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Due to his poor eyesight and the changes the English language has gone
through over the course of ninety years, it takes Old Man Lots six months
to spell his way through the inane plot of Batman meets Josh Burbank
in which Batman meets Josh Burbank, who proceeds to die on him with
frightening regularity. Oh, and some other shit happens. Fuming with rage,
he painfully hobbles his way back to the comic store, where he slams the
comic down on the counter with such force that it disintegrates into dust.
(Which says more about the quality of comic book paper ninety years hence
than it says about Lots' strength really.)
"Who wrote this drivel?" he demands. The clerk gives him a peculiar look and says, "Why Mister Lots, you did!" "What??" "Get with the times, old man! This is the twenty-second century, we all write our own comics now!" The clerk points out various comics which on closer scrutiny turn out to list Old Man Lots (and, in the case of some vintage issues, Young Boy Lots) as both author, artist, editor and the guy who makes the coffee.
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7/11/2010 9:06:10 AM
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