The Vreckless Vrestlers series is a comic tribute to pop culture of the ’80s and ’90s – wrestling, toys, cartoons, comics and games of these times. Things which still give me lots of joy and will forever remain a great inspiration. For me, one of most important things about my comics is that I am doing everything myself, except translations. Script, design, drawing, preparing files for digital and print, promotion – I do it all without crowd funding or sponsors. 100% DIY. Of course, I have support from my wife and friends!
Issue #0 introduces the main players in this time-defying universe.
Do you know it’s in my nature to want, want people, places and things, not being fully satisfied but just always in want? Why am “eye” like this? Wanting just to be wanting, never ever really needing, just wanting?
“Eye” want my woman to love me, spoil me, cook for me, pamper me just want her to do something for me! Look at me, being as selfish as “eye” can be. When will my desire to want set me free? Is it that “eye” am just like other wanters in search of wanting and never really needing?
“What took you so goddamn long, boy?” Margene demanded. “I been calling your name since the commercial.” On the big-screen television, a perky blonde with dazzling teeth cooed about the efficacy of scented douche. Whenever Margene needed another wine cooler or wanted to empty the ashtray, she wailed for her son, Dewey, to leave his computer and assist her. He shuffled from the back of the mobile home, past all the piles of cardboard boxes lining the hall, and into the living room where Margene held court. Cigarette dangling from her lips and remote control clenched in her grip, she growled for Dewey to complete the tasks her sloth made untenable.
If Sam Axe died
on USA’s intense dramatic show,
I would have cried
for a character I always wanted to know,
and Burn Notice would have sighed
I hate children. I think children are annoying little creatures who excel at getting adults into trouble.
I used to be a child, but that was a long time ago.
I once had my arm twisted by my friend to baby sit her kid for a night while she went off to a Neil Diamond concert with her partner. I never took up such an occupation before in my life but I foolishly decided to give it a go.
Now this little kid I had to baby sit was verging on his fifth birthday and I really did not want to stay up and talk toddler gibberish with him all night so I decided to put him to bed.
Internally Godzilla is welcomed. I hope for something large and brooding to be fearful of. Instead my tongue swells with grief while the sunlight wrinkles my skin. Time decays waiting for a silver cumulus to let go of the shoe and I squeeze out all of my tears until I have nothing left for the rain. What will I do when my body disagrees? I’d rather choke on the dust that I leave behind than the dust that I gathered while I was here. This peculiar illusion of control corners me like a beast at feeding time. You would think by now I’d have learned enough to bathe in the sunlight instead of the blood but this slaughter is all that I know. I cashier myself until my shoulders curve raw underneath the flag of my own war.
Oh, what a beautiful morning. Oh, what a beautiful day. I hope that things will be going my way. Not today.
Lately, I have come across some “fun” drivers. It just seems like everybody is wrapped up in their own little world or texting on top of the steering wheel while driving. STOP Signs have become optional. Apparently, so have YIELD Signs, but I’ll get to that in a few moments.
The sitcom cut to a commercial and Garth picked up the pipe and a lighter. While we watched a procession of former lard-asses tout the benefits of a new diet pill, he lit the underside of the pipe’s bowl and waited for the blessed, wisps of white smoke to swirl and rise. He sucked in the smoke once it appeared, held it a few moments then blew it all out. It was a massive hit; ash-white clouds filled the cramped camper. Feeling a wave of relaxation from the hit, he pondered just how many hits of equal punch the bowl had left. After all, hadn’t Blackie urged him to smoke all he wanted?
Unfortunately, he still needed to take a massive dump.
Garth hadn’t dressed properly for the frigid weather. He wore only jeans and a loose sweater over a black T-shirt. No overcoat, no scarf. He paced beside his green Nissan, waiting for Rufus. He’d arrived at Fat Dog Liquor at seven that night just as he’d promised Rufus. It was nearly seven-thirty. He fought the urge to take his money and just buy a bottle of rum to take home to Josh. Occasionally, one of the customers shot him a baffled or suspicious look. Garth considered waiting in his car but doubted his dealer would remember what he drove.
Tonight was special for Josh and him. After Josh finished his prison term for a minor drug charge, he and Garth plotted online for a time they could get together, get high and get naked.
Party Politicians love the hurt
Don’t feel anything, they will never learn
Money they push down, they push down
I’m the one “to represent you all”
Polls going up, representatives ring’ doorbells
But there is no love, there is no love
Throw the truth back ‘til we believe you