I think if there's one thing we can agree on, it's that we need more women in comics. We need more women in comics, right? Right? Well, okay then! Here you go.
...what? It's what you wanted, right? Women in comics! Comics themselves written, drawn, inked, lettered, and published by men, distributed to stores owned by men, sold to other men who take them home to their 1990S man-caves. So maybe this is actually not what you wanted. Sorry. Too bad.
And now on with our story. What would cause two fierce, busty women to bravely challenge anarchy with only goggles, Nair, and handguns? What societal cataclysm has led civilization to this crisis?
Well, far in the future year of 2014, all the prisons in America suddenly opened up and every criminal burst forth into the world. At first the massive army of criminals overwhelmed the rural communities located near prisons, which naturally, being rural communities, had no firearms, door locks, vicious dogs, fences, or security measures of any kind, and were powerless against the onslaught of institutionalized, barely functional drug addicts and mental defectives whose coping skills were questionable at best.
I get the feeling this comic book is written by people unfamiliar with penology, the criminal justice system, the coping skills and/or firepower of rural America, and what 2014 was actually going to be like. But let's continue.
Horrifying riots sweep across America as criminals just insist upon wrecking everything they come across and murdering all the decent folk. Those jailed for tax offenses were not paying taxes like crazy, and the securities fraudsters were selling bogus securities to everybody! But that wouldn't make an exciting comic book, now would it, so we're sticking to the random violent gang member prisoners here. Luckily America had a giant high-tech army stationed all over the world glaring at everybody, and President Quentin Tarantino, in a rambling speech stuffed with pop culture references, called this army home to restore order in a move that violated several key precepts of the Constitution.
And today, August 4, 2014, a date that will live in infamy, a pierced and Mohawked punk rocker is punched right in the face, leading us to conclude that the only police left are the Fashion Police.
Scratch that Fashion Police joke; whatever outfit this lady belongs to, it's got nothing to do with fashion! Or actual female anatomy, for that matter.
She's got, like, a foot of hair, and boobs that go in different directions, and I think she just broke her ankle kicking Hulk Hogan, so I can't think of anyone better suited to bring justice to a lawless, braless America! But she's just one woman alone against a horde of guys who, until recently, were drinking "pruno" and eating Nutraloaf while whittling shivs out of toothbrushes and bartering Little Debbies for smokes, dreaming of the day they'd be released and could really bulk up and wear the finest in metal-studded fetish gimp gear. She's down and surrounded by thugs! Who can save her?
Why, another woman, of course, a sassy, fulsome yet tiny-waisted female in her work clothes from what appears to be her day job at the baseball/superhero themed exotic dancers showcase. Look out, crime!
And, using both her baseball bat and gas she shoots from her hand, criminals are dispatched with ease. Until one of them remembers he has both a gun AND the memory of a catch-phrase not used in public in fifty years!
But the timely distraction of a game of kick-the-can breaks his concentration and our mysterious gas lady is able to gas the bad guy and deliver the ironic counterpart to his (incredibly dated, I mean come on) pop culture reference.
Welcome to the nightmarish hellhole of New York City 2014, supermodels! Actually just replace the burning cars with Starbucks, Disney Stores and Guy Fieri theme restaurants, and this comic isn't far off.
What could be better than an afternoon of mani-pedi medical-device girl bonding inside Gas Lady's secret scientific headquarters? Maybe follow that up by standing stiffly and staring into space for a while. No, the writer DOESN'T know where or how women actually live or talk to each other, why do you ask?
So THIS is what it takes to finally get US troops out of Okinawa - a full scale criminal insurrection destroying all of America? To be honest, I think the Okinawans would be OK with that. It's been 70 years now!
Here in the future year of 2014 we tell time by checking not our cell phones or watches, but our little "Time Discs". It's the future! Rest assured, however, that some things never change... those women are always late! And they have to go everywhere in pairs! Know what I mean fellas! Fellas?
So they call her Ms. Cyanide because she gasses everybody with a gas that is (1) not poisonous and (2) has nothing to do with cyanide. Though to be honest, calculating dosages for anesthetic gas is really difficult and she could very well be leaving a trail of dead thugs and/or innocent bystanders wherever she goes.
Now let's go across town to meet Dear Hubby, who is a federal agent investigating the mass prison break at the one place in America nowhere near any large prison. That's the feds for you, I guess.
Hey Billy! It's a joyous reunion of Supermodel and Guy With Glasses. Surely no tragic happenstance will mar this beautiful moment. Wait, it's a crazy bald guy in a convertible with a pistol! Look out, one or two people!
Dang, that's a hell of a pistol, one shot blew up an entire building! I want me one of those!
spilled coffee, cigarettes strewn about, white cops busting black guys, this must be the 57th Precinct!
If there's one thing overstressed cops like to do, it's get into hollering matches with distraught recent widows. Suddenly their inane argument is interrupted by some kind of amazing distraction - is it a bomb? Space aliens? Jesus?
Nope, it was the President Signal, the appearance of which informs the police that absolute, license-to-kill martial law has been declared and that the police are now authorized to kill anyone anywhere at any time, and to deputize citizens at will, who can then kill anyone, anywhere, at any time. That is an awful lot of information to get out of a presidential seal.
And as rough-tough citizens ready to battle crime, our ladies are immediately deputized and are, thanks to the Vigilante Act, provided with more and better firearms than the police, which does not make even one eentsy weentsy tiny bit of sense.
You know what would be cool? It would be cool if one of these supermodel crime fighting ladies had a ninja sword. Give her a ninja sword! I don't care if you can't find any reference for a ninja sword, or if her having a ninja sword makes zero sense in the context of, well, anything we've been presented with in the course of this story. Ninja sword!
Hey Ninja Sword lady, aren't you still in the Army? Shouldn't you be reporting to your commanding officer for orders or something? No? Okay then.
It's time to make a difference! Let those floating faces in the sky just float away as your majestic bosoms jut forth proudly in their thrusting drive to free America from crime and disorder! And with that image implanted (ha) firmly in your mind, remember to catch the next issue of "Ms Cyanide And Ice" when it hits your comic book stores, and don't miss it because that next issue will be the ONLY forthcoming issue because this comic book only lasted two issues. But let's not despair, because Blackout Comics has many other exciting titles for your entertainment!
Let's see... there's Extremes Of Violet, Lady Vampire, The Death Of Lady Vampire, Bad Girls Of Blackout, and of course their all-ages family friendly children's comic that is sure to be a long lasting classic and is not based in any way on a short lived fad, "Pogz 'n' Slammee". Now go ask your dad what "pogs" are. Jesus, the 1990s COULD NOT END FAST ENOUGH
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