NOVEMBER

After a year of issues of race, sex, sexuality, harassment, substance abuse and gender identity, the comics industry was ready to relax, and wind down the year by celebrating the work of celebrated Islamophobe Frank Miller.

In April, DC announced The Dark Knight III: The Master Race, with Co-Publishers Dan Didio and Jim Lee trumpeting, “We are thrilled to have Frank back home at DC writing Batman,” referring to Frank Miller, the wingnut creator of a comic that reviewers called “one of the most appalling, offensive and vindictive comics of all time.”

Before Watchmen’s Brian Azzarello stated and/or misrepresented, “It’s been an amazing experience collaborating with Frank these past six months,” referring to an old kook whose last book reviewers described as “ideologically troglodytic.”

DC even supported the project with a 16-minute video of a young woman having what appeared to be a profound religious experience getting to touch the hem of Jim Lee’s garments. Lee told the trembling young fan, “When you’re working with Frank, you want to bring your A-game… It’s intimidating.”

Frank Miller had sure proven himself "intimidating" in any number of recent interviews-- for example, growling, “I can tell you squat about Islam. I don’t know anything about it. But I know a goddamn lot about al Qaeda and I want them all to burn in hell.” Or when he hollered at young people concerned about Wall Street greed: “Wake up, pond scum. America is at war against a ruthless enemy. Maybe, between bouts of self-pity and all the other tasty tidbits of narcissism you’ve been served up in your sheltered, comfy little worlds, you’ve heard terms like al-Qaeda and Islamicism. And this enemy of mine — not of yours, apparently - must be getting a dark chuckle, if not an outright horselaugh - out of your vain, childish, self-destructive spectacle.” Or when he told NPR, “Well, okay, then let’s finally talk about the enemy. For some reason, nobody seems to be talking about who we’re up against, and the sixth-century barbarism that they actually represent” ... before informing NPR that his enemy is incapable of inventing microphones... ?

Or when he told Chunky Asses that “we gotta watch out -- the Al Qaedas can smell when we’re in the shitter -- it’s time men were men again, and men crapped in the woods.” Or when he started screaming out his car window that Islamist Al-Qaedas were trying to steal his brainwaves, and that if young people had any sense they’d stop playing Candy Crush Saga and start wearing aluminum foil on their heads when they do their murder-duty. Or when Frank Miller wandered onto an empty field and yelled to the silence, “Why aren’t we murdering more people who subscribe to a religion I don’t know anything about? Only between 112,000 to 123,000 civilian Iraqi noncombatants were murdered between 2003 and 2013-- that’s not nearly enough revenge. How come young people don’t realize that number should be double or triple? Why can’t the military teach you young people how to be men, just like they would’ve taught me, had I ever enlisted in my life, which I didn’t do even though I’m America’s greatest he-man, because I was too busy drawing superhero comics for emotionally troubled children.”

Watch out, Al Qaedas-- the 58-year-old human scarecrow who wrote Robocop 2 has you figured out. He knows everything about you, except anything about your religion, which probably isn’t a big deal when you’re trying to understand Al Qaeda. His skull is carrying around dozens of ways to know how to cause you pain-- his movies have proven that decisively. He emptied everything else out of his skull-- any knowledge of history, for example, was tossed away a long time ago.  Before you messed with him, you were all just sitting around, wondering how microphones work, having dark chuckles (which are delicious with milk).  But now, it’s Frank Miller’s time, and you only got one thing to figure out, Al Qaedas-- the fastest way to run away from a past-his-prime cartoonist who’s been writing macho nonsense for so long he’s deluded himself into thinking he’s Charlie Bronson.

Scared?  You should be scared, Al Qaedas! Of the aging process!

DC Comics have never been more proud.

(concluded on next page)