The Purple Pinup Guru Platform

When purple things are pulsating on your mind, I'm the one whose clock you want to clean. Aiding is Sparky, the Astral Plane Zen Pup Dog from his mountain stronghold on the Northernmost Island of the Happy Ninja Island chain, this blog will also act as a journal to my wacky antics at an entertainment company and the progress of my self published comic book, The Deposit Man which only appears when I damn well feel like it. Real Soon Now.

Friday, July 02, 2004


It's both a historical day and a travesty in Iraq to see a man such as Saddam's stature to be brought in chains in front of a kangaroo court that has been set in perpetual motion by the shadowy forces who dares to call itself the US Government. It's really a shame that Saddam has fallen prey to Chim Chim Cheney's slight of hand internal cabal of contractors trussed all up like a turkey. The only thing right going for the poor little broken down despot at this moment is a little thing called the Geneva Convention that probably is preventing these schmuckos who waged this whole unneccessary skirmish from putting a bullet in his brain, or at least a gag in his mouth. Call me a fucking commie or Marxist or whatever, but right now, I'm bowled over with some kind of remorse for the poor sap right now. He's certainly asking the right questions and saying all the right things in his defense (well, except for gasing the Kurds) despite the connotations from CNN and Fox that Saddam's sanity is at risk. What? Saying Bush is the bad guy in this whole little soiree is a result of one's mental health - especially when it was the shmucks in the Reagan Administration who suppied him with the weapons to gas the Kurds in the first place? Shit, someone please commit me now. Don't pass $200 in depleted medical insurance claims and send me off to the lobotomy chambers! And why prosecute Saddam now, some fifteen years after the fact? Why didn't Diet Coke Dubya's daddy go capture and subject him to this same tribunal when he was in office? This whole fiasco fucking stinks and once again, I implore you: WHAT THE FUCK DOES THIS HAVE TO ME? Or you, for that matter.

This column comes to you live from Las Vegas, where I'm helping out with family doing some moving around- it was certainly a bitch of a day getting out here. First, let me rejoice that I had finally sent out the final proof of the new Deposit Man book back to Brenner's two days before and the book should have no problems in reaching the San Diego Comic Con floor in time for the show.

Yesterday, I didn't board a bus until 1:30 in the afternoon at the beautiful Los Angeles downtown Greyhound station (and I mean that fastidiously) and had a stopover in San Bernandino to make the transfer to Vegas. The only problem was...the buses that kept coming to dock were filled to capacity, so I had to wait a full hour to find one that would have a empty seat. And so around four o'clock I was back on the road. My seating partner was a talker all the way- I think he had some mental issues himself, but he seemed safe enough. He complemented me that I was the first mellow guy that he had to sit next to and at least didn't smelled like a drunk. I assumed he was traveling a long way- but he wasn't carrying any noticable luggage. We then stopped over at Barstow, Ca for thirty minutes. I went inside and got one of those awful Veggie burgers from Mickey D's. I don't why, but they sure do taste better in Britain. I ate the fucking putrid burger, used the restroom rather than try to do a juggling act inside the one equipped on the bus, smoked a ciggie while reading a Spider-Man comic book and got back on the bus. I sat down as the bus began to pull out and my partner's seat was strangely unoccupied. Figured he must be in the john, but then as we were back rolling on the I-15 - I began to slowly realize, uh oh- I think he got left behind. And holy shit, right in the vomit bag or plastic bag that they have supplied in the back of the seats was the guy's ticket tucked away cluttered along what looks like some medical papers. Seems that this guy sitting next to me was discharged from a clinic for some lung and head trouble. This has got to suck. This guy is out there living my own worst nightmare of getting left behind in Barstow which some regard as absolute nowhere town.

Well, just to ease my guilt, I took the papers and the unused portion of his ticket with me and I'll probably send it to the address listed on the medical papers. I sure hope the guy made it okay. The bus driver told me that this happens a lot on his route. Thirty minutes is all you're allowed- not forty, like passengers are thought to allow. It's a horrifying shame, but it's their job if they don't adhere strictly to the schedule.

I'm outta time, my fussy aunt is coming to pick me up from my dad's house to take me out to lunch at the Cheesecake Factory in Ceasar's Palace.


Monday, June 28, 2004


Feeling fully vigorous after a Friday night of at least eight hours sleep, I set out to have a eventful weekend. And since it was the weekend before Spider-Man 2 opens up (and most likely, I'll probably be seeing it in Las Vegas, since I'm leaving Wednesday night for 5 days- although I'd rather be seeing it at the Westwood Village Mann, my precious fav for seeing box office blockbuster fare)and so to celebrate, I trekked down to Columbia Pictures studio over in Culver City and snapped a few pics of how they're dressing up the studio with mammoth sized posters and banners of Spidey and Doc Ock.

Then on to Santa Monica to visit my old pal Alan Sinder and to play catch up with what's going on in the real comic book world besides my little privatization that I'm trying to do with my Deposit Man books- so a visit over to Hi De Ho Comics was in order. I picked up the newest issue of Amazing Spider-Man 509 (oh good, so they've restored the original numbering on all the Marvel books - 'cause I was sick and fucking tired of Vol 2 issue 0 and 1/2 or whatever those crazy shilling schemes those corporates non-entities were coming up to sell books. Apparently, Mike Deodato Jr has now become the new artist, and Johnny Romita Jr is now stripped of his father's mantle, but Babylon 5 guy, J. Michael Straczynski is still writing like it's still Beverly Hills 90120 for super hero yuppieville. Haven't read it yet, figure I'd save it for the Greyhound trip out to Vegas. Another book of note, that Alan Sinder was fortunate enough to grab for me over at my local store, Earth 2 is the first of Howard Chaykin's Challengers of the Unknown 6 issue mini-series- which Howard signed for me (personalized, with some peppered rude comment of course). I love the bulk of Chaykin's work- especially when he bastardizes existing DC and pulp properties. His version of the Shadow back in '86 was a favorite that I would read many times over and was a major keepsake when I made a transition over from New Jersey to California (one of those fond cross country bus trips reads). And his version of Blackhawk was a PG 13 version of his own Black Kiss- who could ever forget Janos Prohaska's infamous hummer under the desk that predated the Clinton scandal by a dozen years? Challengers is only a six issue commitment- so, I'm sure it's worth coming out of my hole for a short while. More comics I plan on reading on my trip are the first few issues of Kyle Baker's the Plastic Man (which I voted for in the Eisners, even though technically, I haven't read it yet- it just that the name Kyle Baker and Plastic Man look so synonymous together - that seeing it listed on a ballot was entincing enough to vote for) and a few animated comics of Batman and Justice League.

Super hero comics- jeez, when the fuck am I going to grow up?

I go to Alan to pick up the signed Challenger book and I wind up taking home some Apple computer equipment that he didn't want anymore- with SCANNER included. I don't what to say- except where in the hell am I going to have room to put all this stuff? And can I get it working to post my own website? I'll have to worry about this sordid little dilemma after I get back from Vegas.

Conflicting interests arose for me on Sunday- I wanted to do two things, but only really could afford one- I really, really, really wanted to see Fahrenheit 9/11 this weekend - but had to settle instead for the Shrine Auditorium holding court once again for the monthly Los Angeles Science Fiction and Comic Book Convention- because one of my favorite actors, Lance Henriksen was making a appearance. Lance's most notable roles were mostly in the horror genre such as Pumpkinhead, Near Dark, the Bishop android in some of the Alien movies, and as Frank Black in the most beloved and most lamented series that was more than a pubic hair par above the X-Files, called Millennium. Lance was mostly there to hock his appearance in Fox's Alien vs. Predator, but there were several Millennium fans represented in the audience and Lance was happy to report that the Season One box set will be available on DVD (now that the X-Files has run it's course in the digital age, all nine seasons are available in box sets)next month and that there is a giant petition going around Fox to revive the series in some capacity and to sell it to a major cable network that might be more appreciative of this type of genre, now that we have shows such as the Sopranos, Deadwood, Nip/Tuck, or Six Feet Under - shows in which adult situations can be handled in a responsible just don't show it to kids and network execs won't have shit to complain about. Lance told everyone that he wouldn't mind reviving the character in a feature length movie and has been pestering Chris Carter into doing it for the past several years.

I'm sure Chris would find the time to's not like he's got a television series going on at the moment.

So, on the political side of the fence- we have managed, under a cloak of darkness to transfer sovereignty back to Iraq 3 full days ahead of schedule. Again, I ask you: what does this have to do with me? And what does this have to do with you for that matter except to waste airtime on all the cable news networks?

All I'm saying is that we must have missed out on the greatest summer ratings bloodbath of all time - thanks again to puppet boy Bush.
Those damn insurgents got gyped, I tell you. Everyone was dead set on causing some major havoc- perhaps give us a more meatier alternative to watch than, say, those pesky boring athletes trying to pole vault over their own skid marks in their gym shorts at this summer's Olympics.

I guess, we'll just have to settle for more Bowling Heads for more Abu Gharib Dollars in the meantime.

AND isn't it really grand when hate mongers such as Sean Hannity, Bill O'Reilly, Rush Limbaugh, and Larry Elder can heap all the hatred they want in detering the American Public from having you see the new Michael Moore movie, but the more rheotric they wind up spewing, the more they help selling tickets- which only proves that the average citizen on the street already has a developed mindset to blank out 600 markets or so of conservative right wing hotair, let alone, a actual freedom of choice than most these religious nutfucks are trying to convince you that you don't have despite the threats to some theater owners' lives willing to show the film. The queue to the Crest Theater in Westwood was phenomenal, stretching all the way from the theater to Wilshire Blvd and back again. Even the studio that I work for is having a special employee screening in a couple of weeks. And I'm sure other studios are following suit.

We have found our weapon of mass debate and it's name is Michael Moore.

Ask your Republican congressman if he's more than willing to offer you a money back guarantee if he can give concrete proof that the current Administration has made great strides for the sake of humanity.

More likely they'll tell you to go fuck yourselves and if they ever catch you listening to Howard Stern again in the same breath- kiss your ass adios.

Tomorrow, Bakshi's Spider-Man on DVD: