Author: Tobias J McGuffin

Tobias is a writer and a ranger and a young boy bearing arms. He thinks Game of Thrones will be the Best Thing Ever, and may throw himself (or an enemy) off a building if it proves no better than Legend of the Seeker. His past body of employment includes dog-walking, lawn-mowing, private investigating, script reading, coffee-fetching, cold-calling, and a stint in the United States Air Force which included even more dog-walking and an “interesting” encounter with a three-toed sloth. He was once paid to be a dungeon master and readily adds that to his résumé. He has lived in more places than your mother would approve, is a serial monogamist, pro-death advocate, prog-rock nerd, and ASoIaF enthusiast. He currently lives in southern California and says “Dude” preceding any statement he sees as even moderately important. He considers World of Warcraft a disease, not a cure.

Return to Cerebus, cried the Earth-Pig Born! Part the Second

After what seemed two clunky beginning issues, Cerebus hit its early stride with the introduction of Red Sophia, and it built from there. Over the course of the next ten issues, Sim’s ability to see to the heart of whatever subject he was skewering served him well. And it was a skewer, make no mistake; the Cerebus Syndrome trope had not been invented yet.

Hell, it was still the late 1970’s. A lot of things hadn’t been invented yet.

RETURN to CEREBUS, cried the Earth-Pig Born! A Cerebus Retrospective

Part the First

Dave Sim is not dead.

Show Me Your Lightning Bolt!

My burgeoning affiliation with the All New! All Different! Boomtron, with its Ooku reviews and its Sandman Meditations and its other various lovingly crafted commentaries, comes with the knowledge that I am lacking in … well, knowledge. And it isn’t even the sort of knowledge your average Jim-Bob on the street would see as significant. Unfortunately, it’s something I prided myself in for years, and now …

Now I find myself at a distinct loss. And it’s a little embarrassing.

Too Cool (Or, how a moron ended up at the TCA’s)

Like Dante, I wasn’t even supposed to be there that day.

The focus of all the attention was familiar: small waves of television and movie stars, wide-smiling studio execs, nervous-looking producers and show-runners, all surrounded by the usual mad gaggle of protectors, buffers, yes-men and desperate-eyed hangers-ons. Cameras flashed, smilers smiled, and the air was abuzz with words like “new” and “bold” and “amalgamated!”