created by b. schatz

Chronicles of a comic book slacker.

Prelude – The Prodigal Intern Arrives

Conner Malcolm enters the door to the main comiXtreme office area to find the entire place in a state of shared amusement. They're all watching Brandon Schatz stumble over words and struggle to make up random categories for (in Conner's brief opinion) the worst awards show production he has ever had the displeasure of witnessing.

"And now, uh... the award for the unm... best use of cannibalistic, um... monkeys in a, uh... comedy comic, um... comic book."

The surrounding people chuckle a little, attempting to hide their glee at Brandon's expense in a variety of ways. Some hide their faces in their hands. Others pretend to be working. Darren Clarke and his silent lackey named Sudsie, in their infinite wisdom, stick pens in the automatic pencil sharpeners in a very disruptive attempt to mask Darren's overzealous fits of giggles.

"Idiots," Conner sighs with contempt, shaking his head.

He decides right then and there that he wants as little to do with the people who work at the offices as possible and seeks refuge in one of the nearby rooms.

"What the—" he yelps, shocked at the odd landscape that greets him.

In the middle of the room, there's a lumpy beer and food stained mattress, which is about "so-many" feet away from a jagged hole that has been cut into the floor. At either end of the office, there is a desk and down the center of the room, a strip of carpet is removed, creating a clear division in the two sides of the room.

"I wonder which losers share this room?" he muses to himself, walking to the nearest desk.

The monitor is on and he can clearly see an open word document with Brandon's quaint little pen name (b. schatz) slapped near the top of the page.

"Should've known," he rolls his eyes, sitting down in the desk chair, "So... let's see what we got here..."

Act One - The Secret Files of toasted.zine

Tentative Column Content – "Talking 'Bout My Generation" (NOTE -- possibly change title to something more comic related...)

by b. schatz

You, are one freaky kind of creature. Don't try to deny it, because I know you are. You sit at home and read comic books. You take the time to make sure "the entire world" has access to your opinions on how DC "rox, yo" and Marvel "sux yo mamma'", and how so-an-so's comic should be read by absolutely everyone in existence, and how Chuck Austen was invented specifically to drop the floor on comic book quality so other books look absolutely brilliant by comparison, and so on and so forth by posting on various forums under the assumed name of monkeyhater or some other clever alias. You actually read this column which, don't get me wrong, I love you non-sexually for doing it, is just an odd thing to do.

You, are a hardcore comic book geek. Your freak flag flies high, and yes, you aren't normal.

And sure. I understand you probably knew that already and hopefully you're quite proud of your eccentricities because being "normal" these days means watching crap like The Simple Life 3: Jailbait Theatre and talking about it at the water cooler the next day, and really... who wants to subject themselves to that? I know I sure don't. Which is why I too, am proud to be a freak.

[NOTE: CONSIDER REVISING TRANSITION?! -->] However, I myself didn't realize how peculiar my exposure to comics had really made me until recently, when a boatload of BIG SUMMER SHOCKERS! hit and made me really think about a few aspects of my comic book reading life.

The first hit came with DC's big summer blockbuster Identity Crisis, in which long time DCU character Sue Dibny, wife of Elongated Man not only got all sorts of dead, but all kinds of violated [NOTE – Unprofessional?].

My first thought both of those matters were... well, they were "who is Sue Dibny, and why is she so important?" but that was only because I was, and am still very out of the loop when it comes to the smaller DC characters. I quickly learned much about Sue and how she was very much the heart and soul of not only her husband Ralph, but of the entire JLA at one point.

Now, I wasn't so stupid to realize that this, was no small feat. Being the emotional core of the super team of that given universe? That's big. That's something. That must of taken an astounding amount of courage and, even though the word doesn't really fit here given the context, a whole lot of cojones, constistantly out in the open, always under the threat of a super villain attack.

And in the end... the only thing all of her courage, caring and fortitude amounted to was one of the most disturbing moments in comic book history, and an all too soon death that she did not deserve.

But again... seeing how it was DC, and I didn't have much emotion vested in the adventures of these characters, I quickly found myself moving on from those moments and focusing on other things.

And then came Gwen.

Oh, Gwen, Gwen, Gwen... [NOTE – omit?]

For as long as I can remember in my comic book reading life, I have been hooked on Spider-Man. Loved his adventures, loved his history, loved his villains, even though I was introduced to him as Ben Reilly, who ended up dying nine months after he started the job.

I was an incurable Spider-Phile, craving visits to my cousin's house because they were allowed to get comic books, and once in a while, when they were feeling slightly generous, they let me read them.[NOTE – Reorganize for more continuity flow]

I quickly became enamored with Mary Jane, Pete's Prego wife and naturally thought that since she was pregnant and such, she was the only woman that Peter Parker had ever loved, because that's what my pre-tween year old mind told me: if you loved a girl enough to make her pregnant, she must've been the only one you loved.

But like I said before... then came Gwen.

Reading back in my cousin's collection, I discovered her. An innocent little girl with blond hair, who Peter loved to death [NOTE – fragment...]. And really... they were perfect for each other. Both had that certain wholesome quality, and that undying lust for happiness and for making each other happy. I immediately began to wonder why they didn't end up together, because... they were what love was supposed to be. I knew it even back then.

Then I found out. The Green Goblin... Norman Osborne, tossing her off a bridge. Spider-Man... no, Peter Parker, trying to save her, and in the end, snapping her neck.

She died. It was horrible, and the week I read that story from Amazing Spider-Man #121 was one of the worst in my life. I was angry that someone would do that on purpose. Just kill Gwen Stacy and break up a perfect couple. Screw Mary Jane, that little red haired tart. She didn't deserve Peter. Gwen did.

However, as I grew, I began to become happy with a specific rationalization: now that she was dead, she was untouchable. She would forever be this girl, the girl that could very well be a girl anyone could have... the one that got away. The one that had so much potential, that even though you're happy now, whenever you think of her, your heart breaks a little.

And then comes Amazing #512. For those of you who don't know by now... really, you should stop trying to read this column, because you are probably 100% blind, 100% deaf, or at least 50% out-of-your-mind stupid, because this news is everywhere. It's on the comic forums all over the net, and its being talked about in all comic book shops around the world. (And for those in the 50% stupid category... this is a somewhat clever way of saying BEWARE! SPOILER AHEAD!!! So consider this your warning...)

Gwen Stacy bumped uglies with Norman Osborne.

That's right. That crystalline, perfect character was shattered to pieces by a writer with delusions of inserting another chapter into Spider-Man's history.

It made me sick. And it brings me back to my discovery. The one I alluded to at the beginning of this little article.

I, am a 1970s kind of comic book reader.

I like the qualities they had back then. They, being characters, and comics in general. Stories were, for the most part, fun. Characters, although certainly with their own moral problems, were certainly not overtly sexual, having dirty rendezvous with their lover's best friend's father. And going back to Sue Dibny, characters weren't openly raped. People weren't that vicious. Things were just that much simpler. And that was good.

I don't want people being raped in my comic books. I don't want classic characters having their morals compromised just for the sake of someone's twisted idea of a good mind screw. I want my 1970s kind of comics, and I don't like living in this 2000 era, even though technically, this is the era I'm growing up in.

Comics have made me weird.

Thank God for that. [NOTE: Better ending??]

"Well," Conner says to himself, "That was crap. Let's revise this mother."

Act Two – The Blake Strikes Again

"How long are you going to do this to him for, hon?" Ronée asks Blake as he lounges in a cushy looking directors chair, still dressed in his fluffy white bathrobe, continually blowing bubbles out of his bubble pipe.

"What ever do you mean, Ronée, dear?" he states very Britishly.

"I'm an editor too, Blake. I have access to the financial statements, and you haven't paid for any airtime on any channel ever, let alone recently," she tells him, "What's this all about?"

He grins mischievously, "Proof positive that I can be ruthless in my own ways, dear. You see, this bloke hasn't met a deadline in weeks, and the entire purpose of him asking to scale back to a bi-weekly schedule was so this sort of thing never happened again. This little torture is to remind him never to do so again."

Ronée smiles, "I'm glad I'm rubbing off on you, hon."

"Quite," Blake blows more bubbles into the air.

"Am I done yet?" Brandon asks, eyes filled with hope.

"No, we still have five minutes of footage to fill," Blake tells him gleefully, "Improvise, man, improvise!"

Brandon sighs.

"I love this job," Blake muses.

Act Three – That Fateful Posting Day

"So," Darren grins, his amusement very apparent, "Blake put you through all that just to teach you a lesson?"

"Don't remind me," Brandon grumbles, from his seat at his desk, "As it is, I've lost too much time to get today's column done in time and I really don't want to do anything like that again, so I'm going to need you and Sudsie to leave."

Sudsie looks over at Darren and punches him in the arm.

"What?"

Sudsie hits Darren again. Darren gets the message.

"Oh, hell no, you tell him," Darren says, "Because I'm not saying anything about it."

"Saying anything about what?" Brandon asks.

"See? He already suspects, you might as well just come clean," Darren tells Sudsie.

Sudsie smacks him again.

"Alright, alright, I'll tell him, I'll tell him," Darren says.

"Tell me what."

"Okay, first, I think I need you to click on the comiXtreme main page and look at the columns section."

Brandon looks puzzled, but he does so," What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"Scroll down a bit."

He scrolls down to see a columns listing there. For his column.

"What the—"

He clicks the link.

And his jaw drops.

"Get Over Yourself"

by Conner Malcolm

Editor's Note: Content has been edited for the enjoyment of all ages.

You, are a bunch of [spooned]-up babies. Don't even try to deny it, because I know you are all. I can see you all right now sitting at home in your mom's basement, reading comic books. You take the time to make sure people who don't really care what you think have the dispoleasure of reading the [crap] you call your opinions on stupid characters no one cares about. You actually read this column which, don't get me wrong, makes you one crazy mo-fo.

You, are a comic book geek, and by God, you are one strange [person without a daddy].

And sure. I understand you probably knew that already and you're probably very proud of your creepiness, which is why I'm ashamed to admit that I am kind of like you. I read comic books. I sometimes even enjoy them. Its the people who read them that I hate.

See, it's you people who sit around and [complain] and moan about... oh, Sue Dibny is dead, and not only that, she was raped. And Gwen Stacy, oh, poor Gwen Stacy, they've turned her into a [promiscuous young lady].

Get over it. This isn't the freaking 1970s anymore. Comic continuity is at best, only 10 years in length, even though it's technically been three or four times that long in actually history, and these characters need to catch the hell up with the times. Yes, the more helpless females are going to find themselves in situations and positions (wink) that they would rather not be in, and no, there are no more Gwen Stacy's. There are only real people, real women who have minds of their own, and who aren't all perfect little angels.

These characters that you think are so sacred are just being bumped up to the here and now. Get over it. At the end of the day, they're nothing more than fictional characters anyway. They don't really exist. So cut your losses, and move on. And more so... get over yourself.

-Conner.

Brandon blinks at the screen.

"What. Was that?" he asks.

"Yeah..." Darren states awkwardly, "That's what Blake kind've wondered when it was sent to him through the network, and since I was, um... kind've around him office, hiding halibuts in various corners of his room, so that it'd get all stinky—"

"Wait, why would you be hiding halibuts in Blake's office so that it'd get all stinky?" Brandon asks.

"Did you call off the prank war between Blake and myself? Because I'm sure I didn't," Darren explains.

Brandon shakes his head and sarcastically states, "Right, stupid question. Continue."

"So me and Sudsie are hiding fish in his room, when Blake comes in with the sheet of paper, and he's cursing all English like, you know. Saying things like 'bloody 'ell' and 'a dingo ate my baby' and stuff—"

"A dingo ate my baby isn't a swear. And it isn't British," Brandon says.

"So my memory isn't the greatest. Sue me," Darren replies, "So anyway, he's reading this thing, the column Conner sent, and he asks what's this all about. And so I tell him, Craig hired Conner on as an intern before his official News Room Editor status went away—"

"Whoa, why would Craig hire Conner. Everyone hates Conner," Brandon asks.

Darren shrugs nervously and mutters, "Um... don't know. You'd have to ask him when I'm not around."

Brandon raises an eyebrow.

"So anyway, Blake says... why is he writing Brandon's column? And I say I asked him to help you out, because I was... um... busy and you were recording the little thing, which, by the way, was another horrible idea."

"Just finish your story."

"And Blake says really, and blows on his little bubble pipe, and then he looks like he's pondering something for a moment and then he kind of goes ah-HA, and smiles a bit, and I'm all WTF, mates. And he tells us to stay put, that he has an idea or something.

"So I stay put and he comes back later and tells us to sit down, and we do," Darren explains, "Then, he goes on to say that... since it has been just us two as your interns, your work production hasn't been all that great, so he pulled some strings and switched some job posts."

Brandon's mouth drops, "Oh, no... no, don't tell me he said what I think you're going to say he said..."

Darren blinks, "I'm going to pretend like I understood that and tell you that he moved Conner from his newsroom internship to a column department internship, and that both of us were being moved to the newsroom. He was all... even though I don't agree with what Conner writes, and even though it might make a few people angry, at least he can contribute and maybe it'll spark some thread activity on Brandon's column. Get more people viewing. All we'll really need to do is stop any really negative flame wars before they start, but it can be worked out."

Brandon is positively fuming," Oh my God... this is... oh God, this is horrible!"

And then his mind clicks and he says... "Wait. Wait a sec. If the both of you are off internship for me... and I only get Conner in return... that means I still have one more intern, right?"

Darren smiles a little weakly, "Well, yeah but..."

"But nothing... who is it?" Brandon demands, "I want to know."

Postlude – Welcome Back.

Meagan Clarke and Scott Williams stand outside of the comiXtreme HQ. Scott is trying to coax her back inside.

"Don't worry, Meagan," he tells her, "I promise, nothing like what happened before is going to happen again. Nothing bad is going to happen."

"You promise?" she asks him.

"I promise," he says, leading her in, "I mean... it's not like they're going to stick you back with Brandon in his twisted little room of chaos. You'll probably be coming back with me now that I'm more or less strictly reviews. Right?"

She smiles at him.

"Right."

end.

TOASTED.ZINE VOLUME 03 – ISSUE 03

AUTHORS: brandon schatz and Conner Malcolm

CONTRIBUTING EDITOR: Craig Reade

EDITOR: Blake Petit

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: Doug Norris

©2004 All rights reserved. Published bi-weekly on comiXtreme, later to be achieved at stillontheshelf. All opinions stated in the preceding are of the author, and none of the editors or affiliates.