Just Ramon Villalobos. Being awesome as usual. With gorgeous inks by Frank Stone. All about this is lovely, in a murderous, homicidal sort of way.
Roberta knew falling in love with Clauius, the thick-poled Cyborg was a mistake. He could see Infinity, perceive The All. His pistons would (practically) never age. His psyche could only expand. But still. Those eyes. That class. And don’t get me wrong. Clauius knew that falling in love with Roberta was a gamble only a foolish Flesh-Sack would make. She would age. Certainly, he was not immune to Entropy. But by the Circuitry Above, he could practically watch her decay happen in real-time. And when he sped up his relativistic perceptions, he did. But those eyes. And that brain. And so fell they love. Her programming and his programming (programmed by her programming) too much to overcome. For a moment, they will Find a Way. And for a moment we all Find a Way. There be romance, and mundanity, and hurt, and humping, and a cadre of other experiences. Most of them banal, some of them transcendent.
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Collect all the Glory. Stuff it into something approximating my butt tunnel’s inner contours. And then work my fanboy g-spot with it. Chris Burnham and Ramon Villalobos are taking us back to the glory days of Grant Morrison’s X-Men run. Burnham is dope as fuck! But it’s Villalobos that I’m stoked about. I’ve been sweating the mighty man on Tumblr for a minute, and spend most of my Monday nights retweeting his Monday Night Raw commentary. Secret Wars continues to bring absurd, awesome, off-beat comics to the Marvel Universe.
Sometimes when I’m trying to describe artwork I realize that I lack the vocabulary to do so. Fuck! I ain’t got them words. To put in this here text box. So. Yeah. Ramon Villalobos rules. So does his rendition of the Cape and the Cowl.