I’ll never be able to recreate the range of emotions that must’ve wandered across my face when I opened a package a few days ago to find a graphic novel entitled Mr. Colostomy. The title alone produced waves of dismay, but that’s nothing compared to the annoyance produced by actually reading the thing.
I consider “having something to say” to be the bare minimum requirement of a comic book, or really any creative work. That’s not to say that an assortment of random expressions can’t be art, or worthwhile for a creator to enjoy making; just that those types of projects usually have an audience of one, unless they’re