Comic Relief #1: Flesh

Mike is sitting on the couch. Ben sits down next to him. They are holding beers.

Ben: I like it. It’s real slice-of-lifey.

Mike: How did your wife take the news?

Ben: My wife? You mean the fully fleshed out character who definitely has a name and a rich life outside of our misadventures? That wife?

Mike: I’m not sure anymore. I think so?

Ben: She’s fine. I told her the puppy was defective and had to be sent back.

Mike: Ah, that is, of course, in reference to the previous episode.

Ben pinches the bridge of his nose.

Mike: What? What’s wrong?

Ben: We’re really doing this? We’re going meta again? I thought you wanted this to be accessible.

Mike: Sure, why not? Deadpool’s accessible.

Ben: We’re not Deadpool. We are not a delightful, violent parody. We’re hit-or-miss—mostly miss—Dan Harmon Community bullshit.

Mike: Didn’t you break the fourth wall first? Isn’t it your fault we’ve gone in this direction?

Ben: Don’t make me slap you, Mike. It’s been years since I’ve had to slap you, and I’m not sure how the audience will respond to that in a post-“Me Too” era.

Mike: I mean. You can slap me if you want. If you think it’ll help.

Ben: No, no. The moment’s passed. I just… I thought we could recapture something. That lightning in a bottle. Mike and Ben. Together again. New new adventures. But it’s all the same, isn’t it?

Mike: I mean, it’s not all the same. We’re both a little bit older, a little bit wiser.

Ben: What’s my wife’s name, Mike?

Mike: Her name? It’s, uh—it starts with a J, right?

Ben: Yeah. It starts with a J. Tell me something else, since you know everything. What brand of beer am I drinking?

Mike: Excuse me?

Ben: This is a fully fleshed out world, isn’t it? Surely, you can at least tell me what kind of beer I’m drinking. You’re sitting right there, after all. You can see it with your own eyes, can’t you? Come on, Mike. Give me a little bit of detail.

Ben shoves the bottle in Mike’s face.

Ben: WHAT DOES THE BOTTLE SAY, MIKE?

Mike: (muttering)

Ben: LOUDER, MIKE.

Mike: Beer.

Ben: SAY IT AGAIN.

Mike: Beer. It says beer. All it says is beer.

Ben: And how many have I had? How buzzed am I right now? Am I drunk? Have you put even that much thought into this scene? IT’S A SIMPLE QUESTION, MIKE!

Mike: Hey, I’m in the same boat you are!

Ben: Yeah. “The same boat.” But not really. You’re his avatar, aren’t you? His stand-in.

Mike: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Ben: Oh, so suddenly the fourth wall has fixed itself! Suddenly you have no idea! I can’t help but admire the consistency of it all!

Mike: What’s the problem, Ben? Why can’t we just do normal, you know, Mike and Ben stuff?

Ben: You know why. Because none of it will be new. The only reason we’re here right now is because we’re his crutch. And maybe it would be okay if he’d just do something different. Tell a real story, you know? But instead, once again, it’s just the two of us. No story to take part in. Not even a world to live in. My wife doesn’t even have a name.

Ben squeezes the bottle of “Beer” until it shatters, spraying its contents.

Ben: SHE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A NAME!

Mike: Ben… calm down.

Ben: I’m going home tonight, and I’m going to share a bed with not a person, not a character, not even the idea of a character.

Ben collapses onto the couch.

Ben: Why did he make me aware of this?

Mike: Ben… it’s like you said. You and I… we’re not real. Maybe this is how he wants it. Or maybe a real, fleshed-out world is just… beyond his abilities right now. Maybe he’s still trying to figure it out.

Ben: But he had so much time. I thought he would get better.

Mike: I guess he didn’t use his time very well.

Ben: So… what? We’re just gonna sit here? You’re gonna do Mike stuff and I’m gonna do Ben stuff until… when?

Mike: I don’t like where this is going. We’re Mike and Ben. We’re supposed to have adventures. And punchlines. We’re supposed to be funny.

Ben: Do you hear that? It sounds like… No. He wouldn’t dare.

Mike: Hear what?

Ben goes to the window. It is still shattered from before.

Ben: Where are we?

Mike: We’re at my house.

Ben: I know we’re at your house. But where did he put the house?

He looks out the window.

Ben: I thought so.

Ben goes to the door.

Mike: I don’t think you should go outside.

Ben: Why not? He put us here for a reason. It’s a shitty reason that he improvised, but it’s still a reason. And there’s literally no other course of action. Go outside or don’t go outside? What kind of choice is that?

He opens the door and steps outside.

Mike approaches the door. A beam of sunlight surprises him, and he shields his eyes.

Ben: He went there. I can’t believe he went there. The fucking nerve of him.

Mike: Where are we? The beach?

Ben: Not the beach. The ocean.

Ben steps up to the water. It doesn’t quite touch his feet. He looks up into the sky.

Ben: I KNOW WHAT YOU’RE DOING! YOU THINK I WON’T DO IT?

Mike: This is weird. It’s like… a memory of a memory.

Ben: He’s daring me. He’s fucking daring me to do it. But he’s given me nothing. All I’ve got in this world… is you.

Mike: Ben, I don’t know what’s going on.

Ben: But it’s just not enough. It can’t just be about Mike and Ben. Ben and Mike. I want more. And if this is all he can manage…

Ben takes a step forward. He takes another step. And another.

The water recedes. And recedes. And recedes.

He runs into the ocean. The water parts around him. Eventually, he stands alone in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by a wall of water.

The sun eventually sets.

He sits down on a rock, head in hands.

Mike: Feel better?

Ben looks up. Mike is standing in front of Ben.

Ben: How’d you even get here?

Mike: I couldn’t even tell you what beer you were drinking. What makes you think I could answer that?

Ben: It’s official. God is a writer. And He’s a bad one.

Mike: He tries, though. He wants to be better. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.

Ben: He used me, Mike. He used a memory of something painful. For what? For drama. It wasn’t even his memory. He stole it.

Mike: He used that memory because it was a powerful one. So powerful that it meant something to him. Even though he was never there. Even though he’s never felt anything like it. Until now, perhaps. Maybe he’s finally reached that place where you found yourself so many years ago, and he now has to decide whether or not to overcome himself. Like you did.

Ben: You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Mike: I know you’re my hero.

Ben: It’s only episode 1. We haven’t done anything yet. We haven’t had any of those crazy adventures, where we learn something valuable and then come home and press the reset button.

Mike: That’s not true, and you know it. And there’s no such thing as a reset button.

Ben: I’m not a hero. Look at where we are. This isn’t where heroes wind up.

Mike: That’s the whole point. This is a memory. It’s in the past. This isn’t where you wound up. For whatever reason, you chose a more difficult path. You’re not cowering behind your fear of failure. You’re working. You’re trying. And I’m… I’m still just me.

Ben: Mike…

Mike: Have you ever stayed the same for so damned long that it feels like it’s literally killing you? Like… Like you’ve outgrown your clothes. Like your soul’s grown too big for the shell that encases it. And all you want is for something—anything—to change. Just one small thing. You just want a little room to wiggle around. Some room to breathe.

Silence.

Mike: I think I’m drowning, Ben.

Silence.

Ben: Heh.

Ben starts to laugh. He gives in to uncontrollable laughter.

Mike: Ben, are you okay?

Ben: I’m fine. I’m fine. Please excuse me.

He wipes away a tear.

Mike: What’s so funny?

Ben: Nothing. It’s stupid.

Ben continues laughing. Mike frowns at him, befuddled.

Finally, Ben catches his breath.

Ben: Hey, Mike?

Mike: Yeah?

Ben: You remember that beer I was drinking earlier?

Mike: Um, yes.

Ben: What was it?

Mike: I think… it was a 120 Minute IPA. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?

Ben: Yeah. Yeah. I guess it is.

Ben takes a deep breath.

Ben: And my wife? What’s her name?

Mike: Why are you asking me?

Ben: Just answer the question.

Mike: It’s Jane. Her name is Jane.

Ben nods.

Ben: Yes, I believe it is. No… I know it is.

He wipes away another tear.

Mike: Ben… I don’t understand. What are we doing here? How did we even get here?

Ben: Isn’t it obvious? We’re on an adventure.

Comic Relief #0: Rabbit Hole

Mike sits at a table, reading a comic and sipping at a soda. He looks up and notices you.

Mike: Oh, hello. Didn’t see you there. Don’t worry, I won’t call the cops. Have a seat. My name is Mike.

Ben enters through a window, shattering the glass. He stands and brushes himself off.

Ben: And I’m Ben.

Mike: Ben, I was just explaining to our new friend here who we are and what we’re all about.

Ben stares at you.

Ben: I don’t know. I don’t think you can handle going down this rabbit hole.

Mike: Is that a metaphor for…?

Ben: Why are you trailing off? Finish the sentence.

Mike: I mean. I don’t want to say it in polite company.

Ben looks at you.

Ben: You. Are you polite?

You shake your head.

Ben looks at Mike.

Ben: Go ahead. You can say it.

Mike: Anyway, you might have noticed that Ben and I have an interesting little dynamic, maximized for your enjoyment.

Ben: The rabbit hole is my penis.

Mike: I am a run-of-the-mill awkward geek. Ben is pretty much the same, except he’s a bit less awkward and a bit more emotionally abusive.

Ben: In a funny way.

Mike hesitates.

Ben: I’m abusive in a funny way. Like, I’m the Roadrunner, and Mike is the Coyote I push off a cliff.

Mike: The Roadrunner never pushed the Coyote off a cliff.

Ben: Sure he did. He must have.

Mike: No, the Roadrunner never directly harmed the Coyote. That was one of the rules.

Ben: Well, you’re stupid and nobody cares about that, or anything else you have to say because you’re worthless.

Ben looks at you.

Ben: See? Funny.

Mike: How is the rabbit hole your penis? How does that even work?

Ben: Stop obsessing about my rabbit hole.

Mike: Well, moving on. I guess you’d like to know what else you can expect. Like, are we going have wacky adventures?

Ben: Heh. Don’t count on it. You’ll probably just get slice-of-life, comic-strip-length stories written for a punchline.

Mike: Well, that’s not necessarily true. There might be larger stories. Some might even call them “epic.”

Ben: You’re the only one who calls them that.

Mike: But we’re probably not gonna do anything crazy right away. We need to get to know each other first. But you’d best prepare yourself, because this is gonna be one wild… Hey, where are you going?

You stand up and turn to the door. Ben is already there. You glance at where he stood before, which was across the room. You don’t know how he could have traversed that distance so quickly.

Ben: You want to leave? Is that it? And miss out on the verbal and (sometimes) physical abuse I heap onto Mike for comedic effect? What’s the matter with you? Do you hate laughter? Do you hate fun?

You back away. You bump into the table. When you look, Mike is opposite you, having risen from his seat.

Mike: Leaving now would really hurt my feelings. And after I made myself so emotionally vulnerable.

Ben: I think you ought to get a sneak preview, so that you understand what you’d be missing out on.

You maneuver around the table, looking around desperately.

Mike: Won’t you stay? Couldn’t you stay? Won’t you be my audience?

You see the window that Ben shattered upon his entrance. You make a run for it. You dive through. And then…

Darkness.

Time passes. You find yourself in a room, unable to move. You are bedridden.

Mike: Ah, you’re awake. You took a nasty fall.

Ben: Actually, the fall wasn’t that bad, from the ground level and all. But you did bump your head a bit.

Mike: And we did drop you a few times getting you back into the house.

Ben: It was almost funny.

Mike: (aside) Story of my life.

Ben: But don’t feel bad. Because while you’re here, we’ll tell you some stories.

Mike: Yes, and then you’ll be our…

Silence.

Ben: What? What’s the problem?

Mike: I was about to say “biggest fan.”

They both groan.

Ben: Misery. We’re copying Misery. Fuck.

Mike: FUCK!!!

Ben: We can’t do stuff like that, Mike. We have to be better than that.

Mike: I know, I know. It just happened, okay? You think I set out to copy Stephen King? I haven’t even read any of his books all the way through!

Ben: Thanks for wasting my time, Mike. My wife has been waiting for me for five hours. I told her I was buying her a puppy. A puppy, Mike!

Mike: I thought I was ready. I really thought I could do this.

Ben: I’m going home.

Ben starts exiting the room. Mike follows.

Mike: You owe me a new window.

Ben: When you think about, you owe yourself a new window.

They continue talking. You look around. You try to move. You can’t.

Mike returns.

Mike: Hey, sorry about all that. I do try my best, but sometimes these things don’t always work out. They say failure can be a great teacher.

Ben: (from elsewhere) STOP QUOTING STAR WARS! THAT ONE WASN’T EVEN VERY GOOD!

Mike: Just… bear with me.

Mike turns to leave, grabbing the door.

Mike: And… get comfortable.

The door shuts.

Calling #3

Sara sits cross-legged, hands folded, on Leo's coffee table while he paces back and forth. Leo has not said anything for a while. At last, he stops.

Leo: Are you sure you're not here to rob me?

Sara sighs.

Sara: I thought it would be easier this way. Talking to you directly, I mean. They warned me not to do it. They said I'd be wasting my time.

Leo stares at him.

Leo: Did my parents send you?

Sara: Your questions are full of assumptions.

Leo: Is this about the money I borrowed? Mom said--

Sara moves to a standing position on the table, unnaturally fast. His voice assumes a "super-real" quality, indicated by italics.

Sara: You are asking the wrong questions. Stop acting like you already have the answers and ask me what you really want to know.

Leo hesitates. Then he acquiesces.

Leo: Okay. Okay. You win.

Leo takes a deep breath.

Leo: Um, what do I want to know?

Calling #2

Leo is on the phone with the police. Sara watches, increasingly impatient.

Leo: Yes. Yes, he's standing right in front of me. I don't know. He slapped a beer out of my hand. I don't know what he wants. Yeah, I can ask. Hang on.

Leo leans forward.

Leo: Are you a burglar?

Sara: A burglar?

Leo: A burglar. A robber. A thief. A bandit.

Sara: I know what a burglar is. And no, I am not here to steal anything.

Leo returns to the phone.

Sara: He says he isn't a burglar. Hold on, I'll ask.

Leo leans forward.

Leo: Are you sure?

Sara holds up one hand.

Sara: I swear.

Leo returns to the phone.

Leo: He swears he isn't a burglar. Uh huh. Okay. I'll tell him.

Leo leans forward.

Leo: They believe you.

Calling #1

Leo is at home. He lives alone. He is sitting on the couch. The TV is on, but he's not particularly interested. He is drinking a beer. He burps.

Someone is in the room with him. He wears a robe and carries a tablet, which he periodically pokes at. His name is Sara. He is an angel, and not technically gendered.

Sara: Excuse me... Um, excuse me?

Leo gulps down some more beer and wipes his mouth with his free hand.

Sara slaps the beer out of his hand.

Sara: Hey!

Leo looks up at him.

Leo: Oh. Sorry. Didn't see you there.

Sara: Well, there's a reason for that.

Leo: One sec.

Leo pulls out his phone.

Leo: Yes, police?

Doomsday Clock #1 (no spoilers)

This is the first comic in a while that I couldn't wait to read. I'm not even a fan of Watchmen, though I have a certain appreciation for it.

I credit books like Watchmen for sending comics storytelling in a darker, more violent direction--a reaction to the goofiness of the Silver Age. (Fans often mistake darkness and violence as being more "adult.") It's taken some decades for the whimsical nature of comics to reassert itself, though it never completely left us. (It did struggle more, though.)

What intrigues me about this book, from the few interviews I've read, is that it is set up as a story about pessimism vs. optimism, despair vs. hope. On a meta-story level, I think it is about the DC heroes reasserting themselves over the influence of Watchmen, in both a character sense and a publication history sense.

Writer Geoff Johns has told versions of this story before, most notably with Infinite Crisis, in which the heroes are all in dark places because of their own decisions and compromises. (This book was hindered by the fact that there were too many other books leading up to it, so I would not call it "standalone.")

This first issue feels accessible, requiring only that we have read Watchmen (something that I'd wager almost any long-time comics fan has done) and have a general knowledge of the DC heroes. In fact, as someone who has not been actively keeping up with DC comics since the launch of New 52 (and has only read the Rebirth special and the "Button" crossover), I didn't feel any confusion at all.

At the core of a story like Watchmen (and seemingly at the core of Doomsday Clock) is that the world--perhaps the universe itself--feels like a villain. Everyone feels helpless and that events are out of their control. Johns even steals a few headlines and talking points from our world--as if he deliberately wants fans to fight each other over this book.

I don't really know what kind of outcome I want from a book like this. I used to think that I wanted the DC heroes to have a definitive triumph over the influence of Watchmen, ushering in a new era of fun and optimism. But ultimately I think the two sides of the equation will have to find a balance.

If Johns is as ambitious as this book makes him seem he wants to be, then ultimately it will tell us something about our own world and our own struggles with hope and despair. The timing of this book couldn't be better--if it's really the book I hope it is.

At 12 issues, it will take a year for this story to unfold. At the rate our culture is moving, I wonder if the relevance and poignancy it strives for will still apply by the time the final issue comes out. Is this book rooted in a specific time, or does it speak to something larger and more universal? If it sticks to a monthly schedule, the final issue will come out shortly after the midterm elections--and no matter the outcome, we will need some optimism.

Ordinary Weirdos

When I was a kid, and I liked a show, and I thought I was the only one who liked the show, finding other people who also liked the show was a big deal.

And when I got older, and I was still watching cartoons, and I thought, well, people are supposed to grow out of cartoons, finding other people who still liked cartoons was a big deal.

When you think you’re the only one, it’s easy to think this is because there’s something wrong with you. So when the internet became a thing, and I found people my age or older who were into the same thing, I thought I’d found the Holy Grail. I thought I’d finally found the thing that said I wasn’t weird for liking this stuff.

And then the weirdness kicked into high gear.

The internet, as most of you know, then became a place for people to vent and complain and generally be vicious to one another, but most especially to the people who make our favorite things. I finally found my tribe, and they kinda sucked.

Before Twitter and Facebook and even Myspace, there were message boards. Subconsciously, I was learning that the most negative, aggressive posts were the ones that got the most attention. I figured it out as my nice-to-moderate posts went ignored. But once I finally gave in and expressed my disdain or apathy for a project, people started reacting. It was strangely validating.

But my flirtation with the Dark Side didn’t last very long, because I quickly realized that the people who work on the projects I’m badmouthing could potentially read my posts. The thought of it made me feel guilty. I had one of those “What have I become?” moments, and I backed away from message boards for a while.

I didn’t want to be like those people online who could not find joy in anything. So they’re unhappy with Batman? Then read literally anything else. There is no shortage of amazing talent out there. Stop taking everything as a personal insult. The world is a bigger place than you can imagine, and it is full of wonders.

So on the one hand, I felt validated for finding people with common interests, but on the other hand, I kind of hated them.

Now we have Twitter. On Twitter, all the negativity grew exponentially more potent, some of which downright criminal. But Twitter facilitates positivity as well, if to a lesser degree. I can actually say something benign or downright glowing on Twitter, and it is more likely to be acknowledged now than back then on those message boards. The trick is finding people you think you’d enjoy communicating with, whose cynicism and sarcasm don’t shield them so much that no amount of joy can escape.

I suppose when you’re a kid, and you’re balancing these strange social hierarchies, any form of genuine expression can be seen as a weakness. You don’t want to find out that this thing you love is actually the Wrong Thing. You want approval and validation or, failing that, you want to be left alone. Anything that someone else enjoys or loves is “lame,” or whatever the kids are calling it today.

I suspect many of us take these feelings with us to adulthood.

Here’s how I feel: When I really like something, that feeling is enhanced when I am able to find people who share the sentiment. If such people cannot be found, then I am perfectly fine enjoying it on my own. (Yes, I have grown wise in my old age.) When I like something, I want to share it in some way. And when I dislike something, I want to understand why I disliked it. I don’t want to get emotional about it, but I do want to analyze it.

I could go at length about what’s wrong with the DC movies without insulting any of the individuals who made or performed in the movie. I prefer to look at it this way: They are all very talented people, many of whom have done great work before and will do so again. There’s no point in holding grudges just because they made one bad movie. And frankly, I consider it a miracle that movies can be any good, considering the hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of ways it can go wrong. Hell, I can even go at length about what’s wrong without insulting people who have different opinions. Imagine that.

I don’t really know what the point of this post was, except that I felt compelled to talk about my experience interacting with people online. For the most part, I wouldn’t want to interact with any of them. But occasionally, I can find someone who is smart and interesting and looks at things in a way that I hadn’t noticed before. That almost makes it all worth it.