Reviewer: Iain Burnside
Story Title: The End Of The World As We Know It
Written by: Keith Giffen
Penciled by: J.M. DeMatteis
Inked by: Kevin Maguire
Colored by: Chris Sotomayor
Lettered by: Dave Sharpe
Editor: Andy Schmidt
Publisher: Marvel
Well, apparently, there are three ways to approach this book. One way is to come at it swigging back the bottle with needle marks on your arm, bitching and moaning about the inherent futile nature of life, having had all the joy sucked out of you by HOUSE OF CRISIS. This way will quickly lead to you entering a five-issue program conducted by Dr. Giffen, Dr. DeMatteis and Dr. Maguire, which will clean you up both mentally and physically, give you a shave-and-a-haircut, a funny drawing of a monkey inserting one body part into another body part for comedic effect, and sent back out into the world, twiddling and twirling your way through the latest Happy Dance because, hey, the book is funny. Another way is to come at it with heavy eye make-up, leather patches on your tweed-clad elbows, a collar so starched that it makes Dr. Atkins cry, pontificating and navel-gazing the deeper cultural and sociological methods of storytelling contained within INFINITE M. This way will no doubt mean that the five-issue program serves only to piss you off greatly for it not revolving around a serious and proper representation of The Defenders and she should have learned her lesson by now and it’s not my fault because she never should have touched that thing – so basically, there’s no Happy Dance for you because Bob Dylan would never allow it. The third way is to just come at it in a blind panic, stir crazy because you just simply have no idea how one human being could possibly be as sexy as Tim Stevens. This way has no bearing on how you look at the comic book; it just means that you will have to change your Happy Dance rituals so as not to throw his sexy schedule off course.
As for me, well, I chose a different path – one free from hypodermic needles, tweed, or stupid, sexy Stevens. I chose the path of WARRIOR. No. No I did not. I just need my towel too much. Mainly, I wind up reading them in one of five ways – sitting on the toilet, lying in bed on Saturday morning, killing time between classes at a café, standing around in the store, or blissfully ignoring them altogether and just blathering on about nothing in particular in lieu of doing an actual review.
Okay, okay, here we go – Sex Chick and Fire Face, brother and sister, have smashed eternity into little puddles that they can now stand outside of. Fire Face, stunned that his sister actually shows him affection for once, goes inside one of the puddles to mold eternity into his shape for the family honour. In his dungeon, Wizard Dude and Fish Guy are being held captive, taking a break from all the torture and perpetual agony that will be coming their way. Wizard Dude talks one of the guards into getting Fish Guy some water so he can live on to experience said torturous agony, but that just gives him enough strength to get both of them out of there. Sex Chick is feeling particularly bored and horny and starts off her mysterious masterplan by effyooseekaying The Hulk, who had been turned into stone by Fire Face last issue. Her mysterious plans are ruined afterwards, however, when the incredibly relaxed Hulk turns back into the incredibly relaxed Puny Banner. Meanwhile, Surfer Dude is hanging out with various other surfer dudes; too busy pontificating his tweed to notice eternity being molded into Fire Face’s image. After their daring escape, Wizard Dude and Fish Guy return to Earth – after making sure to collect Wizard Dude’s cape first – only to find that they’re too late and Fire Face has finished his molding. He is also being assisted by the Fire Face Molded version of Wizard Dude. The end.
So, is this a good comic? Is this a bad comic? What are we to make of all this? What is the role of the reader in the lordy, lordy, lordy, shut up, just shut up, just go outside and play with the dogs or something. I don’t think I have it in me to don my cloak of pretension today, and I’m certainly far too hung-over to drink, and I’m certainly not at all thinking of Tim and his wondrous calf muscles. Really, why do I need to write a review of this? It’s not as though anybody reading it needs me to tell them that it’s good… or bad… or indifferent… or
