Garth Ennis, �Preacher� (Multiple titles)
- Ancient History: Volume 4 (Started November 18 � Finished November 18, 2004; 224 pages)
- All Hell�s A-Coming: Volume 8 (Started November 18 � Finished November 18, 2004; 192 pages)
Ok. I�ve finally finished the entire Preacher run, albeit entirely out of order, on something that is a continual narrative. It�s supposed to read like a road movie, and I�ve gone through the film like an insomniac problem drinker, waking up at different points as the DVD continues on repeat.
But I�ve reviewed the comic in plenty of other places, so I don�t really need to talk about it anymore. I will say this, however, I think the �All Hell�s A-Coming� is one of the best of the bunch. Tulip�s a great character, and this is one part of the series where she really shines. Maybe one of these days, I�ll actually be caught up on my to read shelf, and I can find the time to read these in the order that they were meant to be read.
Yeah, that�ll happen.
So, the word of the week in my presence seems to be, �awwwwwwww, cuuuuuuuuute!�
Ok, words of the week.
I got the haircut I promised. The girl who did it is currently working the beauty school dropout angle, except she hasn�t dropped out yet. I made an appointment at her college, which is located in the middle of a strip mall in Santa Clara.
Some people may be wondering why this is a big deal. A haircut. Whoo! What an animal! He�s crazy, that monkey-king o� mine!
And perhaps I am overplaying this entire incident. But christ, I�ve had the hair in my face since before I could vote. My devillock at one point was longer than any member of the Misfits. Funny thing is, I don�t even like the Misfits all that much. But I kept the haircut for so long for a couple of reasons � my hair is so fine and so straight that there really isn�t much you can do with it, outside of a Beatles bowl cut, or a yuppie look. I didn�t want either.
I still don�t. That�s why I went to a professional. But I had to go to a professional who knew me, and knew my personality.
Even so, she knew the task was daunting. This girl knew me from about ten years ago, when the devillock was about halfway down my chest. She asked what I wanted.
�Two things,� I said. �Make me look hot, and don�t make me look like a tool.�
Despite her training, she was scared. �I�ve known you too long,� she said, �I can�t picture you any other way.� She recruited help, and soon, I had three girls playing with my hair, trying to figure out what they could do. Most scenarios brought the same answer � nearly anything they did would make me look like a businessman.
Finally, my friend and another girl started working. Nearly an hour later, they finished. My life turned into the first Batman movie.
�The mirror,� I said.
She started stammering about how I would get used to it.
�The mirror!�
She turned the chair so I could see her work.
The devillock was still there. Only now it looked intentional, instead of the jokes I usually hear about how I must have run out of money before the barber could get to the bangs.
I have to admit it actually looked pretty good. But I had spent so much time in the preceding 24 hours psyching myself up that this was kind of a let down. But the college was closing up. She cleaned her station and I met her outside to share a cigarette.
�I�m sorry,� she said as we sat outside. �It�s not much of a change. I just can�t picture you any other way, and I didn�t want you freak out if I did something drastic. And cutting that off is, well, pretty fucking drastic.�
�It�s fine,� I reassured her. �In fact, it looks good. I was giving you free rein though, and I had prepared myself for the shock. But if this is what you think works...�
She studied my head, running her fingers through my hair.
�Come over to my house tonight. I�ll psyche myself up.�
What, you�re gonna drink something first?� I asked. �Get some liquid courage?�
She smirked, ran her fingers through my hair one more time, then nodded.
And this is where the �awwwwwwww, cuuuuuuuuute!� started. She�d work with her scissors and razor, take a step back, and then squeal. �I can see your face!� she said excitedly. I can see your ear! My god, you�re sooooo cute!�
�I�m not trying to look cute, I�m trying to look hot! Smoldering sex incarnate! Devastatingly handsome!�
�Oh yeah, you�re all of that too,� she�d say in a way too off-hand matter. Then she�d look at me again.
�It�s sooooooo cuuuuuute!�
Jesus fuck. Cute is not the equivalent of hottest hottie in the history of hotness. Cute is little baby elephants. Cute is my cat sleeping with one paw over her head, looking like she just woke up from a three-day alcohol-fueled trip to Vegas. Cute is small children when they�ve been caught in a thresher.
Cute, in short, does not get me laid.
But the devillock was now definitely gone. I went out to gauge the reactions of others. First stop � sexy bartender.
The first words out of her mouth were, �Awwwwwwww, cuuuuuuuuute!�
Oh, goddamn it.
Wait for it...
I knew you were going to say that.
Oh, yeah, I�m the one on the right. The girl is the inimitable Luva, who is cooler than you, and writes better than me. Or is it I? Anyway, she says I was shrieking, �Ew! Ew! Ew! Ew!� during the entire pose, which is apparently what I have to do in order to take a picture that I actually like.
Though I do like my mugshot.
