Marvel Comics Acquires MARVELMAN!

BIG NEWS for us COMICS GEEKS!!!
... Marvel Comics has acquired the publishing rights to Marvelman from original creator Mick Anglo. (Hey Marvel, please please please please please don't fuck this up!!!)

A previous legal battle between acclaimed author Neil Gaiman and fecal sample Todd McFarlane determined that Gaiman's legal right to the revamped version of the character superceded T. McDouchebag's, though that didn't stop ol' Turd McFeces from issuing a statue + who knows what other dreck thru his line of "toys" based mostly on his "comics" like Spawn (yep... rhymes with yawn for good reason...).

Marvelman was originally created back in the 1940s as basically a British ripoff of Captain Marvel (y'know... Shazam!) + went away (except for reprints) for a loooong time... Micky Moran was a reporter who could utter a magic word, "Kimota!" and transform into the superhuman Marvelman. He even ended up with a stable of 'family' characters, just like ol' Cap'n Marvel.

Back in the 1980s, Eclipse Comics obtained the rights to the Alan Moore-penned Marvelman stories from Warrior magazine, as well as more stories to wrap up the then-current storyline + move forward from there... Moore's story was one of the first real revisionist superhero stories, treating the problems of the characters + their world as realistically as possible. Should've been an instant hit, right? Wrong... The first problem that arose was that Marvel Comics decided that there would be a copyright issue with a comic called Marvelman published by an independent comics company... the character was quickly rebranded as Miracleman, and Alan Moore publicly gave Marvel the finger for this asininity (real word? who cares?), announcing that he would never work for them due to the incident.

Eclipse published Moore's original storyline + then continued publishing more Moore-written stories, til Moore decided he was done with the character. After depicting the ground-breaking superhero battle that culminates in a devastated, corpse-filled London, Moore handed the series, character, and rights to the property to Neil Gaiman, who took over the writing just as Eclipse Comics began to have some serious cashflow issues... the books quickly became known for being incredible. And incredibly late. And then Eclipse went under, leaving the character mired in mountains of legal poopy... All of the issues + collected editions are looooong out-of-print and some of the most sought-after of modern comics.

So, what's gonna happen with the character? Gaiman had at one time commented that he still had stories to tell in the Miracleverse + there's even been some artwork seen from an unpublished Eclipse-era issue... Neil doesn't have a real problem with Marvel; he's written some stuff for them (not his best work, but still better than anything McFarlane has ever produced). So, will Neil write new Marvelman (gotta use the name again, right?) for Marvel? Hope so!

Will Marvel fuck everything up + try to assimilate the character into their one great + interesting, now completely fuckt Marvel Universe? Hope not (but prob'ly...)!

Will Alan Moore have any say in the disposition of his work on the character? Will the Alan Moore-era issues be reprinted by Marvel? Will Alan sue 'em? Cast a spell on 'em (he IS a practicing magicker, y'know)? Can Alan Moore prevent their use? Can he use this situation to become richer than a five-balled cat?

Should be a very interesting resolution to one of modern comics' most bullshit-ridden backstories, and hopefully the best work of Moore's pre-Swamp Thing period will be back in print before too much longer! (Artwork included is from the cover + interior of Miracleman #15, and is by John Totleben, who also worked with Moore on the groundbreaking Swamp Thing series. (...oh. I almost forgot... FUCK MARVEL + DISNEY!!!)

I am Prophecy Man, apparently

About a decade ago, I wrote a bunch of little stories for another website I used to be on, centered around Salem-The-Girl-From-Another-Story. (Actually she was the smokin'-hot Japanese bassist for a death metal band in a horror novel I wrote called Death Metal Creeps, which I've mentioned before. She's also the semi-basis for one of the girls I drew in that dumb comic I put up a couple weeks ago). I just liked her (she's a real smartass and therefore fun to write) and was bored so I threw her into other weird, surreal stories (or vignettes if you wanna be all that-way about it) to amuse people on this website... and confuse them since they had no idea what "other story" she was from). Anyway, here's one of the stories... and I'll explain why I'm bringing it up - and why I'm a prophet - afterward.

==========

Due to the less-than-miracle of bad writing,
Salem found herself in a cheap, crappy bar from the
40's. It had to have been somewhere close to three
a.m., because nobody was left but a few hardcore
barflies who either couldn't find the door or were
waiting for morning, when the county jail would be
open for business. Slowly drifting layers of cigarette
smoke hung in the air like hope's funeral shroud, and
Salem was annoyed to be thrust into a place like this,
especially after she'd just washed her hair. She was a
fictional character, it was like being a cartoon, she
could literally be anywhere, doing anything, and yet
her idiot creator had dumped her here, where
everything was grainy black and white and the ghost of
David Goodis was wrestling with the ghost of Jim
Thompson to see who had to buy the next round of major
bummer. The bar was rough under her elbows, deeply
gouged with the whiskey-dyed initials of a thousand
different guys, losers all, desperately trying to use
their keys, pocketknives, or broken shot glasses to
leave a mark on the world in the only way they ever
would. This was the wrong place to be if you were an
eye-popping, soul-totaling superfox. And, to top it
off, she could tell that the little nebbish a few feet
down the bar was trying to work up the nerve to speak
to her.
And, damn him, he finally got brave enough.
"Hiya, b...baby," he stammered, then flinched. "Need
some company?"
She cut her almond-shaped eyes at him,
wondered if Peter Lorre had ever gotten busy with Ruth
Buzzi on a particularly fruitful night, and then
stared at the mirror behind the bar. "All the company
I need is right over there," she said, waggling her
fingers at her reflection.
"Um... wanna go back to my place or something?
I've got a book of riddles back there."
"No thanks," Salem said.
"Knock knock jokes, too," he said hopefully.
"They're real funny. I bought it at the candy store
one time when I had some extra change. Girls like 'em.
It said so on the back."
"I'm sure they're a laugh riot," she sighed.
"Why don't you go back there and read yourself a few
until you giggle your damned ass off?"
"Cheee..." the guy said, disappointedly. He
sat there a minute and then, apparently, content by
the mere fact that he'd spoken to the goddess and not
been killed, decided to keep going. He looked her up
and down, taking in the long, straight black hair, the
black leather vest laced around her bare torso, the
short black leather gloves, the bulletbelt, the black
spandex pants, the boots laced to her knees, and came
to a conclusion. "You're dressed fancy. You some kinda
superhero?"
She looked coldly at him. "I wish. I wish I
was Wolverine." She held her fist up, flexed her arm,
said "Snikt!" and swiped imaginary claws at him,
pretending blood.
"I wish I was a superhero," he said.
"Sometimes I read funnybooks and pretend I'm the guy
in there, fighting crime, like I'm Batman or Superman.
Not Aquaman, though. He's pretty weak. I mean, he can
talk to fish. Big deal."
"He talks to fish, and I talk to doorknobs.
Hooray," Salem sighed to the pretty girl in the
mirror. "When did it happen? When was I bitten by a
radioactive jackass?"
"Sometimes," the guy said, with a tone of
just-you-and-me conspiracy in his voice, "I safety-pin
a towel around my neck and go out and... well, I don't
really fight crime, but I take note of it."
"So you're a superhero?" Salem said, favoring
him with another glance.
"Yes. I'm Towel Man."
"Cooooool."
"Towel Maaaaaaan..." he sang quietly to
himself, drumming on the edge of the bar.
"Who's a girl gotta kill around here to get
some kryptonite... or samsonite, or whatever works?"
Salem sighed.
"Brussel sprouts," the man said gravely.
"Towel Man can't handle brussel sprouts."

=============

Okay, here's the prophecy part. I wrote this:

"Sometimes," the guy said, with a tone of
just-you-and-me conspiracy in his voice, "I safety-pin
a towel around my neck and go out and... well, I don't
really fight crime, but I take note of it."

And now in the news today I find this article, in which a supposed "real-life superhero" says the following:

"Vigilantism is never a good thing," said Bernard Gonzales, public information officer for the Chula Vista, California, Police Department. He's had some interactions with real-life superheroes. "The very best thing a private citizen can do is be a good witness."

Mr. Ravenblade said he's just that.

"If you're a real-life superhero you follow the law. If you catch somebody you can't just tie them up and leave them for the cops, that's for the comics. You have to wait for the cops and give them a statement," Mr. Ravenblade said.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... Towel Maaaaaaaaan!

Which makes me Prophecy Man, I guess, since I predicted it. I gotta find me a towel.

Evildoers, beware! I shall take note of the people who may, in the future, be taking note of you! Tah-daaaaah! *bonk!* *thud!*