#googling vs just now i learned that they only came out in 1968 and this anachronistic to the ponytail/bubblecut era

[britneyshakespeare]

When vintage Barbie clothes have real sewn pockets those are for their doll-scale Virginia Slims

[thebibliomancer]

50 More Days of Comics! 37/50: Dark Horse Presents #137 (1998)

An anthology! I love an anthology! Ask anyone!

Apparently Dark Horse Presents was the first comic published by Dark Horse. Which is fair enough. And it ran from 1986 to 2000 when it was cancelled. And then volume 2 of Dark Horse Presents ran from 2007-2010 and was published on MySpace!

Wild.

Anyway, this comic has the Predator fighting Nazis so it must be exceptional.

So the first of the three stories is Predator: Demon’s Gold.

The story is narrated by an Ecuadorian remembering back to when he was a child. The Nazis came and burned his village and killed everyone in it except for him. Him, they needed.

Narrator: “They wanted the same thing white men have always wanted from my land: silver and gold. They wanted what was hidden high in the Llanganati Mountains, the secret my village had kept so long.”

And they tell him they’ll let him live if he leads them to it.

Something I learned while googling the Llanaganati Mountains to try to find out where on Earth this was set is that the Treasure of the Llanganatis is a pre-existing legend and not something this comic made up.

Per the legend, it was the gold and silver and platinum and assorted other treasures hidden in the mountains by the Incan general Rumiñahui. He had been gathering it as a ransom for King Atahualpa but when conquistador Pizarro just went and had Atahualpa killed anyway, Rumiñahui hid the treasure and never revealed where it was.

Except in this story where he told somebody who passed it down to a nameless village and a nameless narrator.

Knowing that actually adds to the story weirdly enough.

When frightened boy Narrator leads the Nazis to the “sweat of the Sun, tears of the Moon” treasure, they plan to kill him anyway.

And like in the legend, if you renege on a promise to let someone live in exchange for two rooms full of treasure, you don’t get the treasure.

Because as the boy prays to the Inca gods, his prayers are answered in a way.

I don’t know why he was there but a Predator was there and he starts murdering the Nazis in his gruesome Predator way. 

Narrator: “These men who had butchered my village, they were ripe corn before the harvest blade.”

He kills the Nazi leader last, pulling his spine out by his head, like some kind of Mortal Kombat.

The boy assumes the Predator, who he thinks is a demon because sure, will kill him last “would demand one more sacrifice in return for protecting the sweat and tears” but with a swipe of his wrist blades, he cuts Narrator’s bonds and walks out of the cave.

Narrator: “But it spared me. And vanished back to whatever pit had given it birth. That was long ago: I’m an old man now. My own death draws near. You ask me where the treasure is? That secret I take with me.”

There’s so much intriguing potential here. Who was he telling the story to? Was this like a Titanic the Movie setup? Why was the Predator guarding Incan treasure? But alas, as far as I know, they remain mysteries.

STORY 2! My Vagabond Days.

Set April 4th, 1968 and centered around a boy named Martin who is generally unenthusiastic about school. But his teacher talks about Apollo 6 and tells the students to write three paragraphs on “What Would I Like to Accomplish.”

Martin and his friend Jerome already know they want to be astronauts!

And later at dinner, Martin tells his parents about his assignment, his mom noting he sounds excited considering he doesn’t usually do his homework without a spanking.

Martin: “I am! ‘Cause I know exactly what I want to be!”

Dad: “Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

Martin: “I’m gonna be ‘n astronaut!”

Dad: “Ha! Oh you are, are you? Is that what you think?”

Dad: “Astronauts get good grades, and they don’t get caught stealing an’ lying all the time. So where does that leave you, spaceboy?”

And Martin runs to his room to cry. Mom berates dad because this is the first time she’s ever seen him excited about his homework but dad says Martin will be lucky to get a job at all the way he’s going.

Later, Jerome calls Martin out to climb to the roof of their building and use binoculars to look at the moon.

They obviously don’t see astronauts on the Moon with binoculars.

Jerome: “So, what do you think you’ll accomplish in your lifetime, Martin?”

Jerome: “Martin?”

Martin: “... nothin’.”

Jerome: “No, I’m serious.”

Martin: “Yeah... Me too...”

Kids internalize stuff, parents!

This was kind of a bummer after seeing the Predator fight Nazis. Kind of jerking my emotions around, Dark Horse Presents.

Last story: The Ark Part Four

The last part of a multiple part story? You fooled me, Dark Horse Presents! Uncool!

Anyway, near as I can gather, there was an alien spacecraft that got shot down and unleashed a bunch of alien monsters who seem animalistic and not gleep glorp take me to your meepmorps.

Also they’re fairly resistant to bullets.

There are several convicts from the nearby prison and some prison guards or cops? who are with them and worried that the prisoners will attempt to escape in the confusion and then there’s a main guy maybe called Guidry.

He has the idea that since the town of Pruitt has been evacuated, they can vent the natural gas pipes underground, saturate the town, and then drop a match. Boom, no more alien monsters.

On his way into the sewers, Guidry cautions everyone not to take up smoking.

Jonas: “No problem. I’ve got a rule about cigarettes. Only after sex... Or when somebody punches up Leann Rimes on the tavern’s juke box.”

Guidry, later: “I’d like to buy her a carton of Marlboros, and I don’t mean for some country-pop listening party...”

Once the gas has been vented, the group runs into another problem. Somebody has to set it off. And there’s a monster now between them and the manhole.

Then somebody steps up to take the sacrifice.

Narrator: “I don’t know what prompted Dylan to do what he did. Was it out of some suddenly-discovered sense of obligation? I doubt it. Serial arsonists rarely undergo that sort of epiphany. But I can’t help remembering the look on his face. He wasn’t thinking of the pain, or the finality of death. He was looking for the cleansing embrace of the flames. I only hope it was all he had ever dreamed.”

And then the town blows up.

And all the monsters blow up. Except for the biggest and meanest of them. And now its pissed.

The four survivors flee the surviving monster and wind up back at the prison.

Guidry: “Guns, grenades, hell, Warden Moeller probably keeps whips and leather in the basement -- That doesn’t work, we can throw cafeteria food at the thing till it pukes to death--”

Hah.

The warden won’t let them in, even though one of the survivors is Sheriff Hiatt from Pruitt. So Jonas just kicks a prison bus open and drives it through the fence.

Jonas tells Warden Moeller to stfu and the prison guards open fire on the monster, to no avail.

Guidry has one last plan though and tells Jonas he’ll need her help.

So he aggros the monster to chase him through the prison -- and holy crap, this thing is tearing through prison bars like they’re twizzlers -- and all the way to the electric chair room.

He dodges behind the chair to trick the monster into skewering it with its claws and then Jonas turns on the power.

The monster is finally dead. And Guidry voluntarily turns himself in to serve out the remainder of his prison sentence because Pruitt (the town that’s currently on fire and flattened) is his entire life and home and between another six months in jail vs never seeing it again? Easy decision.

Plus, he’s also sweet on Jonas and she seems to be into him too. “I’m a firm believer in rehabilitation.” So, yeah, that’s disciplinary action waiting to happen.

[janiklandre-blog]

Thursday, February 16, 2017

10:30 a.m. - cold, sunny   I'm back from a 9 a.m. appointment with a podiatrist. Dr.Goldenberg on East 86th Street. The nurse friends I have had - Christine and now C.B. don't like touching people - Christine became an expert on meds and her patients loved her, meds brought relief - pain killers a great problem in America, there is so much pain. C.B. martyred herself for 7 years in Germany doing Altenpflege for the Jesu Bruederschaft - now big in Gnadenthal near Frankfurt - fancy, we googled them - these groups, there are many attract young people who feel guilty and have a need to repent - cradle Catholics are constantly repenting. She got up at 4 and began scrubbing floors, had to tie down the patients, work at least 12 hours a day or more - she was young and enjoyed it. Thenshe came back, worked as a nurse's aid and was smart enough to get an R.N. - as was Christine - she took advantage of nurse shortage and that you could enroll in junior college without a high school diploma - after a two year course you could become an R.N. - Christine was working for cerebral palsy, a good job, still I suggested visiting nurse, she tried, was immediately accepted and paid her dues working in Harlem.he ended up a contract nurse, able to take off as much time as she wanted - she spent winter months in Mexico - and she was paid by the visit, I believe it was $100 per visit - often an insulin injection. She could see a good number of  patients and made a smart move to buy the condo at Christadora house - after being rejected for other purchases - now can rent it out for big bucks, she has stocks and bonds and pension - I'm not sure if you can get pensiuon and social security - in any event she is much smarter than I am, adored by my family that I shared with her - including my first daughter in law whom I treated like a daughter - I was shoved aside as an old fuddy duddy - many do see me that way. Christine was born 1943 in Warsaw - eleven years after me, and was drop dead gorgeous when we met in 1968 and she attached herself to me - to drop me wordlessly in 1995. Bravo! Now C.B. had four brothers - an uncle a priest - a devout family - one brother was in Bolivia intending also to become a priest with Maryknoll - suggested she come, she stayed 11 years and had gret adventures, saw a lot of Latin America - made wonderful friends and in 1997 she took a room at the Catholic Worker in New York, addressed me at a Friday night meeting, her mother is of German background, she had lived 7 years in Germany - she heard my German accent - which also had gained me favor with Jane Sammon, a brilliant woman. I immediately gave C.B. a key to my 6th Street walk up - she drew me in at the C.W. where until then no one had talked to me - Jane had welcomed me warmly but she is extremely busy - and by 1997 I was 65 years old - not very interesting for the men - and at that time living on the proverbial she string - from 1967 on when Robert G. divorced me and decided to make me realize how hard it can be to make money - I had been hustling - the Germans call it jobbing, you can also call it freelancing - my hopes for a small teaching job had fallen through, thousands of humanities Ph.D.s after 1968 driving cabs, washing dishes - and I, withiout knowing it then, had a CW philosophy: my time was more precious than sitting all day la.,ong in a bank - I had good atteibutes for banking, four languages, good looks, good manners - Mount Holyoke B.A., UCLA M.A., Columbia M.Phil. - had I had a serious interest in making money - but I didn't. I would have loved, still would love to make some money with my writing - writing thousands and thousands of pages - I was not able to break into the field. It has defied me - and it's not just the money - it's more importantly the recognition - the respect. At CW I was put, am put into the immense group of poor, old, lonely women happy to volunteer  - read wash dishes or label newspapers (pure make work) - and what appealed about the CW to me vs other volunteer work - like teaching reading for example - you must take a course and then follow the instructions of the program and to keep "the job" you have to be reliably on time. I have remarked about volunteer work before and have written essays, buried somewhere deep in the thousands of pages. At one time there was a speaker at CW from some human rights group, I sent a resume - we don't need you, was the answer. I realize it is women of the upper classes, who also contribute financially who work for all these types of organizations - combined with a fancy social life - travel, parties - the world C.B. has made it into. She has the right social background - father naval officer - and after Kathy Kelly invited her in 2002 to travel to Iraq with her - she was in, oh so in, oh so in. Last year she traveled to Finland, to Germany, to Ireland, to Kurdistan and Iraq - being treated like Mother Theresa, feted, wined, dined, admired, published - and I have watched her rise since I first met her in 1997 - 20 years ago. Now she is ready to drop me too - she was born in 1947 - no more use for a useless old woman. She has agreed to come tol my small party tonight. Earlier I mentioned the German word: tuechtig - my mother's favorite word, found it related to Tugend - virtue - and had sadly to conclude: I am not virtuous - tant pis - too bad. Halleluja I'm a bum again - my the song - I like bums, I am one of  them - the woman who never made a lesson plan - who hitch hikes - and at times also can act as a gutter snipe - most unlady like - and I did go to groups who dealt with that "symptom" - that you can get away with in NYC - not in a small town. There only once if you express your anger - it's all over. You are branded. That is why I have been hanging on to New York In these groups - now called re=evaluation counceling - peer counceling - people do talk of apologizing for "inappropriate anger" and I have done that too. Another long topic. It has become very popular to label people bi polar - it is an official disease and there are plenty of pills to treat it and enrich the doctors and the pharma industry - it used to be manic depression - bi polar is a - now the word escaped - like passed away - a polite word, politically correct - and decent people admit to it and proudly proclaim: I am mentally ill. I am aware of what happened to the mentally ill after Hitler came to power - and since often they are trouble makes  euthanization - another p.c. work for killing - is considered merciful to take them out of their misery - and save their friends and relatives the misery of having to deal with them. Having grown up in Hitler Germany I refuse all labels, am not a joiner and never have pinned any button to myself or a car I am driving. To finish this. Alas Hitler was willing to pin labels on me - until the fire I still had the yellow star my mother was supposed to wear, saying: Jew. Others love to pin labels on me - like my once upon a time millionaires sister in law, a Mormon - who has told my sons: she is a commie. My sons have been very good to her when her only child was dying, a millionaires too - but now her millions will fo to the Mormons - not to her neohews, who struggle - all my fault of course. So, I may have said, I went to a doctor and refused all exams and tests - and I have familiarized myself, thanks to the NYT with "delibertate death"  Freitod, in German, possible now in Vermont and I soon plan a trip to Vermont to find a doctor who provides this opportunity. I've long ago said, I'll never do chemo, no operations for me - lately I have been reaching out for help - in vain.I texted C.B. asking for help - laughingly she told me she was at a party - good for her. In my younger days I always found help - lately a number of women came to clean - I'm not much of a cleaner - also I've lost dexterity - I paid them generously - two women from CW came to collect the money I put out for them, just cleaned a little. Today I would love a little help to set up for a small party - not one person available - they have masses to attend, volunteer work to do, classes, a movie to see - not one willing or able to come before 8 p.m. - my guests have to leave Amherst late - I hope they will be here by 8. I realize, I have become useless. Unproductive. And while words are flowing for me - I don't sleep enough - four hours at best - after a while my energies run out and for a while you will not hear a word from me. The engine stops working. Computers go down. I have learned to deal with my silences - I go to my wonder library and read countless memoirs, at the CW they love me:you are so wonderfully quiet - take pills and be always quiet - we have important things to say and so - all in all I'm ready sign out - disappoint all the wonderful doctors who hope to make some money on me. Adios I also realized this morning that when Jane S.problems, she has a niece, a nurse, also her God child who takes care of her - I have no one. And I also realize that all of us telling Ken: see a doctor was useless. One of us - I? - should have taken him by the arm and said: now we are going to a doctor. Had I known that my sweet Ken might be still alive - and in his sweet and reliable ways helping me with technology that so baffles me.