Crashing in the wake created by last year’s smash hit Fletcher Hanks retrospective I SHALL DESTROY ALL CIVILIZED PLANETS, Fantagraphics’ latest collection of lost and forgotten comics from the 40’s arrives in the form of BOODY.

I’m not that bright. It’s true. I’ve had people telling me about how good “SCALPED” is for months now, years even.

You are lazy. You are. I don’t care if you’re Barack Obama or a single mother burdened with seven babies under the age of three, compared to Yoshihiro Tatsumi you have accomplished little.

If you like your comics simple and straight-forward, you probably won’t like AIR.

If you think that God was the greatest contributor to the Bible then you are wrong.

Fans of Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman” will recognize the titular abode as the home: of the biblical Cain, and the physical manifestation of Mystery in the universe.

When “The Darkness” first trickled onto the comics scene in 1996, the character seemed like just another heavily armored/deeply anguished/blade wielding dude.

As a seasoned comics reader (I cake Adobo All-Purpose Seasoning into my nooks and crannies to avoid chafing) I have come to enjoy more challenging material.

Someone somewhere floated the idea that perfect understanding equals perfect love—

Right about when the horde of tightly-garbed nurses with an arsenal of cutlery jumped Ghost Rider, that’s when I realized this was a welcome paradigm shift.

There’s a long and pathetic precedent of American publishers trying to snag Manga fans by publishing this kind of fauxmanga.

If you’re anything like me, you enjoy occasionally sitting down with a hammer and bashing it into your hand once or twice to feel.

When people raise the argument that entertainment is bad for you because it serves as an opiate or a distraction.

It was during my younger, more reckless years, the first time I met Warren Ellis.

Our pals at Velocity Comics tell us their top 10 comics for 2008.

I’ve always been a fan of Nate Powell’s art. He does great things with a brush.

It’s the Holiday season—do you know where your kids are?

Both books are great, and worth your attention. And they’d be perfect stocking stuffers for that hard-to-buy-for weirdo uncle.

I don’t know if I can define the itch that Ben Templesmith’s work scratches. But scratch away it does, often until it leaves an unsightly gash.