Vincent S. Moore Presents:
Nearly two weeks ago, the biggest event in American comics and pop culture took place. I’m talking about the one comics convention that’s like going on hajj to Mecca. Or swimming up stream to spawn. Or going to the Grand Canyon. Or all of those things rolled into one.
I’m talking about Comic-Con International: San Diego. And, like seemingly too too many other people, I went.
I had an excellent time with what I saw of the show. Which wasn’t much. CCI is too big a convention to experience on the ground anymore. Like others, I learn more about the happenings and events on the internets afterwards than I do while I’m there.
Even going to a panel or two is like planning a major road trip. I usually start by checking out the schedules ahead of time, just to put into mind what panels I have to see out of the hundreds that are put on by various and sundry peoples.
There are panels for just about everything pop culture at Comic-Con International: San Diego. From manga to Twilight, from Marvel, DC, Dark Horse, and Image to Prism Comics and The Antidote Trust (shameless plug!), attendees of all shapes and shades could have found something to their liking during the four and a half days of CCI.
There were a couple of panels I looked forward to attending this year. Particularly the one on diversity in comics featuring professionals like Gail Simone and Dwayne McDuffie, which was a nice first step towards talking about comics that try to appeal or attract folks other than the assumed and much maligned white guys that once dominated Comic-Con International overtly.
And there was one panel that I actually dreaded even knowing still existed.
See, aside from the panels featuring whatever movie of the week or the moment the Hollywood studios were pushing and promoting at the show, many panels are annual occurrences. Such as the Quick Draw panel where a number of artists engage each other in contests of fast drawing skill. Or the now ritual showing of the Buffy musical episode that closes out CCI.
Those are good panels that serve the audiences that attend them.
However, the panel I’m talking is not one of those.
Many years ago, an experimental panel took place. It happened in Room 20 (not Ballroom 20), if my memory serves me correctly, at the San Diego Convention Center. It was a gathering of a number of black comics creators and the panel itself was designed to speak to those fans of African American descent, to allow them an opportunity to speak with creators of color and learn the hows and whys and whats of creating comics. That first blacks in comics panel filled the room to standing capacity. It also led to way to another such panel and another and another, each one with the purpose of spotlighting black creators and creating a forum to discuss issues that pertained to black fans and potential creators.
And then, some way, somehow, it happened.
This simple and informative panel morphed Hyde-like into that annual abomination and embarrassment known as The Black Panel.
I don’t know how it happened. But I think it had something to do with the machinations of the now permanent moderator of The Black Panel: Michael Davis. He is the mad scientist that took over and built a worse beast out of something useful.
And yet, despite that darker (pardon the pun) turn the panel itself took, it continues on each and every year. Just in the same way that Christopher Lee’s Dracula refuses to die and go away.
Now, one may ask, why would I subject myself to such a panel if I didn’t have to? I mean, just because I’m black that doesn’t mean I have to be a sheep and go to The Black Panel. And those questions are deserved. For CCI 2009, I had originally intended to avoid The Black Panel like the Typhoid Mary that it is, like a number of black fans and professionals I know. I intended to skip the new age minstrel show this year.
And then, I thought of you readers.
I thought of my column and that, at long last, I have a forum to vent my spleen about this travesty beyond the postmortems I would normally enjoy with my fellow haters after the panel itself was over but the bad taste and the sores lingered.
Knowing I would at least reap some journalistic value out of wasting my time and allowing my mindspace to be filled by goodness knew what, I changed my mind and attended The Black Panel bright and early on Saturday morning of CCI. Thankfully I had had a couple of drinks on Friday night to build up my courage. I needed it.
And so, after cutting into line ahead of my new friend Geoffrey Thorne (thanks for that and the good advice)(and hey, what better way to enter this thing than to do so like a thief in the night!), I entered Room 5AB and found a seat and prepared myself for the show.
Preparations that failed me the moment Michael Davis took the podium and the microphone.
Because, despite vague efforts on his part to do otherwise, he pulled his usual minstrel show host approach to being moderator, minus the smudging of cork upon his face.
(Digression: for any of you folks who happen to enjoy going to The Black Panel every year or are friends of Michael Davis, this is your only warning. It’s only going to get rougher from here. This column is not reportage; it’s commentary and I will refrain from pulling any punches. To borrow from Shakespeare, I have not come to praise The Black Panel, I have come to bury it.)
However, the crowded and packed Room 5AB took all the jokes about colored people not starting on time and references in stride and applauded as The Black Panel officially began.
And it began with a whimper, as for yet another year we were subjected to a computer generated slide show, a generous bit of shameless self-promotion of Michael Davis mixed with typical multimedia coonage, all to the sounds of Montell Jordan’s “This Is How We Do It”, also making its annual repeat performance. As the song blared out and the images flashed, I kept hoping to myself that this wasn’t how we did it, all to no avail. There was no salvation in that room for the likes of me. The end of the slide show was met with pure blind excitement and laughter from the attendees. Which shocked and disappointed me more because it was the beginnings of the revelation that as a group, we black folks are more than willing to accept just about any old thing as long as it’s done by us. Which is completely sad.
But there was no time to start my lamentations as Davis took control again (had he ever given it up?) and launched into a very lame joke based on the whole Henry Louis Gates arrest debacle. Thankfully that joke quickly faded as he began the introductions to the panelists, who had already been named by the multimedia presentation. So we were well on our way to unwisely using the time allotted for the panel. Again, as is all too usual.
As I and everyone else were about to experience, the wasting of time would be a special feature of The Black Panel 2009. For not only has the addition of rappers and actors to the panel add to the noise level of the crowds, as everyone screams and yells at every little twitch and tick and takes a gazillion pictures with their cameras and phones. There was a new twist added for this year.
For the introductions of the panelists was interrupted by a hype man for the new (admittedly, to me) rapper Asia Lee, the so-called Queen of Cali. The crowd erupted in joyous noise as if Jesus himself had returned. Except it wasn’t that good or that important. And I wondered how could anyone understand or hear what was going on as the crappy sound system of the convention center struggled to withstand the thumping bass and screeching voice of Ms. Lee. The crappy sound only added to the descent into ghetto pantomimes by my reckoning.
I wondered aloud to a friend if Spike Lee was behind a secret wall filming a reality show version of Bamboozled 2. I couldn’t tell. However the performance served its real purpose as the pounding, crackling beats thumped the audience into further submission to the mainstream white media and society’s low expectations of us black folks. Expectations that we all too often gladly accept and foster amongst ourselves.
I wondered and waited for my complimentary watermelon and fried chicken to accompany the aural Kool-Aid being force fed into my ears and brain. Except Mr. Davis had brought out the bucket of KFC two years before as joke prop. I guess there was no chicken left by 2009.
At long last, 20 minutes late (was it only 20 minutes?!? Damn, it felt like a million years. Feel sorry for me, folks, because I had another hour and ten minutes to sit through and it was tough to do it. See what I suffer through for you people!), the introductions of the panelists were stumbled over and muddled through like rancid black-eye peas passing through your system.
At this point, I felt sorrier for those up on the stage. In my seat in the back, I at least had a couple of friends to talk with and point out just how badly everything was going. The panelists were prisoners of their need to promote their products and to Mr. Davis’ clutches.
(Digression: I know the main purpose for all the panels is to promote something or someone. What bothers me about The Black Panel is that nearly all of the time is spent promoting and nearly none is given to the fans attending that may have questions for the panelists. This isn’t the only thing that bothers me, but it’s in the top five.)
First amongst the victims, I mean the panelists, was Denys Cowan, long time comics artist and best friend of Michael Davis, according to him. I don’t even want to touch that one. The project that he and writer Reggie Hudlin were announcing was Flags Of Our Fathers, basically a Black Panther versus Captain America special. Nice. Beautiful looking art. But I kept wondering if that trip was really necessary. Such a book only adds to the cries of some critics that most mainstream superhero comics are little more than fan fiction. This book will do nothing to dissuade any of those folks from their opinions.
Next up was Nichelle Nichols who promoted her upcoming Cabonauts, a science fiction musical comedy about a space cab company on the web. It was created by writer Hayden Black. But I thought I heard the name as hatin’ black. I apologize for my mistake. If I felt bad for anyone on the stage it was Ms. Nichols. After all, was this the way to greet and treat an elder sister such as she is who showed us black science fiction fans the way and open the doors? I also wondered what does she think of us, her children?
I sincerely wish Ms. Nichols much success but hope there’s no shucking and jiving on her show.
After this grand lady was Jimmy Diggs, touted as the man who has sold more Star Trek scripts than anyone else. Quite honestly this was the first I had heard of the gentlemen, so I can’t judge the veracity of that introduction. He announced selling his first feature film screenplay (congratulations to him) and the upcoming book the 7 Deadly Sins Of Star Trek. I may have to check that out when it arrives.
Reggie Hudlin was more formally introduced, promoting his final act as writer of the Black Panther comic to turn the mantle over the T’Challa’s sister and the still in the works (has it been two years already? Or is it three?) Black Panther animated series. In a moment of really shameless self-promotion a clip was shown where the Black Panther (T’Chaka, father to T’Challa the character we know as BP, for you continuity geeks out there, in case you were wondering) meets and beats up Captain America. Wow, what were the chances of that happening?
During the playback of the clips, the continual mistakes and technical difficulties that had haunted the opening minutes of The Black Panel came to a head. Were these lingering problems a metaphor for the state of black pop culture? Or for The Black Panel itself?
This observation wasn’t helped by Mr. Davis’ relentless coonage, which continually ruined any of the information being shared.
After the clips came Prodigal Sunn. Now, I will admit that I am ignorant of a number of aspects of the rap scene. Because I couldn’t help but wonder to myself who the hell was this? All this gentleman had to say was he was new to comics but has a book in development (more on this later). But why was he there? Is rap and hip hop really the fount of all black culture these days? If so, why? I like rap, but that’s not all I like. Surely other people are like me in this regard.
I guess this is the price I pay for being a self admitted Boojie Oreo.
(Digression: for the people out there not part of the black community, allow me to spare you a side trip to Wikipedia. ‘Boojie’ is, according to my old copy of Juba to Jive by Clarence Major, is short for ‘bourgeois.’ It’s a derogatory term referring to middle-class blacks. Such as yours truly. ‘Oreo’, quite obviously, is a derogatory term for black people that are more culturally white than black. So now you know and knowing is half the battle.)
Next up came Stacey McClain, a writer who works with Michael Davis, promoting her idea for a comic called Sistaah Friend. Say what? I hate to crap on someone’s ideas. Okay, that’s not completely true. I’m an editor at other times, so I guess I like crapping on people’s ideas. I just couldn’t help but ask myself why do some black creators aim so low with their ideas? Why are some of the ideas by some black creators so feeble? Especially when one only needs to walk briefly the floor of Comic-Con International and see what one’s potential competition is. These observations weren’t helped by the mediocre art sample displayed on the big screen. It looked more than primitive, especially compared to the Black Panther art and animation previously shown. Part of me wants to describe the idea but I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to see more women create comics. I want to see more superheroines and other female characters regardless of their color. But what was this? Who is it for? What the fuck?
As I tried to recover from yet another shock, the actor Kel Mitchell was introduced. His projects include the comic Alien Samurai, which is linked to Ms. Asia Lee. Again, I have to ignore my notes about this one and refer you to my questions above. The other project was a web TV show called the Brash Brothers. Say what? With the samples shown I kept waiting for Dave Chappelle to show up and advise Mr. Mitchell to go to Africa on a sojourn. At this point I finally realized that some black and white actors will do anything degrading for money and exposure. I know, like this was truly a new revelation.
(Full disclosure time: I helped edit a project called Sista Samurai for Astounding Studios and Ape Entertainment. That relationship has nothing to do with my reactions to both of the projects listed above. It wasn’t until after The Black Panel that I even realized the possible connections. I hope being honest here will cut off any nonsense from haters. Wait, who am I fooling? This is the internets. Some of you will jump to your conclusions and start flaming me before you’re done reading this.)
Another revelation that hit me was just how many of the panelists were connected to Michael Davis. In addition to his friends, Prodigal Sunn, Ms. McClain, and Mr. Mitchell were all having their projects spearheaded and/or shepherded by Mr. Davis. Not entirely surprising but shameless nonetheless. I mean, when does this event officially become The Michael Davis Panel?
The last revelation that hit me was I chose to do this to myself. I can say I sat through The Black Panel in order to write this column. But I could have come up with other topics. I didn’t have to subject myself to this effrontery. Yet I kept my seat and kept observing.
Next was Michael Jai White, talking about his new movie Black Dynamite, a parody/homage to blaxploitation detective films. I was and am ambivalent about this. I grew up watching those movies during the 1970s. I didn’t find them inherently funny, beyond any comedies I saw. But I wonder why so many creative people in Hollywood find it easier to make fun of these films and this point in time than to do what they did and make all genres of movies starring black people in all kinds of roles. I was and am troubled by these choices. A clip was shown (without trouble this time) and afterwards the audience laughed and applauded. Was with us or at our own expense? I still do not know. And I will freely admit to being very sensitive about this subject. So when the announcement was made of a Black Dynamite cartoon being approved and produced by one of the minds behind The Boondocks show, I felt numb and still don’t know how to react to all of this. Maybe I’m just getting old.
Finally introduced was the de facto star of The Black Panel 2009, Ludacris. I say that because it was evident that most of these people standing around the room, snapping photos, came to see him. I have no problem with that, per se. He mentioned this was his second year attending Comic-Con International. Then he said something that reminded me we live in a post-irony age. He said something to the effect that CCI sets the standard for fans of black pop culture. Comic-Con International, an event built around comic book fans who tend towards being mostly white, mostly male, and set in their ways and views of the world. This show sets the standard for fans of black pop culture. Wow. Just plainly and simply, wow. Ludacris mentioned a few other projects that he’s filming and working on but I was too stunned by his assessment of CCI and its fans to take note of what they were.
With the nearly hour long introductions of and pitches by the panelists at long last complete, Michael Davis started to open the floor for questions. For the most part, this time, all 20 minutes of it, flew by without much to note. The standard questions of how to get exposure to the mainstream media were asked. Jobs were sought by hopefuls. The usual, if you’ve ever attended any panel at any convention in the past. The answers were the standard boiler plate about how to succeed and so on. Except, I wondered where were the role models or examples? I guess I could have assumed the panelists themselves were those role models but, with no time or effort made to broaden out and explain thoughts and give examples from one’s own experience, I found it difficult to determine if anything being said was worthwhile. As I was noting that particular thought, another occurred to me: some of The Black Panel 2009 consisted of announcements of the same old projects and half thought out new ones that haven’t and might never come to fruition. Was this too a metaphor for the state of black pop culture or for The Black Panel itself?
At this point, my mind wandered off and even more questions appeared.
Like, when will the black rockers--Fishbone, Living Colour, the Black Rock Coalition, etc.--be invited to Comic-Con International and The Black Panel?
Where was Samuel Delany?
Where was Steven Barnes?
Where were L.A. Banks and Tananarive Due?
Where was Gary Phillips?
Where was Walter Mosley, a huge comics fan?
Where were Angela Robinson and Felicia D. Henderson, the first two black women to write for mainstream superhero comics?
I mean, if this presentation is the true be-all, end-all of black pop culture, then shouldn’t folks like these be invited?
I was pulled out of my reverie by Michael Davis’ decision to take time away from the audience questioners to handle a very interesting piece of business. It seems that some of the complaints about The Black Panel are getting back to him and are getting to him. Why? Because Mr. Davis made a big deal out of producing a purported email from a disgruntled attendee that challenged Mr. Davis’ control of The Black Panel. Had the day arrived at long last? The day that many black comics professionals I know have been praying for? I couldn’t tell, as Michael Davis chose to deal with this situation in an offhand, funny manner that felt designed to put himself moreso than the audience at ease. Still, I wonder. Are people starting to see the man behind the curtain instead of the big glowing blowhard head? Are others attempting to put together other black oriented pop culture events at Comic-Con? Oh, I hope so. And if so, is Mr. Davis leaning on CCI to prevent other, better competition? Given the high volume of his voice as he pointed out to the audience and his unnamed challenger the relative difficulties it would be to get such talented folks as this year’s panelists for any other event, one would be tempted to think so. However, given some of the names of black writers I listed above that weren’t invited, I would hazard a guess that it wouldn’t be as tough as Mr. Davis said it would be.
And yet, in answering this challenge to his authority over all things Black Panel, Michael Davis never stopped promoting himself. And I think that’s the real object being challenged: the annual opportunity, on one of the biggest stages in the American pop cultural landscape, to promote all things Michael Davis. To do such would be to threaten his livelihood and his definition of himself as an important player in the game. No wonder he took a chance of such a naked public display of his power over The Black Panel. He even went so far as to give his own spin to the origins of Milestone, placing himself in the center of that universe. Now, I know that by even mentioning this I’m stepping on a land mine. However, given that Dwayne McDuffie wasn’t there to counter this view and that Christopher J. Priest himself has posted on his website his own view of the beginnings of this company, I think the story told by Mr. Davis during The Black Panel 2009 could be challenged as not being the only version of events. And I think the silence of Denys Cowan at this point of the panel says so much more than I or any other commentator could.
While this display went on and on, I looked into the aisles near my seat and saw three young girls standing and watching everything that had happened. But what did they really see? Did they see creative people dreaming big? Or did they see creative people stuck in the mud of years of being told that dreaming of the sky was impossible? For while there were people all around the convention center talking about superheroes fighting against cosmic threats, against death itself and manga heroes were struggling to grow stronger and better to face new, more challenging challenges, the folks on The Black Panel were talking about space cabbies and overdressed, gun-toting men and black men finding joy and power in beating up white men and women with the power to be bestest friends with anyone. I felt sad for these young girls. I wondered where were the dreamers, the black dreamers, that will dream the dreams that will inspire and thrill and lift them up? Is the next generation of young African Americans doomed to be exposed to more of the same old mediocre jigabuffoonery as usual? If so, I weep for them.
I mean, look, I’m not perfect. I’m not setting myself up as judge, jury, and executioner for The Black Panel. But for too many years now I’ve debated and discussed this annual minstrel show with other folks that attend Comic-Con International. We discuss and debate and talk about what was bad, what was wrong, and just about every year, we try to think of something better to do. Well, I’ve had enough of just talking about. I figure if at least someone is brave enough to talk about this thing in public, someone who has nothing to lose, then maybe something better can happen.
I’ve elected myself, it appears.
Fine, good, I’m going with this flow then.
Because, to me, The Black Panel serves best as an example of what not to do, as an anti-role model, and as an inspiration to some creators and attendees to do better, to demand better from ourselves and from the folks that put on Comic-Con International.
I have nothing personal against hip hop and rappers. However, in many ways, they represent the only wish fulfillment power fantasy for blacks the mainstream white media finds acceptable: basically bling, bitches, and booze. As long as Black America, the one that’s all too often seen on TV, is kept placated with these visions, this so-called Keeping It Real and Keeping It Street, White America can relax and do their level best to hold onto the myth of When White Folk Ruled The World for another generation. It’s when we black folk have the audacity to hope of wearing a costume and fighting crime with a utility belt or with powers beyond those of any mortal that we become dangerous. It’s when we create stories of black men and women on spaceships or wielding magical swords that we become dangerous. It’s when we refuse to only be the Angry Black Person and demand characters of color have broaden emotions and motivations that we become dangerous. It’s when we dare to dream the same dreams and want to have all the fun the white boys do that we become dangerous.
Unfortunately, becoming dangerous gets all the wrong attention of the mainstream. It’s gets proclaimed bad or out of step or just plain ignored. If you don’t believe me, then ask either your local rock or R&B radio station to play a cut off of a Fishbone album. Or go into the nearest chain bookstore and ask for the latest Tobias Buckell novel. Or, even better, go to your neighborhood black bookseller and ask for a Charles Saunders novel.
When we black folk have an opportunity on a stage like Comic-Con International, we should take that stage and have to be thrown off. We should use it to spotlight the best and brightest amongst our dreamers. We should use it as a chance to calm the subconscious fears of white people, to say that all we want is room to breathe and dream, just like you. We don’t want to hate you, really, we want to want, we want to love and be loved. We black people want what every human being on this planet wants, only we also want not to looked upon with fear and disgust and puzzlement for wanting those very things.
The Black Panel as it currently exists does not and cannot do these things. And they are oh, so very important to have done.
The choice of participants for The Black Panel 2009--with apologies to all of you--appears to reflect a monolithic view of all things black pop culture. A view that is denied by the wide variety of pop culture going on at CCI. A view that really demonstrates the minstrel show and blackface and all its implications are not that far removed from our collective consciousness, black and white.
Except the days of putting on blackface and dancing on the stage to entertain those sweet and good white folks with our charming Negro ways are long gone.
Or they should be.
And it is only ourselves, we black people, that continue to drag out and paint on the cork and bow our heads and accept what scraps are given to us with gratitude for receiving even that.
We shouldn’t continue to do that.
And there’s no reason to.
This year at Comic-Con International by my own rough count there were 10 panels aimed at or that featured women and women’s issues. There were also 4 panels geared towards the LGBT community. There were 5 Asian themed panels, not counting manga which would have ballooned the number up towards 10 or more. There was even a panel devoted to talking about the issue of diversity that featured professionals from across the spectrum; it wasn’t perfect but it was fun to see. Yet, there were only 3 Hispanic oriented panels and these were counted because they were spotlights on Hispanic artists. And there were 4 panels dedicated to black people. But, if you discount the panels for Black Dynamite and an animated series I refuse to name here, there were only two. One was a spotlight on Dwayne McDuffie. The other was The Black Panel.
And there should be more than just that.
I think there should be.
So do many silent others.
This column, however, is not a declaration of war.
This is a declaration of independence.
We African Americans are neither a monolith nor a hive mind. Our culture and cultural artifacts are as varied as the colors of our skin, going from high yellow to cinnamon brown to blue black.
Hip hop is not nor should it be the sole fount, the be-all, end-all of creativity in the black community. Some of us are jazz lovers, some of us are rockers, and some of us are just plain geeks, reading our science fiction and fantasy books and our comics.
What we need are more voices and more varied voices from which to learn and to which we can listen.
What we need, particularly on stages like Comic-Con International, is to show that the African American creative comes from lots of different places and that the African American community wants and, more importantly, needs lots of different choices and voices.
What we need is no more Niggapaloozas like The Black Panel each and every year.
What we need is not The Black Panel but many panels featuring black folks talking about comics, science fiction, horror, fantasy, mystery, westerns, et cetera, et cetera. After all, isn’t competition the real American way?
So I ask black fans and black creators to stand up and be counted. We have everything to gain and nothing to lose but the stereotypes and low expectations that hound us.
Now is the time.
Now, with the first African American President of the United States in office, is the time to break out of the box White and Black America put us fans into and hold us prisoner to their whims and limited visions and low expectations and need to keep real was isn’t reality for all.
Now is the time.
For, if not now, then when?
In the 11th hour, as I usually find myself when writing these things, I started having second thoughts about the title. The second thoughts did not begin with me but I did give them some consideration. The N word (oh, how I love that euphemism!) is so negatively charged that any references to it draw down lightning. When the title hit me on the last day of CCI, I just threw it around like it was nothing. A number of folks I told it to, black and white, simply breathed in, paused, and knew exactly what I meant and where I was going. And at that point, I knew I had something to go with.
Then came the second thoughts, rightly so.
Race is still and will be for a long time to come a very touchy subject in the world and here in the good ol’ U.S. The election of Barack Obama has both made us as a country feel that our shared bad historical blood is just water under the bridge and has opened the flood gates to new, more public attacks on race. Especially from conservative commentators.
As much as I was encouraged to write this piece, I would occasionally be chided by a few black friends about airing dirty laundry. I know as anyone else does, however, that the process of cleaning laundry means airing it out first. From there, it can be washed, rinsed, and hung to dry in the bright summer sun. From there, it gets clean.
We need more discussions of race in America, not less.
We need to talk about from every possible angle.
And we need to dig into the internecine conflicts within a race as well.
Spike Lee got into trouble for making School Daze and talking about the infighting between light skinned and dark skinned blacks. Knowing how those very differences affected my family, I was probably one of the few that applauded his efforts.
In the end, as you can see, I decided to stick with my choice for the title of this column.
If any of you readers out there are offended, well, I can’t help with that. I made my choice and I refuse to apologize for it. If you don’t like it, then maybe the better question to ask yourself before you choose to flame me on your own blog or website is why I felt right to do what I did.
The same goes for those who feel I flamed the hell out of Michael Davis. I only know him by his reputation and by what I’ve seen every year I’ve attended The Black Panel. These are my opinions. If he or any of his friends don’t like them, well, as my father used to say, that’s a personal problem.
Finally, and I haven’t written something this long in a while, I’d like to thank David Walker for his contributions to this piece. We sat near each other and I felt like I was back in grade school, the way we shared our impressions and notes. That made sitting through The Black Panel worthwhile. And, for the record, David coined the word ‘jigabuffoonery’ which I used here.
With that, let the making of friends and influencing of people now begin.
See y’all in two weeks.
Copyright 2006- 2010 Marc Mason/Comics Waiting Room. All rights reserved