Sunday, July 27, 2008

Workin' it. Well, not really.

Got into a bit of hot water at the Z2H blogs this weekend, when I let slip a portion of my Unified Theory of Real Work.

Now, while I don’t consider thinking about stuff to be Real Work (which isn’t to deny that it can have value), typing up my explanations for why I believe that does. And seeing as I went to all the trouble to type the stuff up in the first place, I’m going to put it here, too. Might as well piss off every writer I know at once and get it over with…

The post I replied to was asking about how much writers got paid compared to artists and other craftspeople, in both film and comics. Part of my reply was as follows:

“In the Work-For-Hire comics world, generally speaking, experience levels/marquee qualities all being equal, artists make more per page than writers. The rationale for this is that it takes artists longer to finish a page than it does writers. Some writers argue that that isn't true, that time spent originating/thinking about/constructing the story makes the contributions more equal than time spent at the desk/drawing table would suggest. I maintain anything I can do while walking the dog doesn't count as real work.”

I should’ve known that would ruffle some feathers. Another comment shot back (a little snarkily, I thought, but you can judge for yourself at the thread if you care), implying that I was discounting the value of creating an idea. My reply:

“I never said conceiving an idea lacked either value or import. I just said it's not real work. At least I don't consider it to be real work if I can walk the dog while I'm doing it.

Coming up with an idea is easy. Coming up with a good one isn't as easy, but it's not hard. Molding an idea into something usable is less easy. Writing a script is harder than that. Drawing a page/comic is harder still. Painting a that's real work.

I've done all those things, and, I'll say right upfront, my continuum for what constitutes real and/or hard work is based mostly on physical labour. I like nothing better than to lie in bed or walk the dog and think things up. Mostly because it's easy.

I know that at least some of what I think up has some value, because I've been paid for some of it and I've got others expending their resources in support of it. That doesn't mean it was real work.

The work in those cases came when I put pen to paper or fingers to keypad. And even then, it's not what I'd call hard work, not compared to climbing up a 32 foot ladder carrying two gallons of paint in the blazing sun for ten hours a day.

This is strictly my way of defining things, of keeping things in perspective. I'm a talented, creative, and driven guy. But I know a lot of talented, creative, and driven people who have to get up at seven in the morning, put on pants and probably a shirt, leave their house to go and do something they probably don't particularly want to be doing for at least eight hours a day, before coming home and using whatever energy they've got left after a day of real work to exercise their talent and creativity.

So in addition to being talented, creative, and driven, I'm also lucky. And that's something I'm determined to keep in mind."

In response to a comment about the value of actually writing and rewriting (as opposed to thinking about writing):

"I spend 90% of my writing time revising, tweaking and polishing.

Unless someone's really good with a blackberry and multitasking, that's stuff that can't be done (at least not effectively) while walking the dog. So it's real work in my book.

I still don't think it's hard work, though.”

The commenter who took issue with my comments pointed out that most peoples’ definition of work includes mental effort, something I willingly concede but qualified by adding:

“I'd have thought--well, I did think--using the term "real work" as opposed to simply "work" implies that I draw a distinction between what I was talking about and most definitions of work.”

In response to the notion that mental exertion can be physically tiring (and, if truth be told, the primary reason I’m posting all this here, because I think it’s funny), I said:

“It can be. In my experience it's not as tiring as physical exertion. I've been so physically tired I can't write, but never so mentally exhausted that I can't take out the garbage or do the dishes. I've tried to convince my wife that I am, in fact, unable to do these things after a long day's thinking, but she's not buying it.”

Addressing another portion of the guy’s comment, about doing actual writing, and doing it well, is hard work for most people, led to an interesting (to me) digression, something that I’ve spent much of the rest of the day (the rest of that wasn’t spent writing THE HOLIDAY MEN Episode 3, anyway) thinking about.

“Doing the actual writing is work, for sure. Not what I'd call hard work, necessarily, but work nonetheless.

Doing it well is a whole other kettle of fish. I'm torn on this one, between my much-cherished notion that writing is a craft that can be learned with sufficient effort (which could fit many peoples' definitions of hard work, if not mine), and to what degree one is naturally inclined towards writing well.

My egalitarian (and self-deprecating) nature wants to reject outright the notion that "talent" plays any role in whether or not one can write (or paint, or weld, or design an intercontinental ballistic missile), but I'm not sure I can, at least not after a certain developmental stage.

Some people will never be able to write well, no matter how much effort they put into it. They may be able to improve their writing skills, but if they spent the rest of their lives writing--and writing with the intent to learn how to write better, rather than simply express themselves--they just don't have "it."

Is that a question of inborn talent, or one's upbringing? I don't know. But I think for the person who seriously wants to write well who simply can't, for whatever reason, writing would be difficult, frustrating work indeed, if only because in the end whatever energy expended on the activity would result in something other than what the would-be writer engaged in the activity to create in the first place.

Eh. I'm rambling now (right, 'coz I wasn't rambling before...)”

I expect the conversation’s over now--the Z2H blog comment/discussions don’t tend to last too long, as the original blog posts are moved further and further down the page with every new post, eventually to be lost to the mists of time. But it was--not fun, exactly, but…challenging(?) in the best possible way, while it lasted.


Friday, July 25, 2008


The world writes an open letter to John McCain.



Double guest passes to a 10:00pm preview for The X-Files: I Want To Believe showed up at Happy Harbor last night at around 8:30. After much hemming and hawing, my penny-pinching side won out over my lethargic one, and T and I went to see the film.

I’m guessing/hoping for Chris Carter’s sake that everywhere that got passes in the city got them an hour and a half before the film, like we did, because there were fewer people in the theatre last night than there were for the preview of Rainn Wilson’s by-the-numbers, obviously written for Owen Wilson comedy Rocker on Monday.

The film is a bit of a mixed bag. On balance, I think I liked it, but I would’ve liked it considerably less if I’d paid for it. A few reviewers have noted that it plays like an extended episode of the television show, and this is true. What’s weird is that it plays like a random episode of the TV show, rather than one of the mythology-building alien conspiracy episodes. Which is fine when you’ve got to do 22 hours a year, but when you’re doing, what, maybe two hours every couple of years (being charitable/optimistic and assuming that they’ll get more X-Files films made, something I’m not even sure the creators believe, given the ending that’s unspooled under the final credits, as literal a goodbye to viewers as any I’ve seen since the finale of MASH)? I think you need to build up the brand a bit more than simply shoehorning the two main characters (and a favourite supporting character, eventually) in to a creepy mystery/suspense story, at least in a re-introductory story like this one.

Now, in fairness, the creepy mystery/suspense story did have legitimately creepy and on occasion even suspenseful elements (if cruelty to animals disturbs you, this will not be your cup of tea). And, as an old fan of the series, there was a bit of a nostalgic thrill in seeing the characters interact again--especially Duchovny, who brought just a little bit of the energy he’s got in Californication to this incarnation of Fox Mulder.

But, outside the Hollywood economics of having recognizable leading actors in a pre-established franchise, there’s absolutely no reason this had to be an X-Files film. I’m almost inclined to think it didn’t need to be a film at all--if Duchovny and Anderson careers are enough on the downswing, the franchise is almost ideal for experimenting with direct to DVD or internet to DVD productions.

My understanding is that the film was made for a relatively small budget, so economically, it doesn’t need to win its opening weekend to make money and possibly justify (for the bean-counters) further films. Which is lucky for it, because judging from the still-completely-sold out Dark Knight screenings happening in four of the other theatres at the multiplex we were at, it’s going to get annihilated. I kind of hope it does get another shot, somewhere along the line--and I hope this time they actually resolve the alien conspiracy plotline in a way that makes more sense than I recall the series finale doing.

Speaking of The Dark Knight: still haven’t seen it. Maybe next week at a matinee. Maybe the week after that. Neither T nor I have the stomach for crowds at the moment, and only free passes seem to be enough to get us to brave facing the public at the moment.


Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Quote of the Day/Dribs and Drabs

“Ideas are like pumpkins, they just float through the air, and hit people on the head”. Alan Moore, quoting R.A.Lafferty.


Things are going neither badly nor particularly well. Lots of waiting to do, which means a fair amount of worrying. It's irritating knowing there's going to be no information coming any time soon, because anyone who might have any's going to be preoccupied with San Diego.

Weather's been apocalyptic in the best way the last few nights. Lots of lightning. Terrible for the animals and my sinuses, but vaguely energizing, somehow. Energy I desperately need at the moment...

Latest spec movie script is like pulling teeth. I've been putting off working on anything else while I force myself just to get a basic first draft done, after which it should get easier. For me, at least, it's easier to fix something than create it. Then again, polishing material is usually 90% of my process on any given piece, which, if this script follows suit, means I'll be finished with it sometime in 2016...

It occurred to me the other day that I may be a better editor than I am writer. Then I decided that was stupid. What I am is a more successful editor than writer. At least this year, I am, seeing as I'm making money editing and, well, not from writing. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that...

Tori Amos' COMIC BOOK TATTOO is really neat to look at, but it's a stone-cold bitch to carry boxes of eight copies up a flight of stairs. At least Belle & Sebastian's anthology clocked in at a manageable size...


Friday, July 18, 2008

Suddenly, Without Warning

What a bizarre week. Almost none of the stuff I was hoping would happen did (most of it could still happen yet, but I'd've been happier if they happened faster), and a bunch of things I didn't expect to happen happened instead.

So, while I spent most of Monday and Tuesday thinking I'd have been better off putting a pen through my eyeball and deep into my brain instead of ever putting one to paper, and Wednesday shuffling around being what I believe the kids call "emo", tonight I find myself thinking I may actually be able to make a career out of this comics thing yet.

Now if the stuff I was hoping would happen on Wednesday actually does manage to happen next week (more likely the week after, thank you very much, San Diego Comic Con, for managing to make my life miserable even though I'm not attending you this year), I could actually be on to something.

Even if it doesn't: two steps forward and one step back is still a step forward.


PS: Anybody who tells me anything about The Dark Knight before I get to see it will face my wrath (real scary, I know.) I already know more about the film's story than I want to.

Sunday, July 13, 2008

Healthy Skepticism

“I don’t care what your trainer says,” I said. “A healthy lifestyle does not ensure a long life.”

“You know more about this than a professional health consultant. This is what you’re telling me,” he said, not even trying to hide the accompanying sneer.

I’ll admit it: his self-righteous refusal to consider a differing viewpoint irritated me on a fundamental level. He needed to be taught a lesson. I said, “I’ve got ten dollars that says I, someone whose idea of strenuous activity is getting out of bed to go to the bathroom, will live longer than you, with all the time and money you’ve wasted trying to stave off the inevitable.”

He stepped back and looked at me. It took awhile. There’s a lot of me to look at. Finally, he slapped a ten dollar bill on the table with all the force his heavily muscled arm could must. “Show me your money,” he said.

I didn’t actually have ten dollars. But that was OK, because I did have a shovel, the surprisingly sharp edge of which I proceeded to bury in his face.

I like to think even the staunchest believer in the benefits of a healthy lifestyle would have to concede that I’d made my point. But there’s no reasoning with some people.


Saturday, July 12, 2008

An Attempted Insomnia Demon Exorcism

OK, the more I think about this, the angrier I get.

Not eating a cracker that was freely given to me doesn't even qualify as a crime, much less a hate crime.

At the most, it's hate. And even if hate was to become a crime, well, I know a lot of people who should be getting arrested before someone who didn't eat the holy snack food. People who make death threats because someone decided not to engage in ritual cannibalism spring to mind.

There are so many jokes I could make about this whole thing, but they're all coming from a negative emotional space I want to spend as little time in as possible. Hopefully this (very restrained compared to what it was before I edited it) tirade will have served its cathartic purpose and I'll be able to sleep now.


Linda pointed out a story about a woman discovering she'd been carrying a bat around in her bra--after it had been there for six hours. Apparently, she felt it but thought it was her cell phone vibrating, which makes me wonder where the hell she keeps her cell phone.

But I can't throw stones. This reminds me of the time I found a giraffe in my underwear. I felt something moving around down there, but thought it was just the kangaroo.


Wednesday, July 9, 2008

The Future of Comics (I) Fiona Staples has let her previous online home,, fall by the wayside. Now she can be found at the aptly named Update your bookmarks accordingly.



Spend thirty seconds tracking down the linguistic derivation of the term "props" (it comes from "propers", which itself is a short form of "proper respect".)

This would make some kind of sense if it actually appeared in a script, pitch, outline, or really had anything at all to do with the creation of a comic.

But it didn't.



"...the new (HULK film) overdelivered, relative to its underpromise." David Davis, managing partner and entertainment analyst at Arpeggio Partners in Los Angeles.

I have a new goal in life: to make only underpromises, and then overdeliver on them.


July Morning Rambly-dambling

I feel like I’m on the edge of something lately. Possibly a killing spree, but even that’s something, you know?

There’s a lot of stuff bubbling around the brainpan lately, but nothing really coalescing into something solid, something I can build a plan of action around. At the moment, I’m resisting the urge to write a spec comedy pilot about an incompetent terrorist cell that keeps trying to blow itself and surrounding locations up and failing miserably. Something tells me it’d be a hard sell. Then again, BREAKING BAD got made…WEEDS I can understand, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around Breaking…

It’s almost certainly an illusion (or delusion), but I’ve been feeling like I’m more likely to catch the elusive Big Break in Hollywood rather than comics. Maybe that’s just the scenario I’d prefer to be in, as a big break in Hollywood would actually involve money, while a big break in comics would likely involve getting screwed over by a publisher looking for their big break in Hollywood.

While I wait for the Muse (or a deadline) to strike, I’ve been doing what I normally do during these down periods--shoving as much junk into my brain as possible and hoping for the weird alchemy of creation to take place. And working on a screenplay that ought to be easy to write but which is instead driving me crazy.

Been thinking a lot about superheroes, for no other reason than that they’re hard to avoid right now. In a bout of synchronicity, I ended up watching HANCOCK the same week Austin Grossman’s SOON I WILL BE INVINCIBLE showed up in my reservation slot at the library. The Law of Expectations was in full force with both--expecting little from Hancock, I was pleasantly surprised (mostly by Jason Bateman, who’s the real heart of the film); I don’t know how I got it into my head that Invincible was supposed to be a fantastic book, but I came out of it thinking it was…OK, though I don’t really see the point.

Like HEROES, both focus on skewed versions of what most people think of when they think of comic book superheroes. And, other than a really silly twist to the backstory for a near-extinct race of demigods in Hancock, neither manage to bring anything to the genre that will be particularly novel to anyone who’s even moderately aware of what’s been going on in mainstream North American comics for the last decade. Hell, the best word I can come up with to describe Invincible is “quaint”.

This stuff, along with Katherine Farmar’s tips for new comics publishers and the continuing efforts of my friend George Singley to get his Chimaera Comics (including the TITUS: HEROIC FAILURE book we wrote and, quite possibly, my and Tiina’s NORTHERN LIGHTS) largely superhero-based publishing line off the ground, has me again thinking about capes and tights. Of ideas that could work in the genre, and, in a more abstract way, why, as a reader, the genre doesn’t generally excite me that much anymore (occasional collections of JACK STAFF notwithstanding.)

And the answer I keep circling back to is, they aren’t supposed to excite me that much anymore, at least not the Big Two superheroes. The current target audience of 20 to 40-something males is an aberration, and ill-thought out business strategy that’s going to kill the genre stone dead if books like Mike Kunkel’s SHAZAM series aren’t successful. Which isn’t to say that I think Kunkel’s SHAZAM is the proper model for comics--though it might be, I haven’t read it.

At the end of the day, it’s not the characters that are important, or even the creators. It’s the stories. And that’s the advantage HANCOCK and SOON I WILL BE INVINCIBLE have over mainstream superhero comics--they are stories, designed with a beginning, middle, and end. We’ve got YEAR ONE, THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS, and decades of stuff that theoretically happened between them, but new Batman stories will continue being churned out long after I’m dead. Some superheroes Never End, nor should they. But in never ending, they should be outgrown by a good portion of the readership, and replaced by a new generation. Shouldn’t they?

OK, enough rambling. Time to get to work.


Friday, July 4, 2008

Foley Revels in The Depths of His Own Ignorance

Because it's been too long since I blogged (outside of a Z2H prodblog in Wednesday) but I was up till all hours of the morning proofing KNIGHTCAP: NOVEMBER'S SONG and cursing my sharp alertness, or whatever it was that was keeping me awake, I shall now throw myself upon my sword and expose the depths of my ignorance to the world with a book meme shamelessly stolen from argentla.

I'm already getting self-defensive about this list. I feel a burning need to preface it by stating that I read because I like reading. At least, I like reading the writing that I like to read, if you follow. There are few things in my life more enjoyable than getting caught up in the way writers like Julian Barnes, Dashiell Hammett, and Douglas Adams turn a phrase. At the same time, for me, reading a Stephen King novel is like taking a ten mile hike through 4 feet of wet concrete (I always enjoy his interviews and what non-fiction of his I've read, though. It's weird.) It's not that he's a bad writer--too many people whose opinion I value say otherwise for me to believe that. There's just something about the way he uses language that doesn't appeal to my sensibilities.

Because I read for enjoyment, I won't generally push myself to finish a book that I'm not enjoying. The Lord of The Rings is undoubtedly a classic, but I don't care. There are plenty of other classics I'd actually enjoy reading; I'll go find one of them before I try and force myself to slog through a fifty page description of a tree (again.)

Finally, there may well be books on this list that I read and just flat out forgot about. There are several that I know I've read, but couldn't tell you the first thing about, thanks to the deficiencies of my swiss-cheese memory. It's particularly embarrassing in the case of something like Iain Banks' THE CROW ROAD, which I know I thoroughly enjoyed reading once and will thoroughly enjoy reading again someday, seeing as my recollection of the story is limited to a single image.

On the upside, I could probably get by reading the same 50 or so books over and over again for the rest of my life, and enjoy them like they were new each time. Of course, if I did that then lists like the one below would be even more embarrassingly devoid of bold text.

Huh. That turned into an actual post. Maybe I'll just leave it there and not publicly expose my literary failings.


The Meme:

1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you started but did not finish.
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Strike-through the books you hated.

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee
6. The Bible
7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell

9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien

17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - A. A. Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown

43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac

67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole

96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl

100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

Tuesday, July 1, 2008

I'll wake up in 36 hours and not a second earlier.

One more day of shuffling around in a muscle-relaxant induced haze. Back still feels rough, but the sharp pain has more or less disappeared, to be replaced by a severe, but overall much more tolerable, ache.

I actually managed to get quite a bit done this past week, despite my deteriorated physical and mental condition. Just not a lot of blogging. Big week for editing, as finished art for all pages of BLACK JACK O'BREEN and KNIGHTCAP: NOVEMBER'S SONG came in--both under the deadline because I am God's Gift to Comics Editing.



After receiving a spate of press releases touting stuff which hasn't, and may very well never, happen, I've been toying with sending out weekly press releases of my own. Even if I don't have anything newsworthy (at least not newsworthy and true) to announce. Some prospective headlines for future releases:

"Andrew Foley in talks to purchase MicroSoft for $1.00. (Nobody's listening, but he's talking about it.)"

"Andrew Foley in talks with the guy at the McDonalds drive-thru window about the possibility of acquiring a Big Mac."

"Andrew Foley Announces Expanded Personal Hygeine Plan with additional potty breaks on Mondays and Alternate Tuesdays."

"Andrew Foley's Net Worth Estimated at $1.2 million dollars by completely independent firm Foley paid a lot of money to estimate his wealth."

Why not join in the fun? Everybody's doing it (or if they aren't they oughta be.)



"Tell Tiina to get the head-bucket." The Future of Comics (I) Fiona Staples, just after telling me the thing I told her would cause my head to explode if that's what she was about to tell me.



Haven't had enough crazy today? Here's a heapin' helping of insanity to scratch that itch, a little rant by a recovering homosexual who submits to her husband's will and thinks you should do the same*, called Jean Grey is a Whore.

And I thought I was scraping the bottom of the crazy barrel when it came to that "I can tell from watching Firefly that Joss Whedon abuses his wife" post a couple weeks back. This woman is wants to publicly execute fictional characters for cheating on other fictional characters. What a car crash of a blog...

Via !Journalista!

*I'm not sure if she wants everyone in the world to submit to her husband's will or thinks everyone in the world should submit to their husband's will. If the latter, I doubt she means that a gay man should submit to his husband's will, but it's kind of fun to think she does.