Marry, Shag, Cliff: The Comic Book Writer Edition

Why review comic book authors the traditional way when you can just say who you'd marry, fuck, and kill? I mean really.

To that end:

Marry: Greg Rucka. How do I love Greg Rucka? Let me count the ways. They are Renee Montoya, Kate Kane, Wonder Woman, Stumptown, Lady Sabre. Greg Rucka is flawless. I have never read anything of his that didn't leave me salivating. Marry me, Greg Rucka!

Shag: Grant Morrison. I suppose "hate-fuck" would be more accurate; I like Morrison's writing and I think his bald head and Glaswegian accent are pretty foxy, but he seems like kind of a tool, so I'm content with an every-so-often fantasy wherein I run into him in a bar in London, we argue about whether superhero comics should strive for realism, and then go out into the alley for a quickie.

Cliff: You thought I was going to put Geoff Johns here, didn't you? PSYCH! It's Mark Millar.

Boring fantasies (and a not-so-boring one)

I am the singer for a heavy metal band. J.D. Cronise and Bryan Richie come to one of our shows and like us so much they ask us to open on The Sword's next tour.

I am the singer for a heavy metal band. Andrew Garfield comes to one of our shows and likes me so much he asks me to come have drinks with him and his friend, Michael Fassbender. The threesome of all threesomes ensues.

I run into my favorite English professor in a cool independent bookstore. We talk about Thomas Hardy and drink tea. He says we should hang out more often.

I run into my favorite anthropology professor in the GN area of the library. Punctuation of equilibrium occurs; we manage not to damage the classic copy of Primitive Classification.

I submit my application to immigrate to British Columbia. It is accepted in half the usual time.

DC decides to pay me for Tweeting about their comics all the time.