by John Bear
Daily Lobo
I have never been into comic books.
And it's not my fault. My mother's father was an Episcopal priest and my father's father was a southern Baptist minister. Comic book reading was forbidden, perhaps because of the religious leanings of my two grandfathers. Since my parents never read comics, it never occurred to them to buy me any when I was growing up.
Sure, I had one or two Ren and Stimpy comics that I read until they were rabbit-eared and thrown in the trash after being picked up off the bathroom floor one too many times by my father. I seem to recall owning a few copies of books turned comics from the '40s and '50s, stuff like "Robinson Crusoe" and something about the Khyber Pass where a dude gets his brother's head sent to him in a burlap sack or something like that. It was pretty gruesome.
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Beyond that, I know nothing about the art form. I always thought my friends were dumb because they couldn't read an entire book without pictures. They were always going on about men in tights with indestructible claws and laser beam eyes. Whatever.
And this detached opinion about comics continues to this day. My friends get all panicky whenever the latest installment of spandex-clad crime fighters comes rolling through town to defeat the villain, and relieve theater goers of another nine bucks. And I cannot help but find myself posing the question: Who the hell are the Fantastic Four?
This is a lonely way to live, but I think I may have found a comic that I can sink my teeth into.
"The Exterminators" follows the character arch of a dude named Henry James, a recently paroled convict who has taken a bug zapping job with his stepfather's company, Bug Bee Gone.
The first issue opens with a long monologue from Henry while still in the can. He explains that the prison guards only let him have one book a month, so he always picks something like Crime and Punishment, the book of choice for incarcerated felons not looking to find Jesus or Allah. His latest installment happens to be a 2,000-plus page history of the Roman empire. It seems that the Romans conquered what is now Iraq, and unwittingly brought back big-assed rats that brought about the first black death. Not only does this soliloquy bring up yet another reason to just stay away from the cradle of civilization, but it sets up the us-against-the-bugs scenario of the story line.
The rest of the comic focuses mostly on Henry driving around the city with his racist partner, the hockey-headed Skid Mark, who constantly stops the bug wagon and berates hapless street mariachis for not playing more Lynyrd Skynyrd.
The other half of the story line begins to reveal the fact that a mutant cockroach species has evolved in the economically depressed areas of the city. When they are sprayed with bug poison, they grow exponentially. It appears that everyone is soon to be screwed, horribly screwed.
The artwork in the comic is impressive. Angry rats getting stuck to walls with bowie knives, psychotic raccoons being disemboweled and rednecks shooting up bug poison Ö la "Naked Lunch" grace the pages. No doubt about it, I have been drawn in.
If you don't like comics or don't have any idea what to look for, "The Exterminators" is worth a look. It is wickedly funny and there are no tight pants in sight.
