“Tomorrow, a healer’s going to tell us about the Mother Goddess being spotted everywhere, and he’s gonna teach us how to find and turn in heretics!”

Picture this: An oppressive One World government outlaws Christianity, condemning any and all who preach the Word of God to be corralled in internment camps for reconditioning or executed if they fail to comply. Now that the Liberal Agenda has culminated in imminent apocalypse, teachers are at last free to begin indoctrinating children about how marriage is for chumps while instructing them in the intricacies of ritual animal sacrifice. A star pupil — known as “The Monster” to his still-righteous family — decides turning in the faithful (now branded “sickos”) to the Progressive Gestapo headed by a New Age Healer in superhero attire is a great way to turn a buck, a move which ultimately triggers the Rapture and dooms the little prick to Hell as people vanish out of their clothes.

So everything turns out for the best.

A delve into the universe of Christian fundamentalist comic book artist Jack Chick will acclimate you to a stunning array of batshit plots that will have you alternately groaning, shaking your head, spit-taking your Riuniti all over your keyboard, or rolling on the floor. Colloquially known as “Chick Tracts,” these gospel-themed comics have been distributed by buzzkill churches, schools, and summer camps for four decades now in an effort to save precious little minds from the perils of secular culture. (read the full article)

Making films and television shows from the premise of a graphic novel or comic series seems to be all of the rage. Such graphic novels as Alan Moore’s The Watchmen, Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis, Bryan Lee O’Malley’s Scott Pilgrim, and recently Robert Kirkman’s The Walking Dead have all been made into films or television series. The transition of these works into live action has popularized the graphic novel to a new demographic, outside of the perceived hipster or comic book store shut-in.

This new appreciation for the graphic novel has raised a few questions, such as, “Where are the mainstream gay characters in these works and when will they make it onto the big screen?” Some well-known graphics have made socially progressive leaps such as in Scott Pilgrim, who in the series (and movie)  has an openly gay roommate. While these steps are progressive, where are the unabashedly gay front men in the graphic-to-film series?

When you peel back the layers of the comic underworld there are plenty of classic gay comics and graphic novels to choose from. Stuck Rubber Baby, the 1995 Howard Cruse graphic novel that follows its main character, Toland Polk, through the civil rights movement and the acceptance of his homosexuality, is an award-winning graphic novel, certainly movie-worthy. Even Jeff Krell’s Jayson series — which is kind of like the gay version of Archie — would work! Regrettably, the world doesn’t seem quite ready for a gay on-screen super hero, even if he is just fighting racism.

I understand that A&E will probably never adapt Dykes To Watch Out For into a series, so for now I’m just praying for a gay zombie.

Palling around with a scientist, a foreigner, and a Darwinian caveman? What’s next — a terrorist?

Being voiced by a woman connotes gender inclusivity and the slippery slope of cross-dressing.

Obvious encoded references to “bongs” as drug culture lingo. “Not a bong to spare!” We bet!

Instructing impressionable little Baby New Year to accept physical difference and cast off his God-given shame smacks of Liberal “If it feels good — do it!” propaganda.

“Same way with everybody else” = “Let’s have non-procreative gay sex and redistribute wealth!”

Some kids are just born cynical.

Some of my earliest memories revolve around me side-eyeing various things proffered to me by the adult world. I couldn’t bear watching the disruptive beastie in any monster movie get blown away, and I wept openly when The Creature From The Black Lagoon bit it because I couldn’t understand why loving the swimsuit-clad heroine not of his kind (as perfectly thematic a realization of childhood gayness as you’ll ever get) and defending his own turf marked him for villainy.

For four years in a row my elementary school forced me to sit through a screening of Annie, and I grew to hate that redheaded little bitch; why should she be rewarded with a rich sugary daddy just for being an optimistic simp while all the ethnic girls embittered by poverty and orphanhood are told to go screw in the gutter? To this day, I still think the There’s No Place Home coda from The Wizard of Oz (Dorothy gets wise in the book and emigrates) is bullshit. Kansas could suck my wake.

Few things had more than fairy tales though, the majority of which seemed to be sanitized (as in dumbed down) for the stupidest kids among us. Snow White and the loyal huntsman should’ve just iced the Wicked Stepmother in her sleep and shacked up together. The Princess On The Glass Hill waiting idly for a paladin to rescue her had me yelling “Just slide your dumb ass on down it!” The big reward for the miller’s daughter in Rumpelstiltskin is marrying her captor/would-be executioner and getting pregnant by him. Dipshit Rapunzel spent how many years trapped in that tower when all she really had to do was use the shears to shank that lezzie witch, cut off her own hair, climb down it, and make a break for it.

Since Disney became the conglomerate that packages and mainstreams all the tales of The Brothers Grimm, Hans Christian Andersen, and Lewis Carroll off the pages and into the multiplexes, it’s fitting that the studio has fallen under the withering glares of grown-up kids who resent its lame gender paradigms and prostitot tween horrors. Why, I ask you, are all Disney princesses golddigging bimbos? Why can’t animals ever be more than friendly, singing helpmates? And why the hell are all Disney villains so dastardly, flamingly gay? (read the full article)

Ah, Everytown.

Remember the good ol’ days — good for some, at least — before we had Muslim Presidents, civil rights, hippies, working women, vegans, and non-lobotomized gays? Don’t you wish you could retreat into those preserved-in-amber Towns That Dreaded Sundown and escape all this terrifying Communist cha-cha-change?

Me neither, but such towns-that-never-were — the Mayberrys, Hootervilles, and Pleasantvilles — are sacred in some circles, and now Riverdale, home of the Archie Gang, just got a little bigger thanks to the arrival of a new addition. I’m talking about new kid on the block Kevin Keller, Riverdale’s first openly (and readers are emphasizing that modifier) gay transplant who’ll be hitting the pages come September.

Since everything in Post-Dubya U.S.A. is a convoluted Liberal conspiracy designed to corrupt children and take something away from the God Wads, Kevin’s entrée is, natch, polarizing, and the Gays with their fiendish insistence on existing are the culprits. Reaction from the Freepers is typically subtle: “An extremely marginal and diseased viewpoint,” “Giving the Arabs yet another reason to seek nuclear weapons…,” and “Next we will see a misunderstood islamofascist terrorist” are the more clever examples of the ‘Merican perspective. And hey, that’s the go-to reaction for the American Right: take two words that scare you and/or you don’t understand and combine them, thereby creating a red-baits-bull buzzword that makes even less sense when conjoined. Kevin’s “Bitch — you serious?” face says it all. (read the full article)

Movies are the repositories of all our unfulfilled dreams, while television depicts the daily life we can only wish we had, but it’s the Internet — above any other media form — that exists to chronicle the singular predilections we can’t necessarily share with anyone in particular.

Few sites can claim to narrowcast to such a select audience as the candidly unpretentious Nadshot website, a chronicle dedicated to the spectacle of comic book characters taking wince-inducing kicks, punches, lasers, and other various implements to the groin. A brief peruse will drive home the realization that everything in the Twenty-First Century has assumed the mantle of art form and idee fixe.

Comic books have taught us a lot, like how having a double life is healthy and rewarding only for the beautiful and genetically-blessed, or that for every highly-specified metahuman ability, there’s a tailor able to produce a corresponding lycra ensemble.

Still, in paneled universes where the human body has the resilience of Silly Putty and the sight of body-suited paladins smacking the shit out of each other always carries with it a latent erotic surliness, it’s good to know that even the chosen ones and their Adamantium gonads are humbled by the might of the Big Wind-Up.

We’ve all been to that bend in the river, haven’t we? Where the woodbine twineth — among other thangs.

In case you’ve forgotten what a thang looks like, our master artist Josman draws a whole slew of tumescent ones for the R.J. Marsh story The Way Things Are, which you’ll find in the Inner Circle.

A potent, hardon-making tale, it is also beautifully written — something we’ve come to expect from this author. For the way things are is that nobody in this story is gay. Nobody at all. All the guys tell us that several times. And yet…

And yet each one of them finds their way to that bend in the river. (read the full article)

Here at Nightcharm, USA New Josman illustrations are always a cause for standing on our heads and reciting the Jabberwocky with wild hiphop gestures.

Josman’s illustrations make us dizzy — correction dizzier, with all they have to show us about phallic fun. And we do mean phun.

The Master has taken his digital pen and paint to a heart-tugging tale about one fellow helping out another. You see this other fellow — that’s him, above, in the white T with the nipple ring — he’s stranded (wouldn’t you know) in the middle of nowhere. Funny thing about nowhere: You can’t go shopping there, or take in a movie, or order an Orange smoothie from some cute bucktooth hayseed behind a counter. Boys being boys though, our two heroes figure out a way to flitter away the time … and each other. (read the full article)

I am a ravenous cocksucker.

He’s standing in front of me. Naked. I’m on my knees. Also naked. I’m the drain and he’s the plunger, and our purpose together is pre-ordained.

The stubble on my chin mingles with the stubble on his scrotum; I open my eyes for a moment and all I see are slim hips. I’m moaning (more of a crazed hum, come to think of it). He’s thrusting.

Lovingly, I tug and tickle and — Shazam! I’m bestowed with a bountiful expression of his joy — it’s both delicious and unpleasant, but its unpleasantness makes it even more delicious. We giggle as we kiss stickily. Moments later we’ve switched places and now I’m thrusting while he’s humming crazily…

I know that my lover and I do not dance this nasty tango alone. Porn is chock-a-block with cocksuckers. Girls suck cock. Boys suck cock. Almost everybody sucks cock — even Catholic priests. (read the full article)