have been consistently strong, and some of the most recent covers are as striking as ever, getting a lot out of the limited number of photos of William Hartnell they might have. But the general tone of the magazine has also evolved, sometimes in strange and unexpected ways.

I'm generally on board with all the changes, the entire concept of Dr Who is built around the idea of regeneration and moving with the times. But I do wish it was a little bit meaner, like it used to be.

I do genuinely believe the publication was at its best in the wilderness years - with no TV show to preview and pore over, the magazine turned more introspective, and was filled with essays and articles about what it all meant. But it was also a time when they didn't have to play nicely with the BBC to ensure they kept up their extraordinary access to the production of the show, and could more easily acknowledge the faults of the thing they loved.

They could get particularly scathing about Dr Who's old producers, especially when they were picking away at sacred cows, and the reviews of the New Adventures books got downright nasty at times.

But then the show came back in 2005, and there was definitely more of a celebratory tone which has grown and almost calcified. And 21 years later, there is no room for rampant miserabilism any more.  They'll find something nice to say about even the worst Big Finish audio - and some of them are objectively awful - and the latest season of the TV show is always the greatest ever.  

It's not just in the rarified airs of Doctor Who fandom - all the music magazines I respect rarely give five stars to new music, but they don't get one either, it's almost all in the usual 3 or 4 stars range. And I miss the regular meanness of the Comics Journal, arguing about things that feel like dust in the wind now, but were so important at that time. While I do occasionally see sparks of the old viciousness, I still feel remorse for the fact we never got a full on scathing obituary of Stan Lee from Gary Groth. 

People are, obviously, as mean as ever, and you can see that online every day. But the more mainstream things get, the more those sharp edges are filed off, even though it's often the sharpness that make you feel something in the first place. 

The perfect Spider-Man

I was far too young for Ditko, and only knew the Romita era through reprints, but the Ross Andru version will always be the one, true Spider-Man to me. 

I got a beat-to-shit copy of Amazing Spider-Man #179 out of a dollar bin recently, and it's got everything I ever want in my Spidey stories. It's got a splash page with Spider-Man trapped by the Green Goblin, while swearing that he has to break free because Aunt May is dying and he's the only way who can save it; some beating up of some random thugs with appropriate quipping; Spidey's webbing breaking under the strain during a crucial moment; some small moments of soap operatics with the supporting cast; a last page twist about the Goblin's identity; and the cleanest art in 70s Marvel. 

It's all I ever wanted in a Spider-Man story. It's all I'll ever need.

Living for the fifth week

My local comic store started the year with a restock of its $1 comics, because they are true and beautiful people, and I saw them post about it on Instagram and I was there an hour later, and was the first to suck up the cheap stuff.

I mainly went for the Unknown Soldier comics, because I still have a deep affection for the bandaged WW2 warrior that goes back to the days when I first learned to read. But I also hoovered up some absolute mint mini-series published by Vertigo around the turn of the millennium, mainly for the Glen Fabry and Phil Winslade art.

And I also scored almost every issue of the DC fifth-week comics event that brought back the Justice Society in 1999, and that was quite a score, because I'm always trying to live in the fifth week.

DC used to have this small gap in their publishing schedules with the 'fifth week', and would fill it with some specific event full of one-shots by some very interesting creators. They only did it for a little while, and haven't really done it for years, probably because the entire distribution system doesn't work like that anymore, and almost certainly because many regular readers took it as an opportunity to save money on comics that week, instead of buying something that 'didn't count'.

Of course, the ones that aren't tied so much into contemporary continuity are the ones that age the best, and are far more readable a few decades later. The most successful fifth-weeks were the ones that had a looser connective tissue - the GirlFrenzy, New Year's Evil and Silver Age events were mainly a bunch of one-shot wonders, while those that strived to tell a bigger story like The Kingdom or the Tangent books often feel half-baked.

But no matter how well the stories hold up, they often come with gorgeous artwork - that Justice Society one alone has pages and pages of wonderful work by Russ Heath, Michael Lark, Eduardo Barreto, Chris Weston and many others, and that's always worth hunting out.

They'll never be worth any real money, and may be little more than snapshots of a specific moment in time, but they're always worth digging out of the dollar bin.

All my friends are here

I always found the easiest way to make new friends was to find my fellow dorks. Even in the tiny town of a few thousand people where I was growing up, they were there. And while it sometimes took a little while to find them, I could always track some down. The geeks were my tribe, and my people. 

We might not all have the same passions, but it was the enthusiasm that always hooked me in. People who could get loud and excited about the weirdest shit were always the people I wanted to hang around with. I could feed off their positivity, and I still do. This shared happiness makes us all feel alive. 

Not all my mates share the same kind of drive for the nerdiest things in life. There have been some who actively hate the things I love - more than a few of my dearest friends think Dr Who is the stupidest TV programme in the world and tell me this on a regular basis, and I will always tell them they're wrong

As long as I can agree on the biggest things in life - some friends took a sharp turn down Bigot Ave, and it was painful to cut them out of my life, but it had to be done - there will always be a loving connection.

I went to a concert the other week with one of my oldest mates in the world, who I have known since 1984, and he's still as wild and honest and keen as ever, and it was the first time we'd gone out to something in many, many years, but we could have been 17 again. (Although he did not fail to remind me of the Radiohead gig he and my other pals saw in 1993 that I missed out on - still one of the great regrets of my life).

My oldest and deepest friendship started with a shared bond over the Judge Child Quest reprints that Eagle put out, and has been built on a shared love of 2000ad, X-Men, cricket and Doctor Who, but he's still the most loyal and kind person I know, and that counts far more than our shared opinions on Brian Bolland.

There were still times, when I felt like the only dork in the village, and the only one listening to Iron Maiden and reading Namor The Sub-Mariner comics. Those times felt like they would last forever, but they were extremely short-term in the end, because I always find my people. 

We're everywhere, and can bond over the dorkiest shit, and can always find each other.  

The Matrix Comics: Nothing more than a friggin' ghost in the machine

- The Matrix Comics

Art and story by the Wachowskis, Bill Sienkiewicz, Ted McKeever, John Van Fleet, Dave Gibbons. Peter Bagge, David Lapham, Paul Chadwick, Ryder Windham and Kilian Plunkett.

When nobody loves you

No disrespect to the author, but while I know things are getting worse in this world because the grand simulation we live in is getting overcomplex, so reality has to take shortcuts to fit it all in, putting a book called 'The Unwanteds' in the 'FREE!' box outside the best bookshop in town really feels on the nose.

Leatherface: The third saw is my favourite saw

The last few Texas Chainsaw Massacre films have been trapped in recycling mode, hitting the same old beats as all the rest, but my biggest hot take on the series is that Leatherface: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III is the best of them all.

Everybody knew about the Texas Chainsaw Massacre when I was a kid. It was meant to be the worst of the worst, and everyone knew it. It was hard to find on video in our part of the world, so all we had to go on was that glorious name and concept, spoken in whispers and third-hand accounts. 

When my dad finally got a copy, I was about 12 or 13, and he refused to let me see it. His verdict was: 'It was all right, I suppose'.

The second movie turns everything up to 11, into something epic, and there is something awesomely apocalyptic about the last few moments of the film. But it was the third I saw first - after I got it from the new release shelf at my local video store in 1991  - and I thought it was magnificent. 

It's just a high quality splatter movie of its era. It had the slick sheen of that time, when even sordid little horror movies looked beautiful on film with the proper lighting, and it looked as slick as a Lethal Weapon. 

It was the same Chainsaw story - a group of slightly obnoxious young people take the wrong goddamn turn and end up in hell on earth - but it was also ruthlessly entertaining, with great performances all around.

It's most notable these days for a young Viggo Mortensen - he was obviously too good for this kind of thing, but still charming and nasty in equal measures. And it also gave the mighty Ken Foree a meaty role, after he was so good in the original Dawn of the Dead - he has a pleasing 'I can't believe I have to deal with this white boy shit' vibe going on, and I will never forget the way he spits out "You're toast, fuck!" at the end.

It's the one Chainsaw film I've seen the most. When I finally saw the original, it was messy and dark, and while I do appreciate the gritty grotesqueness of that first film, it's still the third that I'd always watch again, for all the thrills and chills.

Pixar never got into my heart

I've tried - I really have - and I truly respect the artistry of the movies and the way they have managed to connect with a mass audience on a very personal and emotional level, but I just never got into the Pixar films.

I was totally the wrong age for them, for starters. I was 19 when Toy Story came out, and I didn't want to see movies about toys that came to life, I wanted to see gangster films and gory horror and arthouse brilliance. 

And there was just something about the aesthetic of the whole thing that turned me off. The closest I ever came to seeing a Pixar at the movies was right back at the start, when A Bug's Life came out, and CG-animated films was still very much a new thing. But I chose to go to Antz instead, because it looked a tiny bit more edgy. 

There are no hard edges in Pixar films, and my favourite animation is always sharp and colourful. The characters were shaded and rounded and too smooth. Even the supersquare jaw of Mr Incredible has a roundness to it, set in jelly more than stone. And while there has been great colour work in recent Pixar films, those early years locked in a very pastel aesthetic.

This did become the default look for 99 percent of animation films and that's how you always tell the great films because they change a whole style - Saving Private Ryan isn't a great movie because of its clumsy script, but because every war movie after it is indebted to it - and everybody wants to look like Pixar these days, so fair play to them. 

For a while, I would watch Pixar films on long haul flights, because there was something about the proximity to a film in high altitude that made me feel a lot more emotional, but I got bored of that too.

But the kids are into them, and while it's not to any obsessive degree, they've watched all the adventures of Buzz and Woody, so I've seen them in bits and pieces, many times over. They seem okay.

Not today

Dunk and Egg all the way

Even with such strong source material from George R R Martin, it's been a sheer fucking delight to see how thrilling and entertaining the Dunk and Egg TV show has been. 

It has the kind of perfect casting that has been the secret strength of all the Game of Thrones shows, while fleshing out characters by seeing them sing and drink and fight and fuck - the Laughing Storm finally comes across as a real person, not just a convenient plot point.

And it's a show gets straight to the point, with a laser focus on a far smaller cast of characters than anything else in Westeros, and is all the richer for it. There are still depths, especially once they really get into the whole Blackfyre thing - there is a monstrous amount of history and battles and romances lurking behind the simple story of Ser Duncan and his squire Egg.

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms has already been renewed for a second season, but my hope is that they keep going past the end of the third novella that has been published so far. The large picture has been there in the various histories of Westeros for some time, enough for the television version to tell many of those stories that fill in the gaps with some certainty.

Prose is always better - I am a book man, first and foremost - but why not show what happens in Winterfell when they finally get up there; or the story of young Prince Duncan and Jenny of Oldstones; or the fight between the Laughing Storm in his rage and the Hedge Knight in his duty? Why not go and meet young Maester Aemon - arguably the greatest character in all the song of ice and fire - in his prime; or go all the way up to Dunk's final moments, saving Jon Snow's dad from the flames that consume some of the greatest of Targaryens. 

We will, of course, miss the interior thoughts and ideals inside Dunk's head that you get with Martin's marvelous novellas, but you can see it all on Peter Claffey's giant jaw, and I hope we see a lot more of it in the coming years.

The story behind the Image

I can remember where I was when big news events were happening, like the Challenger explosion, or the underarm bowling shenanigans, and I remember exactly where I was when I found out that Rob Liefeld was leaving Image Comics.

It was a few months after it actually happened, because there was no internet, and news about comic artists did not make the local papers or the six o'clock TV news. I only found out about it when I read the article in the latest Wizard magazine, a month or two after it happened. I saw the news while me and my mates were on a Christchurch mission, eating bread rolls and drinking chocolate milk beside the Avon River.

I know exactly where I was because I had been absolutely fascinated by all the stories behind Image Comics, far more than I was by the comics themselves.

I was certainly primed for Image - the Lee/Liefeld/Mcfarlane years at Marvel were all in my early teens, and I thought they were all magnificent - Jim Lee in particular made a huge impression. But I missed the boat completely when they all jumped ship and formed their own company - there was no comic shop near me, and the internet hadn't quite arrived, so all I knew about these comics were the articles in months-old magazines.

So the comics never meant much to me. I later bought the ones where they got someone like Alan Moore involved, but 95 percent of the Image output was actively off-putting by the time I saw them regularly on the shelves - they were some of the most rancid looking comics I'd ever seen.

I still think what happened at Image broke a lot of the arguments that the very smart people The Comics Journal had been making for years - that all creators needed was full control over their work and then they would produce heartbreaking art of staggering genius - and when that happened to the biggest artists of the day, they just added more guns and spikes and pouches.

So it's not like the comics meant anything to me, but the personalities behind them all were absolutely bonkers, and far more entertaining. The interviews I read with the Image founders might have been months old, but they were exciting and bold and brash.

When they ditched Marvel, it felt cataclysmic, in a way that was weirdly optimistic and earned. By then everybody knew how artists had been screwed over for decades, with the creators of Superman treated appallingly by a company that made billions out of their ideas. To see the power shift so dramatically was something to behold, and while it only lasted a few years before the big two companies reasserted their traditional dominance, this was something new.

When the first hints of them got through to me, it sounded fucking great. The trash talk of youth translated to my favourite medium. The artist taking on the suits, and starting a whole new line of comics. There had certainly been other comics publishers outside DC and Marvel, but most of them had vanished by the time the Image juggernaut got moving - Dark Horse hung in there with some excellent licensed comics - and none of them had the raw power that Image did.

All the optimism was soon tempered by generally dire quality of the comics, and the late books and non-arrivals, and the new talent they brought in to rush through the books who produced art that were mostly dire imitations of the superstars, artwork that satisfied nobody.

I bought a small handful of Image comics in the first few years, and they were pretty dull and ugly, but I never tired of that trash talk, and then some of them were sniping at each other, and then Liefeld was out, as I discovered on a Saturday afternoon by the river. The drama died down, and by the time Lee cut ties to go and do his thing at DC, most of the excitement around Image was gone.  

To everybody's credit, the company persevered and evolved over the years, and while it still makes some bone-headed moves, it has also produced a mountain of great comics in the past 30 years - less big cyborgs with guns, more heart-wrenching sagas with a very specific twist - and I've enjoyed more Image comics in the past decade than ever before.

Some of the comics are so good, I've even enjoyed them more than the stories behind the scenes, like the cheapness over a plane ticket that cost Marvel their superstar Jim Lee. But whenever a retrospective on that era is published, or one of those beautiful loudmouths gets on a podcast, I'm there to hear all the old stories of a seismic moment in the industry, when anything was possible. That potential might have failed to reach expectations, but it still gave us a hell of a lot of drama. 

Werewolf Jones & Sons Deluxe Summer Fun Annual: Hick!

- Werewolf Jones & Sons Deluxe Summer Fun Annual #1 

by Simon Hanselmann and Josh Pettinger