Poor Mojo's Newswire

. . . Even more important than the humor, though, is the fact that Warren seems to really care about his heroine. Empowered could easily have turned into a series of dumb blonde joke...but instead, Emp comes across as an incredibly likable character, way more competent and courageous than she or her teammates are willing to credit. As I said, Warren starts out by highlighting her unhappiness and humilitation, a la Charlie Brown — but he quickly heads for less depressing territory, giving her a yummy ex-evil minion as a boyfriend, and incidentally creating one of the best couples in super-hero comics. Thugalicious (does he have a name? He must, but I can't find it. Oh well.) is incredibly sweet, setting up his villainous cohorts for defeat after defeat at Emp's hands because "this stuff makes you happy, dinnit?" — and, less selflessly, because Emp "always gets completely sexed up and out of control after every super-hero outing." In return, when thugalicious' cohorts wise up and almost kill him, Emp, kicks the door over and with uncharacteristic competence blasts through a roomful of minions to get to her man (said man remarking, with heartfelt enthusiasm "Bad Ass!") The end of this scene is pretty great as well. Generally when super-heroes save their loved ones, they're pretty blase about it — along the lines of, "Aha, here I am again to rescue you just in time. You never doubted me, of course!" Emp, on the other hand, falls apart, weepingly cussing him out for being a macho asshole and getting himself in this pickle. It seems — and I think, is — such a natural reaction that it took me days to realize how unusual it was for the genre. . . .

“What’s this?” asked Javier, the dude who was working the booth we were at. “We’re going to by a copy of How to Draw Comics the Marvel Way, then he’s going to give it to Rob Liefeld,” said Mike. Javier was awestruck. “How much is this?” I ask. “All trades are five dollars, but if you’re giving that to Rob Liefeld, then I…I…well, I can chip in,” said Javier, digging through his wallet. “Here’s two bucks.” I give the man three. “I’ll be back,” I tell Javier.

“Dear Batman: We accept the fact that we had to sacrifice a whole Saturday in Bat-detention for whatever it is we did wrong, but we think you’re crazy for making us write an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us: in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions. But what we found out is that each one of us is an archer, and a speedster, and a swimmer, a princess, and an acrobat. Does that answer your question? Sincerely yours, The Teen Titans.” Thank you, John Hughes. Rest in peace.

Weirdest moment of SanDiego ComiCon Q&A: was actually asked a comic-related question. I was like "Where the fuck do you think you are, sir?"