Andrew Roller Presents
C O M I C U P D A T E
FREE! Internet Edition May 15, 1995
THE COMIC UPDATE ARCHIVES
by Andrew Roller
From: COMIC UPDATE #1, August 1, 1986 and COMIC UPDATE #2, August
18, 1986.
Guidelines for Researchers: I have dispensed with the Ògrading
system.Ó Where the current address of the artist is known, I have
published it.
Ubiquitous Funnies #3, 25¢. Mini. Brian Kirk.
Headline: TOILET TROUBLES afflict Asinine Head in Ubiquitous
Funnies #3.
1995 Commentary: a THIS JUST IN addition to Update #1.
Another excellent issue by Brian Kirk. (See the May 13th Online Update
for more.)
Bird Comics #1, 50¢. Mini. Hal Hargit, others.
Headline: BIRD COMICS FLYING HIGH, 300 Copies Printed.
Story Preview: Anthology devoted to birds. A crow reminisces
about the end of man. A birdÕs brain gets high in alcohol.
Story Critique: A haunting doomsday atmosphere is created in
ÒStone Crow,Ó and ÒBird BrainsÓ is flawless. A few panels in ÒStone
CrowÓ are weak and this book has too much filler.
Special Features: ...Letters page lauding the contributors and
soliciting more.
1995 Commentary: A good book put out by Hal Hargit and a bunch
of other people who never liked me, so IÕm not going to bother to list
all their names. Most of them are either lurking around in Steve
KeeterÕs Fan Forum and Review zine, or they are totally gone from the
small press.
Flying Man Comics #1, 25¢. Mini. Hal Hargit.
Headline: FLYING MAN SPECIAL EDITION, 100 Copies Printed.
Story Preview: A bi-plane armed with atom bombs searches for
the mysterious ÒFlying man.Ó
Story Critique: The bi-plane is referred to as Òthe pursuerÓ but
after weeks of fruitless searching Òthe pursuerÓ has yet to find her
prey. Page six is hilarious, it saves the book.
Special Features: Tribute to Matt LevinÕs WALKING MAN: ÒWho he
is or why he walks we donÕt know but the landscape seems changed.Ó
1995 Commentary: Like Matt Feazell, Matt Levin was a
(somewhat lesser) icon of the mid-1980Õs small press scene. In this
issue LevinÕs work inspires Hal Hargit, who produces a Òpassable stamp
artÓ book in the Levin tradition.
C O M I C R E V I E W S
by Jim Corrigan
Sex Comix 1, $2.00 postpaid. 8 1/2" x 11", 18 pages. Andrew Roller,
5960 S. Land Park Drive, Suite 253, Sacramento, CA 95822. [This title
is now out of print. Ed.]
This is the original Sex Comix, the one featuring Mike Gunderloy
in Hell with Roller masturbating on him. There are only a very few
copies left, so try to specify an alternate if you order. (Or include a
stamp for the return of your money).
"Perversion Incorporate" makes an appearance, as well as Jesus.
The question "Why is Mike Gunderloy a failed homosexual?" is grappled
with. Lynn Hansen wades in with a fistful of small press reviews. I
highly recommend this small press masterpiece to every collector of
the alternative genre.
(O.K., Roller, I'm ready for my free steak now.)
R E C O R D R E V I E W S
by Jim Corrigan
Psychefunkapus, Skin, Atlantic Recording Corporation.
I'd rather sit in a public restroom and listen to people fart. True,
the album does have one terrific song, "Surfin on Jupiter." There are a
few reasonably decent introductory notes on some of the tunes, and
"Banana Slug King" merits more than one listen. But, for the most part,
this album consists of freed slaves shooting their mouths off (who let
these guys out of the "Rap" section?) The meager contributions by the
white trash in the band treats us to, among other things, "Hillbilly
Happy Smash," a square-dance song!
Don't be fooled by the sticker on the album cover, which reads:
"Features Surfin on Jupiter...Evol ving..." and several other songs. You'd
think the other listed songs must be as good as "Surfin on Jupiter."
Well...Not! This is one tape I plan to take back for an exchange (at the
Wherehouse).
P.D. Wilson, Waterworld, Dockery Recording Studios.
For those of you who have always dreamed of hearing Ian Shires
on tape, but can't (since, for one thing, Ian has never thought of the
idea), here's something equally stupid. P.D. Wilson, sometime small
presser and perpetual bum, has released an album of his very own.
There are weird sounds here, odd "musical" incantations, and, generally,
the sort of crap Rick Howe fans are accustomed to being inflicted with.
Considering the abyss into which record companies are currently
lowering themselves to record "alternative" artists, Wilson should soon
have a penthouse to go along with his album. It would sure beat the
crate he currently calls home. He'd even have to debate the merits of
taking a bath.
C O M I C U P D A T E S T O R I E S
The Fading Universe
Part Five
by Andrew Roller
Chapter Three
"What's that humming sound?" Marvin asked worriedly. He was
standing inside God knows who's apartment, on the second floor of a
building. It fronted one of a myriad of dingy little streets that
crisscrossed the city. Outside their bus lay uselessly on its side,
smack up against the wall of the building.
Marvin figured the Leatherjackets had never needed Òa lift.Ó
TheyÕd used that little ruse themselves, he and Perry, to rob more than
one motorist.
A dilapidated pickup truck had shown amazing fortitude in
pursuing them. And there were other vehicles, somewhere in the
distance, following fast. The chase had gone full throttle, high-speed,
two Somali-like Òtechnical vehiclesÓ exchanging gunfire back and
forth. Except one was a pickup that belonged in a junkyard and the
other was a city bus. Together they blazed through torn-up sections of
Ontario. It was a dance of death between two suicidal lovers.
Harrigan had gotten something of a lead, fought for amidst the
twists and turns of the interlocking streets. But their lead wasnÕt
much. In the end, it cost them their bus. Well, the cityÕs bus, actually,
but whether there was any real ÒcityÓ left now was debatable.
Harrigan had lost his balance on the last turn. TheyÕd capsized and slid
painfully across the road.
Marvin was standing on the capsized bus, feeling like some sailor
on top of a yellow whale, when heÕd seen the LeatherjacketsÕ pickup
lurch into view. Their vehicle was smaller. It made the turn. Quickly
Marvin hoisted Perry up through a window on the side of the bus.
Frankie was leaning out a window on the second floor of the tenement,
firing at the Leatherjackets. Marvin dragged Perry across the
overturned metal bus and shoved him up into FrankieÕs window. The
dwarf sniped at Perry for screwing up his aim. Perry complained that
the dwarfÕs gun had gone off in his ear. Marvin could see himself
getting a metal enema before either of them let him through.
Now what? HeÕd gotten inside two seconds before the enema
arrived, but where was he? He let his eyes graze the dirty walls.
Behind him Frankie was back at dueling with the Leatherjackets.
Marvin heard a wail as one of them was hit. ÒWeÕre outnumbered,
though,Ó a little voice chirped in MarvinÕs head. ÒGet your bearings and
get your ass in gear.Ó Marvin glanced at an old television. The screen
was busted. Maybe Elvis had stopped here for the night, been upset
with the quality of the programming. Yeah, this place had been trashed
even before the Alameda army had come through. They werenÕt in the
high-rent district, that was for sure. But then, they never were.
Batman, of course, would simply have slipped up to the buildingÕs
roof and leapt across to another building. But Marvin wasnÕt Batman.
And neither was Perry, for that matter. Perry wasnÕt even Perry
anymore. When Marvin first met the boy he was shrewd, calculating, a
modern Hitler. Now Perry, like Hitler, had gone insane. When he wasnÕt
ranting about some perceived injustice he was laying plans for an
impossible conquest. Meanwhile, Marvin kept about the day to day work
of keeping them all alive. With a little help from his friends. Frankie
especially, too short for most people to notice but absolutely deadly
with a gun. A gun taller than he was. And Harrigan, a walking
advertisement for everyoneÕs notion of what a child molester should
look like, but surprisingly cool under fire. It was HarriganÕs expert
driving that had just saved them...again. (While Perry screamed useless
insults out the back window of the bus.) Of course, there was Elsa.
When she wasnÕt too busy playing Òriot grrrlÓ fashion model. She was
O.K. And Flaherty? He seemed more trouble than he was worth. But he
stuck doggedly with the group. You couldnÕt get rid of him if you
wanted too. Marvin figured as long as someone wasnÕt shooting at you,
they were on your side.
But now they seemed to have walked into a trap of their own
making. TheyÕd fucked up the bus, and now there were Leatherjackets
outside, working their way in toward the building. One dwarf with a
rifle couldnÕt keep them at bay for long.
"Insects!" Elsa screamed from the hall. Marvin ran forward. He
found her standing at the top of a staircase, gazing down at the hallway
on the first floor. Marvin dashed over to her and peered down.
Thousands of black cockroaches covered the floor below.
ÒOh, shit!Ó Marvin cursed. Well, one benefit of the insects was
that theyÕd keep the Leatherjackets out. But it was like a pact with the
Devil. He didnÕt want to get shot by the Leatherjackets. Then again,
that was nothing to getting eaten alive by bugs. The black mass below
writhed, as if it were some giant beast, sniffing the wind. Suddenly, as
if responding to some primal cue, they rushed up the stairs. It was a
flood. A flood that flowed uphill, and it was fast.
"Frankie!" Marvin called out frantically. The dwarf was still
merrily preoccupied with trying to kill his fellow man. His shots rang
out the apartment window.
ÒHee! Go to mama!Ó Frankie chirped to himself as he offed
another Leatherjacket. ÒAnother Leatherjerkoff gone!Ó
ÒAnd only twenty million to go,Ó Marvin muttered aloud. Wildly
he turned his head to try to locate everyone.
Flaherty, Harrigan, and even the enfeebled Perry were shooting
their asses up the stairs to the third floor, leaving Marvin and Elsa
behind. At the top step Harrigan whirled about, realizing that Frankie
wasn't with him. Usually the dwarf could be counted on to be right at
his heels. But Frankie loved killing even more than fucking.
Marvin dashed into the room and grabbed the dwarf. He scooped
him up, like you would a small child. There was no time for dignity, no
time to ask permission. He ran from the room and dashed up the stairs
to the next floor. Behind him he heard shocked cries from the
Leatherjackets. TheyÕd used the capsized bus as a staircase into the
second floor of the building. ÒGuess they didnÕt know the building had
tenants after all,Ó Marvin thought. The carnivorous kind, smaller than
Frankie and much more deadly. Impossible to kill too, outnumbering
even the Leatherjackets themselves. As they climbed through the
second-story window the Leatherjackets dropped haplessly into the
roaches.
ÒSo much for the advance guard,Ó Marvin muttered. But there
would be more, many more. There were always plenty of
Leatherjackets.
Marvin glanced over his shoulder at Elsa. SheÕd made it, thank
God. Up the stairs while he was in the room with Frankie. She was
swatting off one or two hardy little bastards that had managed to catch
onto her jeans. The rest of the insects had gone straigt for the
Leatherjackets. May as well eat everything on the second floor before
going up to the third. Bug psychology. Psychology Today, courtesy of
the roaches of the world. Eat whatÕs fallen on the floor before you race
up the stairs for more. Bugs didnÕt go for the bone in the river when
they were holding one in their jaws.
"Gee, thanks Marv, I'd forgotten about Frankie," Harrigan said.
Marvin turned his glance away from Elsa. He grinned at his trusty
driver. "You almost had to go out and buy yourself an inflatable doll,"
Marvin quipped.
"Do they make inflatable male dolls?" Flaherty asked.
"Not for you," Frankie replied. "Sorry."
"I resent that!" Flaherty objected. "Marvin, tell Frankie to quit
picking on me!"
"Oh, go fuck your empty potato chip bag," Elsa snapped.
ÒLetÕs get going,Ó Marvin said. Now was not the time for
squabbling and backbiting. But then, ÒnowÓ never was. They seemed
always to be on the run lately, as if Death had decided their time was
up. Was it playing with them, watching them Òtwist in the wind,Ó so to
speak? Or was Death just a little slow. After all, centuries of killing
could slow anyone down. Maybe the Grim Reaper had developed
arthritis. It was chasing them, just not quite fast enough. Not yet.
ÒLook for a fire escape!Ó Marvin called ahead. They needed something to
get them up out of the hallway on the third floor. The top floor, it was,
the tip top floor for this slum dwellingÕs must exclusive tenants.
Perhaps there would be a helpful sign. ÒThis way to roof.Ó Or,
ÒEscaping insects? Right this way.Ó Someone should make signs like
that. ÒIn case of total societal collapse, follow the yellow arrows.Ó
As luck would have it, the roof had fallen in. Around the corner,
down the hall. Of course, there wasnÕt always supposed to be a roof.
Sometimes one floor just merged with another. Now, though, concrete
reinforced layers blocked any upward movement, to keep one class of
people from Òacting suspiciouslyÓ in the neighborhood of another.
Ontario had drawn inward over the years, before the War that had ended
its empire once and for all. Then, rebuilding after the War, it had built
more walls between its citizens, even more than it had built during the
decline preceeding the Great and Final War, as some called it. Now
buildings that were supposed to connect the floors often didnÕt.
ÒExcellent!Ó Perry announced, upon viewing their route to the
roof. It was as if the boy thought heÕd created it himself. In fact, it
was Harrigan whoÕd sallied ahead to find it. With Frankie, of course,
always with Frankie tagging along, directing the man where to go.
Harrigan happily obeyed his beloved dwarf. And together they found
things like escape routes made out of collapsed roofing materials.
Harrigan and Frankie went up first, with Perry just behind, and
Flaherty. Marvin helped Elsa over the tumbled roof slabs, while keeping
one eye on PerryÕs less-than-athletic efforts. ÒDonÕt take up mountain
climbing, Perry,Ó Marvin thought to himself. Of course, Perry wouldnÕt
take up mountain climbing. HeÕd ask that the mountain be delivered to
him. Surely Marvin could find a way. ÒAfter all, why do you think I
consent to having you in my gang?Ó Perry would ask Marvin, as if his
friend remained dismissable at will. As if Perry could just go on
without him. Marvin wondered if Perry realized their ÒgangÓ was down
to himself, two sodomites, an airhead and a fatso.
A few moments later Marvin stepped out onto the rooftop. The
gloom of the city spread itself before him. Someone had blasted
through here recently, reducing many of the nearby buildings to rubble.
The air filters must be working overtime to clear the place. Thanks to
the man-made view, Marvin could get some sense of where he was from
this vantage point. There were buildings, of course, as far as the eye
could see, some merging upward into the floor above, some topped off
with a roof like this one was. He thought he saw the Emery building in
the distance. There was still a lot of smoke hanging in the air,
obscuring everything, distorting it. Garish arc lamps stretched across
the ceiling at regular intervals; marching off into the distance. Many
were burned out. What little light they did provide seemed to turn the
overhanging smoke into wraiths and spirits of Doom. In the glow you
could just make out the cityscape, once thriving, now a haunt of
Leatherjackets, perverts, roaches, the remnants of a society gone mad.
And now there was some new war ravaging Ontario. Some unknown
army from far away, come to conquer and kill. As if Death didnÕt have
enough victims already.
ÒI think we can get across, Marv!Ó Frankie called out in his
pipsqueak voice. He and Harrigan were over at one end of the roof,
sizing up a new escape route. ÒThank God for a breakdown in city
planning,Ó Marvin thought. Someone had built a rickety ladder up into a
little hole that was cut into the ceiling above. It was on the next roof
over, of course (nothing was free in this universe), but there was a
board connecting the two roofs. Worn, wiggly-looking (Elsa might look
nice going across it), but Hell they could manage a fucking board,
couldnÕt they? Below, Marvin heard gunfire. Or, rather, he let it seep
back into his consciousness. The Leatherjackets sounded like they were
trying to blast their way through the roaches. Dumb, dumb. (Marvin
hoped.) There were cries of agony as some Leatherjackets got shot or
eaten. Death throes. Cries of anger and frustration.
Marvin let his eyes refocus on the board. Frankie was already on
the other side now, scampering over to the makeshift ladder.
ÒHey, Marv! I think this thing might go up into a WEALTHY section
of town!Ó Frankie called out gleefully, peering up, his voice just
audible. TheyÕd built soundproofing into the walls and the roofs, into
the very material the buildings were made of, a thousand years ago, to
cut down on the echoes youÕd normally expect to get. Walls, roofs, with
a ceiling above, voices should bounce all over the place, but they didnÕt.
Marvin had to shout to make himself heard by the dwarf.
ÒLetÕs hope theyÕve all been killed and we can loot the place,Ó
Marvin called back. ÔCourse weÕd need someplace to spend whatever we
got. Details, details.
ÒMarvin, this will be the beginning of our new offensive!Ó Perry
announced to him grandly. He stood with one foot on the board, waiting
for Harrigan to get across before he himself went over.
ÒDonÕt break it!Ó Flaherty called out. Either heÕd been slow (for
once) to get across first and save his own skin, or Flaherty was letting
Harrigan test the board for him. Dwarf-crossings didnÕt count when you
were a fatboy like Flaherty.
ÒWith this offensive we shall have Ontario entirely within our
grasp!Ó Perry crowed. There was a manic grin on his face. His hair,
uncombed as usual, hung slant-wise across his eyes. Perry swept it out
of the way with an exaggerated gesture. ÒDeutschland!Ó seemed poised
on his lips. Or something Germanic, anyway. Nazi Socialism. The
Power of the Will.
ÒIÕll stand on the board while you walk across,Ó Marvin offered.
ÒVery well. I shall make my crossing now,Ó Perry said. And off
he went, awkward as ever, the board bulging ominously downward as he
stepped out.
ÒHurry up,Ó Marvin thought. Yet, if he hurried, the boy might
plunge to his death. But if he didnÕt, Marvin might have to play host to
the bugs. ÒWelcome to our fine rooftop restaurant. Your dinner is
served!Ó
ÒI should have gone next! I got here first!Ó Flaherty whined at
Marvin.
ÒThereÕs two ways off this roof,Ó Elsa warned him, edging toward
Faherty with a bitchy look on her face.
ÒIÕm not complaining, IÕm just pointing out the justice of the
matter,Ó Flaherty replied.
ÒUnfortunately, Death doesnÕt believe in justice,Ó Marvin said.
R E A D E R C O N T R I B U T I O N S
"Why am I surrounded by idiots?!"
ÒBecause you're standing in the middle.Ó
-Ben Ohmart
Will write satire for poisoned food..."A writer of raw onions!" writes Ben
Ohmart, 115 Croyden Lane Apt. D, Syracuse, NY 13224;
findline@ix.netcom.com (Ben Ohmart)
ROLLER PUBLICATIONS Founded 1972. Continuously publishing since
1986. Send a stamped, self-addressed return envelope (preferably a
greeting card-type envelope) to us for the latest FREE hardcopy issues.
(Including material never seen on the Internet!)
Or send $1.00 cash and we will supply the envelope. Order from:
Jim Corrigan, P.O. Box 3663, Phenix City, AL 36868.
Send comix, news, letters, and poems to Jim Corrigan.
Our titles:
COMIC UPDATE The latest small press comix news and reviews.
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS Sex kittens in compromising
positions. (Include an age statement-18 or over.)
DREAMGIRLS WITH SHAMAN America's most popular poetry zine.
ALL poets are urged to contribute frequently!
THE ORATOR Militant views by misguided mortals.
END OF TRANSMISSION
Subj: Comic Update, May 15, 1995 (Matt Levin, Sex Comix)