I can't believe this many previous Doctor Fates were less capable than the reluctant tool currently wearing the helmet.
I also use only forty percent of my brain! Some people think that's a lot but then they're idiots who believe all of that shit about people only utilizing twelve percent of their brain power or whatever fucking bullshit number they've heard. It would seem stupid of evolution to continue to expand the powers of our brain while not allowing us to actually access any of that power unless we take a magic fantasy pill. What would be the point?! How would brains that have more abilities that can't be tapped somehow allow for better chances at passing along that person's big, useless brain genes?! Unless it's tied to a genetic marker for big cocks! That would totally be understandable.
Oh shut up, you Coast to Coast AM listeners! I hear you fucking mumbling under your breath at me! Saying stupid shit about how maybe we used to use more of our brain power when we were all magic fairy shaman bastards in touch with the reality that isn't really a reality because just fucking look around you, asshole! Now, I'm certain there is more to this universe than we know. That seems obvious since science still doesn't have answers for everything and mysteries are still all around us. But here's the thing, you illogical rodents. Just because you come up with a theory in your head about why something science doesn't understand is the way it is, that doesn't make your theory true. Or even possibly true. Or even not complete fucking nonsense. Your theories are not scientific theories. Your theories are what is called "idle speculation." I don't listen to Coast to Coast AM anymore because of that "AM" part. My car radio has decided to go with the life philosophy of "What the fuck is AM? That sounds fake." But I still do listen to Art Bell! Recently a woman called up and said something like, "You know how DNA has all those genes that nobody knows what they do and so they're referred to as junk DNA? Well, I have a theory that they house the memories of all of our past lives!" Luckily the guest was Dr. Michio Kaku so he could point out how many fucking neurons and connections in the brain it takes to store memories and how little actual information can be housed on our genes. He was definitely more diplomatic than I would have been since my answer would have been simply laughing for five minutes.
On a related note, I had to ask Lord Google Michio Kaku's name because I'm horrible at remembering names. Luckily Lord Google is just the right percentage of racist that I could simply type in "Japanese physicist" and Lord Google is all, "Oh. You mean Michio! Here's his complete bio since that's obviously the person you were asking about. Tut tut!"
The next Rudyard Kipling poem I'm going to read is called "We and They". But I just had enough minor racism in my night thanks to Lord Google (I'm not owning my own part in figuring "Japanese physicist" would obviously be enough information to get the right name!), so I'd better just set the poetry book down and deal with Kipling's thoughts of "we" and "they" later. For now, Doctor Fate!
Previously, nothing much fucking happened. Khalid got a helmet. Khalid spent five issues thinking his strawberry milk was spiked with LSD. Then he went blind and his nemesis--a stray dog--has gone off to drown the world. I predict Doctor Fate continues to believe he's dreaming and the world will end while the neighbor lady masturbates furiously.
Or did it heal you?! Maybe you just imagined it! Or the injury! Or everything?!
Oh fuck you! Accept your stupid fate, Doctor Dumbfuck!
Paul Levitz has no idea what he's doing with this comic book. There. I said it. I have no based-in-evidence faith in him! For five issues, Khalid has refused to recognize what is happening around him. It's the same story over and over again. I feel like I've purchased the same book five times in a row. Just like you're probably thinking, "It feels like I've read the same paragraph five times so far in this commentary!" Well, fuck you! You're going to read that ad nauseam (if that means what I think it means. It could mean "becoming sick over stupid fucking advertisements") until this book changes!
Here's an example of how Levitz just keeps treading water or vamping or buying time or whatever he's doing that keeps him repeating the same shit over and over. On page two, Khalid tries to pick up the helmet and put it on. He fails and falls down in the rain. On page three, Khalid wakes up in the dark, determines maybe he's dreaming or hallucinating (again!), and decides to put on the helmet. He's successful this time although why couldn't he have been successful on page two? Because he was in the wrong location and Levitz merely wanted to mysteriously move him into his bedroom between pages? With the helmet on his head, he can see again. When he takes it off, he's blind. Is that finally going to be the reason Khalid decides to keep the fucking helmet on his head?! Did Paul Levitz finally come up with a way to coerce his main character to be the title superhero?! As opposed to, you know, having Khalid excited about being a superhero?!
If you haven't noticed, I think this book is terrible. Everybody probably thinks this book is terrible. If you don't think it's terrible, you're terrible.
Khalid's dad also finds himself at home because that's where everybody needs to be for the story to not continue to have a plot.
Oh fucking gross. Knock it off! It's not that I'm against old people having sex! Or mixed race intimate relationships (or the type of person who would have even noticed the mixed race aspect of their relationship if...um...my racist neighbor hadn't just come by to borrow a cup of sugar and looked over my shoulder and said that horrible thing he said that I didn't even understand because I'm so not racist!)! But I am against somebody's parents fucking on the couch in the middle of the living room when their son might come down at any moment!
Meanwhile, Anubis the Stray Dog continues to destroy the world. He can't do it fast enough, in my opinion (which isn't humble at all because it's the greatest).
It's been time for five previous issues! What makes anybody think he's going to rise to the occasion this time?
Meanwhile Khalid's parents continue to soil the couch. Ugh. At least I know my mother never soiled the couch in this way since I'm not sure she's had sex since I was conceived. Hmm. That's kind of sad. But I bet my sister soiled the couch with one of her gross boyfriends! Ew! Although I guess that's fair because I'm sure I masturbated on it while pausing some titty shot on a VHS copy of The Clan of the Cave Bear. Seriously though, my mom should have been grossed out by that entire house by the time I got through puberty.
The book ends with, at the very least, Doctor Fate trying to defeat Anubis. Of course he fails and the giant stray dog eats him. It's too bad this wasn't a six issue mini-series because I would be satisfied with this comic book ending this way.
Doctor Fate #6 Rating: -2 Ranking. Nobody needs to be reading this comic book. Nothing is happening. Reality is constantly being denied. A stray dog runs amok unhindered. Khalid's neighbor lies in bed throbbing and wet with the anticipation of a cock that is too busy being attached to a loser. I suppose if somebody was a big enough asshole to defend this comic book, they could point out that Doctor Fate and Anubis do finally battle at the end of this issue. But I would answer thus: "Um. what? I wasn't paying attention. You said 'Doctor Fate' and I just tuned out. Sorry." My recommendation to Doctor Fate fans is to stop reading this comic book and just wait until DC decides to reboot Doctor Fate in a more exciting incarnation. At this point, "more exciting" could mean that he simply gets a job delivering pizzas.
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