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Hey kids,


Here is a comic I wrote a long time ago, that was based upon a true event. It’s called The Last Time I Rode A Greyhound Bus. It sat on my harddrive for YEARS. Recently, I gave this script to the talented Mr. Michael Harris to draw and we printed it up for The Comictron 2.0; a book we made for the Wizard World 2008 Chicago Comic Convention, along with two stories by David Brame.

Unfortunately, I ended up giving away more than we sold. (We ended up selling an embarrassing two copies of the book.) This comic was the first comic script I’ve ever written that has actually been illustrated (other than by myself) and printed. I’m very proud of this work and I would hate if only a handful of people ever got to see it.

So I’m posting it here for all (ten of you who will actually read this blog) to see. The Comictron 2.0 is still for sale so, if you would like a copy, let Michael or I know. It contains this story, as well as an amazingly hilarious Pirates vs Ninjas story (and one more that’s extremely hard to read — well, it is, Dave!) by Mr. Brame.

Either way, enjoy.

Your friend (and part-time lover),
Boom Boom Storm Cloud


David Brame:
An American

Yo, in the housing, thousands seen early graves
Victims of wordly ways, memories stays engraved”

— From
A Better Tomorrow, by the Wu-Tang Clan

My friends, we gather here today to remember and pay tribute to a friend, a colleague, a brother, a man so amazing that the word itself was a part of his name: Amazing David.

David Allan Brame was born Charleston, SC on May 16, 1983 at the tender age of zero, to parents Priscilla and Willie Brame. David moved around a lot as a child, living in South Carolina, North Carolina, Florida, Virginia, New Jersey and Ohio, and traveled much of the world in his twenty-five years on it, roaming across the UK, France, Italy, Switzerland, Costa Rica, Panama, Nicaragua, and Canada – often to avoid arrest.

Even from an early age, David was an incredibly smart and imaginative, believing that the fictional lands he read about in storybooks — such as Middle-Earth, Narnia, and Circus Palace — actually existed, which helped shape his future as both an artist and a writer.

Throughout his years, from his youth to his teens and into adulthood, David was a laidback man who liked to have a good time. Whether it was painting or drawing comics, beating up Muscular Dystrophy kids in the sixth grade, hanging out and watching movies with friends, sponging free video games off of Make-A-Wish cancer kids, wrecking fools in Soul Caliber, or laughing at “a downy kid, riding his bike, screaming down the street [when] nothing was chasing him,” David enjoyed the simple things in life.

Speaking of simple things, David Brame was also an appreciator of women, so long as they were completely crazy and white. Or Asian, who, as he once explained, “are like white women with jaundice and are better at math.”

However, all his public love affairs were a lie; all the women he dated-slash-fucked, beards. In truth, David Brame struggled his entire life with the secret desire to one day be one hundred percent homosexual and his heart, as well as his penis, belonged to one beard in particular, Skyler Paris.

During his brief and awkward “heterosexual” period, David also fathered two children: his little girl, Karma, whom he loved with all of his heart and soul, in whom he instilled his most valued ideals – such as mistrusting “Whitey” and staying off the [stripper] pole — claiming multiple times that she was his inspiration and motivation for being a better father, for being a better man, for just being better. And, you know, the other kid.

When he wasn’t sitting in a jail cell or having sex with white women, David attended the Columbus College of Art and Design, where he honed his artist skill and shaped his own unique personal style and fashion, by growing both dreadlocks and obese, and wearing a lot of pink, mesh tops, pants so tight they split as soon as he’d put them on, and grandma jewelry.

While at the school, he met friends Michael Harris and Kevin Rapp, along with whom he eventually tri-founded The Triumvirate, a group whose sole purpose for being was to produce the highest quality art that they could. And to also crush The COmpetition.

Upon hearing his untimely departure, his friends gathered together to mourn collectively and share stories. “Remember that time Dave was drunk for a full twenty-four hours?” “Oooh! There was that one time we were talking on the phone when he got pulled over doing 55 in a 35 and his last words to me were ‘I think I’m going to jail tonight. Yeah, I’m going to jail. If I don’t call you back, I’m in jail.’ He never did call me back and he was in jail.” Even though David is gone, on that night, celebrating his life, it was like there was a little piece of him that would live on in each of our hearts.

David is survived by his parents, Priscilla and Willie, one adopted and one half-sister, his children, Karma and the other one, dozens of close friends, as well as numerous warrants for his arrest.

Though David had several nicknames – Amazing David, Big Lockz, Wreckscaliber – he will always be my Negro Amigo.

And he will be missed.

Your friend (and part-time lover),
Boom Boom Storm Cloud


What do you mean, he’s not dead?



N***a owes me twelve dolla!

Hey Kids,

As promised, here are some pictures from last weekend’s 2008 Wizard World Chicago Comic Convention. Let us all unite and bask in the glory of herds of nerds in costume. You will not be disappointed.

First of, with this summer’s highly anticipated Dark Knight approaching, the covention floor was covered in Jokers and henchmen. (And, yes, the first one was female… I think…)

And, of course, the Star Wars nerds had to be out in full force…

The superheroes were hanging around, patrolling the area.

Two kinds of Blade.


Supergirl (who was actually getting ready to fly off. She wasn’t belching, I swear.)


Jean Grey (who had to put her hands up to her head, mimicking the whole telepathy thing, so you knew she was Jean Grey… and not just some other chick in black leather.)

Doctor Strange flashed us. (I actually had to photoshop his clothes on him; he was only wearing the Cloak of Levitation at the Con.)

Captain America punched our table neighbor (I think he thought he was the Red Skull or something. I mean, Cap IS like 90 years old. He could have gotten that Alzheimers while frozen in that block of ice.).

And, of course, Comic Con would not be complete without the Dumpy Justice League of America.

The conventions was filled with various other freaks and weirdos, too.

Like Mr. Sinister (who was very evil, but still couldn’t get his digital camera to work) and some chick with leather and a gun.

Ghostbusters (for Teh Phil).

Indiana Jones, the fattest SeaQuest guy I’ve ever seen, a lazy Jedi I think, and some guy in a leather jacket.

One of my favorite characters, Spider Jerusalem (for TWM).

Some douchebag with stupid douchebag hair.

A couple of other douchebags came dressed up as Erik Rose and Aaron Norton.

Chicks with guns.

Sweeney Todd.

And, my friend, Miss Monster. (It’s kind of a funny story, I heard from Wayne [Chinsang, EIC of Tastes Like Chicken Magazine, writer of upcoming Image comic The Roberts, and all-around perv.] that Melly was supposed to be at the Con, in full costume. I hadn’t seen her or heard what her costume was supposed to be, so I had no idea what to expect. I wasn’t even sure I would see her at all. Then, while I was sitting with Michael at our table, I see this big black werewolf roaming down our isle. I asked if I could take a picture, the wolf posed, and I took the shot. Afterwards, I asked “Are you, by chance, Miss Monster?” And, then, in the girliest voice you’ve ever heard come out of a large, black werewolf, she said “Boom Boom?”)

ComicCon wouldn’t be complete without tons of superhot girls in slutty, skimpy comic book character costumes. (Of course, while all of the nerds and fanboys were grabbing their inhalers and drooling over these girls — *Huff huff “C-c-can I- can I get a p-picture with you? OMG! Thanks! This is going right up on my myspace! (Then the other guys in my Warcraft guild will totally think I nailed her!) Marry me?” Huff puff) — the only thing my asexual mind could think was “Geez, they must be cold.”)

There were some Poison Ivies.

A Black Canary.

A Zatana.

Hot Hollywood lesbian couple, Black Canary and Electra.

And, I have no idea what the hell she was supposed to be, but at least she looked warm.

However, the best costumes, by far, belonged to this guy and his kid:

Longshot? (I’m not really sure if that’s who this is or not, but it fits with the theme of the other costumes, if it is.)


And Mojo.

Well, that’s all I have for now. Keep your eyes here later this week for more postings and updates.

Your friend (and part-time lover),
Boom Boom Storm Cloud

Chicago Nerdfest 2008
Michael And Boom Boom’s Most Manly And Heterosexual Road Trip Ever!

So, as many of you already know, the talented Mr. Harris, our friend Alicia, and I took a trip to Chicago, this past weekend, for the 2008 Wizard World Chicago Comic Convention. This is our story.

I pulled up in front of Michael’s apartment sometime around 7:30 in the morning, parked my car and headed up the stairs to help carry some of his luggage down. Along the way, I saw Alicia and Stephanie — who insisted I be nice to her sister while on the trip, under threat of getting cut –parked on the other side of the building and gave them a wave. Thirty minutes later, my trunk filled with their luggage, we made our way to the nearest Kinko’s, so Michael could make a few more last minute prints, and, by 8:15, we were on the road to Chicago. Michael shuffled through a stack of CDs, finally shoving Tegan And Sara’s So Jealous into the CD player, setting the mood for our most manly and heterosexual road trip ever.

Conversations faded in and out as CDs were changed. So Jealous was swapped for Gogol Bordello’s Super Taranta, just to butch things up a bit, before putting on some comedy albums – Jim Gaffigan’s Doin’ My Time and David Cross’s It’s Not Funny! — and then we wrapped things up with Hot Chip’s The Warning and the Scissor Sister’s self-titled debut album, whose single, Tits On The Radio, became our road trip’s theme song.

After stopping once for both gas and lunch, we arrived in Chicago around 1:00. We made it to our hotel, on the other side of Chicago, almost two hours later. I am convinced that no one in Chicago works — they just drive around all day – because we seriously sat in traffic much longer than anyone ever needs to sit in traffic.

We checked into our hotel and found out that, even though we requested and had held for us a two bed room – and all of this after finding out, the day before we left, that the hotel had lost our original reservation when they got a new computer system a few months ago – that this particular hotel did not even have two beds in any of their rooms. Alicia then requested her own room and Michael and I decided we would share the bed and sleep head to toe. Hot!

The three of us then headed off to the convention center, made our way through herds of nerds, and set up our table. Michael insisted that every bald-headed white guy, myself included, was Brian Michael Bendis. We quickly made friends with our table neighbors and started playing Con Games, such as counting how many guys passed our table with pony tails and how many hot girls there were with douche bags. (I think I won the pony tail one; I must have spotted two dozen of them within the first twenty minutes we were there.)

Once everything was out and on display, I took a quick walk and found the tables where my friends Aaron Norton and Erik Rose were located. Aaron was seated at a row of tables with most of his friends — B. Clay Moore, Jeremy Haun, Jason Hurley, Jason Latour, Dennis Hopeless, and Kevin Mellon – and Erik was seated with his wife, Robyn, and Wayne Chinsang (who wouldn’t show up until Saturday), promoting their new book, The Roberts.

I took a quick walk around Artists’ Alley with Norton and he pointed out who’s who, before buying the first copy of my books, The Number Sixteen (And Other Stories That Aren’t As Good) and the mini comic anthology Comic-Tron 2.0 – which was co-created with Mr. Brame and Mr. Harris – both of which are still on sale.

Michael made some money, but that was the only copy I had sold that day. I chalked it up to the fact that we were only at the Con for about two hours on Friday, but not selling anything became the norm for the rest of the weekend.

At 6:00, Michael, Alicia, and I made our way back to the hotel, stopping first at Denny’s for dinner. Alicia went to her room for the night and Michael and I took a quick two hour nap – HOT! – before getting ready to head over to the Hyatt to meet up with Norton and his people for a night of drinking and nerdiness.

We left for the Hyatt around 10:00, but somehow ended up on the highway, driving around Chicago for about twenty minutes. Finally getting back to the main road, we found the Hyatt again, parked the car, and entered the hotel.

First of all, let me just say, for those of you who’ve never been to the Hyatt before, that bitch must have been designed by some white guy with too much money, because that shit was confusing as hell. We sneaked in the back door and walked around the lobby of the hotel for a few minutes, before discovering that the escalator at the far end of the room takes you up to the main floor. There, we took an elevator up to Norton’s hotel room, where he — along with B. Clay Moore, Jeremy Haun, Jason Latour, Jason Hurley and a few others – were sitting around, drinking, bullshitting and drawing. We took a seat, Michael broke out his ginormous bottle of Everclear, and quickly joined in conversation. B. Clay Moore finished a con sketch – of Skrullpocalypse, the combination of two Marvel Comics characters, with a raging boner, and signed it as Greg Land – and passed it around the room.

A while later, we – Norton, Michael, and I – took a trip downstairs to the bar area, where Norton pointed out several professional comics writers/artists and introduced us to a number of others; people who I not only got to talk to for a time, but actually remembered who I was throughout the rest of the weekend. We drank and walked and bullshitted for a while. Norton ran a pitch for a new book idea past me. I talked Michael up, trying to get him the job of drawing that book. And Michael talked to some purple-haired girl – that everyone else was hoping would show him her tits – for the rest of the night.

We took several trips back and forth to Norton’s hotel room, where they had a stash of Canadian beer, and, on one particular trip, B. Clay Moore entered the room right after us and informed us that he was just told comic artist Michael Turner had just died of cancer. Someone made a crack about having to do sketches of Aspen, one of Turner’s characters, for the rest of the con. I made my way back downstairs and found Michael.

Have you heard the news?

No. What?

Dude, B. Clay told us that Michael Turner just died.


MICHAEL (cont’d)


Dude! Come on. The man just died. I may not have liked his work, either, but I never wished he would die. Just that he would permanently break his hands and couldn’t draw anymore or something…

AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA! I need to call Dave.

So, Michael called Dave, but Dave didn’t answer.

Michael talked up the purple-haired girl for a while longer and I walked through the bar, talking to various people. Last call was announced around 1:25, but we stayed around the Hyatt until 3:00-ish, when Norton and his friends decided to call it a night. We left the hotel and got in the car, dreading the $17 parking fee, but found the parking gate up. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth, we drove straight through, saving ourselves $17, singing the chorus to Tits On The Radio at the top of our lungs.

We arrived back at our hotel minutes later, unloaded our belongings, changed out of our clothes and into pajamas, and climbed into bed.


Your friend (and part-time lover),
Boom Boom Storm Cloud