I Pity the Poor Immigrant, by Martha Thomases
According to my reading of the nightly news (between 4 PM and 7 PM, we watch CNN, BBC, and NBC), illegal immigration is a huge issue as we go into the primary season for the various presidential nominations. According to various estimates, there are as many as 12 million people living in the United States who are in the country illegally. Some entered legally, as students or tourists, and didn’t leave when they were supposed to. Others snuck in without going through the proper channels.
Neither party has a consensus on what its position is, but, to greatly oversimplify, the Democrats want to find a way to more quickly legalize the illegals while the Republicans want to deport them.
My opinions on the subject are greatly influenced by the comics I read now and read growing up as a child. As a DC fan, I know:
- Superman is an illegal immigrant (since granted citizenship), whose adopted parents committed perjury when they claimed he was their biological child. (more…)

It used to be, the most successful comic book heroes would eventually wind up in prose. These days, with superheroes fully integrated into mainstream America, it’s no surprise that several novelists have taken their own, unique looks at the genre. Already this year we’ve had the well received Soon I Will Be Invincible by Austin Grossman and Perry Moore’s Hero. It’s no surprise, then, that the romance genre would also introduce their own take on the subject.
About a year and a half ago my very good friend Giselle Fernandez (yes that Giselle Fernandez) called and asked me to dinner because she wanted me to meet a young lady named Jasmine.
At Mid-Ohio Con this year, there was a Sunday night dinner between Mixers Mike Gold, Michael Davis, Martha Thomases, me, and a few other folks including Brian Pulido , and we got onto the discussion of ultimate weapons in comics– Warworld, the Cosmic Cube, the Anti-Life Equation, the Ultimate Nullifier, and so on.


So let us honor the ninja and their constant forays into comics– for without them, Frank Miller would only be able to lift from noir films instead of kung-fu flicks, and then everybody else in the industry would have even left to lift from.
As we were driving back east from two weeks in Detroit, Columbus, Chicago and Toledo – next time, I’m getting a campaign bus – we heard the news of Evel Knievel’s death. No, this blather isn’t about him, although I do think that saying you’re going to take your motorcycle and jump over 50 school buses loaded with nuns and orphans and then strapping rockets to the bike is cheating. Nope, this blather is about Irwin Allen, noted dead movie and television producer/director/writer and former cover story in Modern Asshole magazine.
