Midnighter #3

What's with all the green goo in the air?

I don't know why people hate being thought of as slackers or idlers so much that they have to defend anything they do as somehow important or laborious. Why does everybody want to appear to be so busy and enterprising? Is it because fathers cast so many dour looks in everybody's direction? Is it because we have so many means of idle entertainment constantly at our fingertips that everybody is trying to justify what little work they actually do? Although it's definitely not a new thing as this excerpt about poetry from William Butler Yeats' poem "Adam's Curse" proves:

I said, "A line will take us hours maybe,
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The Martyrs call the world."

What a fucking drama queen! You write poetry, dude! It's not fucking hard work, at least not in the same sense as the other labor you suggest of scrubbing kitchen floors with bone ash or breaking stones in poverty. I don't think coming up with rhyming observations and petty criticisms of the world is so fucking difficult that you'd rather be breaking rocks. Then the woman he's speaking with basically says, "Yeah, totes. Imagine how hard it is just being a woman and having to be beautiful!" I wish Yeats and his friend had had this conversation in front of a bunch of sailors and miners. Then they would have learned how hard life can be!

I get the bitterness of nobody appreciating something you've done which you've put your passion and soul and many, many hours into. But you're a fucking poet! Ask the other people in your poem who are breaking their backs if they're appreciated and I have a feeling they'll feel the same way you do! Oh! So that makes this poem universal! Well then, good job! You've proven yourself! And thank God that nobody nowadays says, "Hey, you know that Yeats guy that wrote poetry? What a fucking idler! Lazy, that one!"

I probably wouldn't have had any problem with the poem if Yeats had simply said, "Fuck those arrogant banking pricks and righteous clergymen and fascist schoolmasters! What I do isn't idle bullshit! I'm doing something with meaning!" But he had to go and say writing poetry was harder than severely difficult manual labor. Boo fucking hoo, you cock.

Um, anyway, the last issue of Midnighter ended with Midnighter excited that he was going to be able to kill dozens and dozens of Multiplex's clones. This issue begins with that same scene and even some of the same dialogue. I think. I seem to remember that thing about Midnighter suddenly realizing when his birthday is. Hint: it's today! Because he just got a load of killable presents!

But then, because this is a comic book, the scene changes to one hour earlier on the next page.

It's here where we learn Midnighter can't dance.

This issue is called "Midnighter." Get it? The last one was called "Midnighter?" with the question mark. I bet next issue will be called "Midnighter!" I can't wait for that one!

Midnighter's new case is finding a missing girl who was kidnapped by the same people who infiltrated the God Garden and stole some of the Gardener's favorite gadgets and doodads. I guess this mission will lead him to Multiplex and the man, Mister Rohmer, who hired him.

There it is! The plot and the mystery and the connection and the missing girl all in one page! So efficient!

Midnighter rescues the young girl and smashes the technology stolen from the God Garden. It's probably better if he doesn't recover any of it since it's obviously not safe in the God Garden. Security there is slacking when it comes to clones and probably nanobots and maybe even Spyral.

Back to the battle with Multiplex, it's over in one panel of lots of little panels of Multiplexes being mortally wounded. Finally (I mean after that one page), Midnighter stands with the final Multiplex over his head and Rohmer kneeling before him begging for his face. He knows his life is already forfeit so he really just wants his body to be recognizable when it's recovered. But before he dies, he blabs the name of the Russian selling God Garden technology. So now Midnighter is one step closer to meeting the real Lucas Trent! Probably!

After the victory, the story returns to Apollo and Midnighter's breakup.

How was this breakup written so perfectly?

Often when I scan some panels from a comic book scene that I particularly like, depending on how famous the scene is, somebody will need to comment on what happens after the bit that I scanned, especially if it maybe changes the tone of what I chose to present. I hate those fucking people. I don't hate anybody, not even Scott Lobdell, but I hate those people! It's like pissing in my mouth. Apparently nothing can just be the thing it is without somebody else trying to tear it down or make it all about themselves. Try to remember this is about me, people! Jesus.

Anyway, I mention that solidly logical stuff in the previous paragraph because the panel after the previous scan has Apollo saying, "Maybe you just did." But I didn't like that scene ending that way. I didn't like the scene turning on Apollo's last observation of the breakup. This is Midnighter's comic book, dammit! And his final line was perfect and didn't need to be stepped on by Apollo's snarky little addendum.

Finally, in a scene from tomorrow, we see that Midnighter will once again be tangling with Dick Grayson. We'll learn why starting with page 2 of Issue #4, according to how this issue's story was told.

Midnighter #3 Rating: No change. I changed my mind about not hating anybody except those people I previously mentioned. I just read the "Are You Ready For..." final page of the comic and I forgot that I hate Brenden Fletcher as well. Look at his stupid, bearded face! His sweater and his skinny jeans! His "Seems I didn't really take well to figures of authority. Go figure" quote! You might be co-writing two of my favorite DC Comics (and one that's adequately acceptable), but that doesn't mean I have to like you! Eww, Brenden Fletcher! You're so smarmy! Probably!