Tag Archives: fundamentalism

Gay rights and the world of Jack Chick

This term is at last coming to an end, which means I will definitely now have more time for blogging. The only problem is that while my time is plentiful, my ideas are not. So at least in the immediate future, I’m grasping at straws as to what I should write about. You may point out the obvious solution and say, You’ve gone so long without blogging; why start now? Why does it matter? And I’d be hard-pressed to give you a convincing answer. But I think the salient part is that I must write as long as I have two hands and ten or so fingers in front of me, and that’s what I’m doing!

I have some vague desires, blog-wise: I want to write, for example, about visual arts (fim, comics, painting), sexuality, social norms, something along these lines. Yesterday, while conducting some desultory online searches, I found this abominable website, Defend the Family, which is basically nothing more or less than a hate site. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to websites so full of hate – I think it’s the same, unquenchable curiosity that drives a lot of people who investigate and write about radicals, maniacs, terrorists, cultists, and what have you. It’s this desire to find out just what drives these deranged, misguided passions.

What can lead someone to throw their life away on totally futile, objectively worthless pursuits, whether it involves hurting others, hurting themselves, or just harmlessly wasting time and money? They’re definitely relevant, important questions, since they speak to the darker sides of human nature, how easily people can be drawn into supporting malicious plots that cause unspeakable horror. (Nazi Germany is a tragic object lesson is this willingness to follow and believe no matter what the price.)

So it’s a desire to answer these questions – to figure out how and why people can do and think these things – that leads me to the atrocious, horrifying white supremacist website Stormfront (trigger warning of all kinds) and to, again, Defend the Family. Which, unsurprisingly, doesn’t really have anything to do with defending anyone’s family; a more appropriate name for the site would be “Persecute the Gay.” The question here is really, What isn’t wrong with this website? A banner ad along the side hawks books like Redeeming the Rainbow and The Pink Swastika, which the website claims to be “a thoroughly researched, eminently readable, demolition of the “gay” myth, symbolized by the pink triangle, that the Nazis were anti-homosexual.” I am not making this up. Somebody actually wrote this book, and this website is selling it at $16.95 a copy. The other side of the page has a big, bright, apparently family-friendy image:

Because it turns out that sunsets, smiles, beaches, and holding hands are to gays like garlic to vampires. Who knew? For you see, in a world where homosexuality is legal and publicly accepted, men and women won’t be able to embrace each other – brides won’t be able to wear veils! – children will be forbidden from sitting next to each other. Is that the kind of world you want to raise children in (except you won’t have children because the gays will illegalize it)?! Dear lord, how terrible.

You may notice that I revert to sarcasm a lot when dealing with this kind of idiocy. Possibly explanations may be that 1) I’m a pretty sarcastic person in the first place, or maybe 2) it’s so frustrating and ridiculous it’s hard to encounter with a straight face. And yes, I know that sexual identity isn’t the same thing as race or gender, but still, I’m so tempted to imagine. What if this were, say, the 1860s, the 1910s, the 1960s, or some other era when America/the world is poised on the brink of increased equality? Could you imagine a reactionary website from back then with an image like that?

A storm is coming. Do you want teachers telling your kids that black kids are just as good as they are?

If you don’t want to be obligated to acknowledge the equality of others, that’s too bad for you. It does not mean that everyone around you should be bent to your will. Yesterday I read a blurb on this inane website mentioning something called the “Riga Declaration.” It goes like this:

Whereas freedom of religion has been protected in human rights law from antiquity, including the Charter of Human Rights of King Cyrus the Great in 539 BC, the British Magna Carta in 1215 AD, the French Declaration of the Rights of Man in 1789 and the American Bill of Rights to the United States Constitution in 1789…

[blah, blah, blah]

Whereas natural law recognizes a natural order in sexual and family matters…

[more bullshit]

Therefore, relying upon more than 4000 years of legal precedent and the moral and religious principles we share with the vast majority of the citizens of the world,

We Declare that the human rights of religious and moral people to protect family values is far superior to any claimed human right of those who practice homosexuality and other sexual deviance, and

We Call for the European Union and the international community to immediately abandon any campaign to create a human right for homosexual conduct, and to restore religious freedom and family values to their proper superior status.

Now, for one thing, this so-called “Declaration” isn’t actually anything real or significant in any way. Still, it’s pretty upsetting that some people think it is, or that it’s saying anything legitimate or intelligent. So what’s it really saying (not very coherently)? “We have a religion so your rights don’t matter.” This whole line of thinking is so obviously contradictory to the whole way democracy works; it’s impossible to reconcile wanting to live in a free society with wanting to deprive a group of their rights on such a shoddy basis – i.e., because we don’t like them.

And you know what’s even more sad about this? These claims and “declarations” and bullshit are all illogical and pointless, yet they hold sway over national law. (Just think about what happened in Maine a few weeks ago.) Recently, together with my school’s Gender and Sexuality Center and Cinema & Media Studies department, I helped out (very slightly) in bringing award-winning filmmaker Johnny Symons to campus, along with two of his films.

Daddy & Papa (2002) was very cute, based largely on Symons’ own experiences raising children and those of his friends; Ask Not (2008) was inspiring in its account of youth activism against “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” and thoughtfully presented numerous counterarguments – from data, from experience, etc. – against the failed policy. I highly recommend watching these movies if you can track them down.

In the end, people like these fuckers for “Defend the Family” are simply on the wrong side of history. Freedom of religion is very important. But so are other freedoms, and there’s no good reason why anyone’s prejudices should cause others to be penalized for private, consensual behavior. (Reality check: Lawrence v. Texas struck down anti-sodomy laws as unconstitutional in 2003.) Within a few decades (at most), I dearly hope that gay marriage will be legal in all 50 states, and this whole absurd debate will be a thing of the past. Till then, I suppose, it’s just a matter of keeping the activism going full force, and not getting discouraged.

(Before I continue: I saw this great website listed on a poster in a high school a few days ago; I plan to glance over it in more detail, because I think this is a fantastic idea. As long as homosexuality is equated with negative attributes on schoolyards across the nation, there is not tolerance. Besides, thinking b4 you speak is just a good idea in general, whether you’re going to spout homophobic shit or not.)

And so, along these lines, I thought I might continue my ongoing investigation into the life and work of Jack T. Chick. The last time I wrote about Chick, I received this very pleasant surprise; if you haven’t watched the documentary yet (it’s very short and informative), I highly recommend you do that now. Chick is endlessly appealing, yet endlessly repugnant, and it’s not unexpected that his stance on homosexuality follows this trend.

Being the wacky fundamentalist he is, Chick has consistently addressed “the gay agenda” in his tracts, using the same overblown, puritanical fury he uses for everything from Halloween to not preaching exactly the right type of Christianity. His most direct take on homosexuality was 1984’s The Gay Blade, where he proved that not only was he behind the times, but that he viewed gay culture with all the accuracy and understanding of a 16th century Spaniard documenting the West Indies. Which is to say, typical Jack Chick. I think I’ll spend the remainder of this post analyzing The Gay Blade; his other two tracts primarily on homosexuality, Doom Town and Birds and the Bees, are similar in structure and content. (Wounded Children is, sadly, hard to find online, but it’s a demented classic.)

So The Gay Blade begins with a scene that you’d think would be out of some futuristic nightmare, but no! It is, in fact (I guess), a current event: a man marrying a man. Chick dismisses the fact that same-sex marriage was recognized nowhere in the U.S. in 1984, and pretends that men getting married to each other, and then rushing into waiting vehicles framed against indistinct gray backgrounds, is the greatest threat to Christendom since whatever else has made mothers cover their children’s eyes while thinking, “Gulp!”

(Incidentally, I think Chick’s tendency of making his characters think onomatopoetic words instead of say them, like normal people do, is one of his most hilarious artistic quirks – he’s consistent about it, too!)

After expressing anxiety about guys with big hair holding hands, Chick puts the issue out there: “THE GAY REVOLUTION IS UNDERWAY. To most people, it’s a big joke… but is it really?” This is pretty symptomatic of Chick’s indecisiveness: he can’t quite pick whether gays are hated now and should keep being hated, or if they’ve got the full support of our sinful society and the government behind them. He flip-flops repeatedly over the next few panels.

Note the proud lesbian – apparently being leered at by guys with crooked heads? – wearing her requisite shiny black dyke uniform. So what is it, Jack? Are homosexuals “in a display of defiance against society… suffer[ing] the agony of rejection, the despair of unsatisfied longing – desiring – endless lusting” (yes, it really says that)? Or are they basically in control, as page 6 would indicate? He seems to want it both ways. They’re oppressed (good), but they’re oppressing (bad). If you’re confused… welcome to Chickworld.

The scene then changes, as Chick takes on a trip into the past, to the last time gays were given free reign to be their bad gay selves: SODOM. We see some valiant archaeologists uncovering millennia-old carvings and immediately covering their faces. One of them cries, “Good Lord, I can’t believe my eyes, we can’t publish this. It’s filthy!” The discovery of this ancient gay porn lets Chick segue into one of his usual long Bible stories, one he’d later recount in far more graphic detail in Doom Town. Lot lives in Sodom, gets visited by angels, the Sodomites get pissed, demand that he send the angels out “that we might know them (sexually),” and in the end, everyone dies.

Chick underpins this section, which is not all that artistically interesting, with a lot of Bible citations (Genesis 19:10, Genesis 19:11, Genesis 19:24, etc., etc.) and bullshit archaeological evidence. Then, mercifully, we return to the present day, where “new laws” are encouraging gays to take the offensive by grabbing people’s arms and refusing to let go, while simultaneously resisting Christ’s power. It also leads into one of my very favorite pages from this tract.

Is it just me, or did Chick somehow make his condemnation of the gay lifestyle unintentionally sexy? I’ve heard of unintentionally funny before, but – I mean, look at her, an attractive young lesbian, defying the idiocy of the very comic she’s in! Sure, she’s got a confusingly-worded biblical passage beneath her, but your eyes wander away from “…did change the natural use…” and you start thinking, Wow! She cannot change, and she doesn’t want to! I’m convinced. Gay lifestyle it is.

After this page, the tract mentions some old canards – gay men die young because they’re violent and get AIDS (and remember, it’s just because they’re gay men, has nothing to do with centuries of systematic oppression) – quotes some more paragraph-long Bible verses, and kind of gives up and goes home. “Homosexuality is one of many sins,” explains the second-to-last page. “There are also murder, lying, adultery, drunkenness, etc.” A scathing indictment of homosexuality, to be sure: It’s in the same ballpark as murder, lying, and stuff.

So what can we learn from Jack Chick’s outdated rampage of silliness and illogic? I see it as a glance into this madly homophobic thought process that helps drive shit like what happened in California and Maine. Men holding hands are different. They’re icky. They’re the Other, and we – being good normal straight white Christians – just don’t like ’em. Besides, they’re all proud and angry and God hates them and eww, they sleep with others of the same sex.

Ultimately, what evidence does Chick really have other than pages of gay caricatures far removed from reality, and reams of vague, randomly-applied Bible quotes? His main line of argument amounts to “Gays scare me, and that makes them bad.” Unfortunately, this isn’t limited to one crazy-but-massively-influential cartoonist. If you glance over some of these help-defend-marriage websites, as I sadly have, or even just look at the one I linked to above, that’s their argument. “My religion says gay people are bad. So take away their rights.”

It’s a pretty depressing viewpoint to think about. Hatred is all over the place. Thankfully, the tide is turning, and equality is going to win the day. We just have to keep fighting, keep arguing against this hateful bullshit, and soon the day will come when kids will call each other “gay” about as often as they call each other “straight.”

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The world of Jack Chick, cont’d

So, a few matters to talk about: first of all, sorry (to some imaginary, hypothetically blog-hungry audience) for not posting in forever. Classes, quiz bowl, film society, writing articles/screenplay/stories, etc. have conspired to make me very busy, with more busyness to come. So blogging will probably remain infrequent for the next few weeks. However, I’ll still try to write whenever possible, like today.

Today, at last, I am going to tackle a topic I’ve touched on in the past, but never given the attention it deserves: Jack T. Chick, the fundamentalist artist behind a series of remarkable, poorly-thought-0ut, and widely distributed “tracts” on everything from evolution to Halloween, from rock music to Catholics. So where to start when addressing the style and content of Chick’s work? I think I’ll try to use a specific tract to highlight some of his tendencies – Chick’s Bad Bob!, from 1983.

Chick trademarks: impossible facial expressions and random Bible quotes

Chick tracts walk a difficult line: they’re compelling, yet godawful. The “compelling” aspect relies heavily on my ironic enjoyment of their various stylistic quirks and overstated messages, but it can’t be denied that Chick knows what he’s doing with the broad, simplistic storylines filled with stereotypes and cliches. It’s definitely populist storytelling, and I could imagine it appealing to someone who doesn’t think too deeply about what they read (although it’s almost a struggle to read them superficially enough that they make direct sense). Bad Bob! is no exception. Let’s see what we can get out of this page:

1) Looking at the artwork, we get some of the usual Chick craziness. He can clearly draw the human form well enough, but when it comes to, oh, faces or motion, watch out. From the motion lines here, it appears that the baby is twirling his arms 360 degrees, forcing air upward as the word “WAAAAAAA!!” emerges from his head. And when it comes to faces, Chick characters tend to either have their jaw quivering in explosive anger, contorted in mid-speech, or staring blithely into space with a vapid smile. Or in little Bobby’s case, metamorphosing into some as-yet-unknown species of bird.

2) In terms of the story, I really don’t understand how this page fits in. Chick throws around his stereotypes so freely that sometimes they just make no bloody sense in context. Does this mean that Bob was born to be a rowdy, drug-dealing psychopath, and his baby self was just exhibiting the same satanic impulses? If so, what does that have to do with the rest of the tract in any way? The barely relevant biblical verses Chick sprinkles on every page don’t really help – do “the sparks [which] fly upward” in the book of Job relate somehow to the anguished cries emanating from the baby’s head? If only we could know.

The next couple pages deal with more of Bob’s youthful indiscretions: he floods a house (while his mother insists, “in his heart, he’s such a good boy.”), then gets off easy with a psychiatrist despite saying “GRRR” in his office (no pussy involved) – since in Chick’s world, psychiatry exists only to encourage homosexuality, satanism, etc., and enforce the government’s edict against corporal punishment. Apparently all Chick thinks you need for mental or emotional problems is a good whiff of the holy book, and professionals be damned (literally). Then we fast-forward to “years later,” when all this psychiatry and lax parenting has turned Bob into the kind of bearded, jacket-wearing hooligan who dumps liquids out of orbs onto waitress’s heads.

And Bob just goes on grimacing.

In Chick’s world, there are only a few types of people: there’s A) the saved, who are, well, saved, and evangelize to other people nonstop. They’re gracious, impossibly polite, and will tolerate being spat on without fighting back. They live to distribute Chick tracts. Then there are B) total raving psychos who hate hate hate Jesus with all the fiber of their being, and will murder freely at the very mention of his name. Another damned soul, not quite so aggressively damned, is C) the poor, misled fool who’s never heard of this strange “Jesus” person and thinks he’ll be OK if he goes on being a good person. Oh, how wrong is he. Then, finally, we have D) the false prophets, authority figures, psychiatrists, teachers, and all the other pawns who act out Satan’s decrees on earth. Whether or not they know it, every middle school principal, Catholic clergyman, developmental psychologist, and Obama campaign worker are secretly in league with each other, and probably attend some kind of meetings presided over by Mr. I.M. De Ville.

So on this page, every character seems to be either (B) or (C). Chick was born in 1924 and started doing comics in 1960, but his knowledge of hippies or drug culture is anything but first-hand. The two drug addicts on display here are really par for the course in terms of Chick characterizations: whether good or bad, everyone repeats cliched dialogue, obvious exposition, and straw man opinions. While she tilts her head uncomfortably, the woman declares that everyone loves Bob, despite him being “socially unacceptable.” Lost already? You’re not alone. The man happily lists off half a dozen street names of drugs, and Bob stands around gruffly in the background, holding a bottle, being gruff, and impressing everyone (who “just love him”) by being a head taller than them.

Well, believe it or not, Bob ends up getting arrested by a narc (or “narcotics officer,” as a footnote helpfully informs us) while trying to score with his cousin outside Tooties Bar. He goes to prison, where he continues to wear shades and be gruff, but when a jittery young evangelist walks in with a Bible, you better believe that Bob gets pissed, going so far as to use the word “[spiral] !!! * * !!”, and adding his old childhood favorite, “GRRRR!!!” The poor innocent’s eyes recede into the back of his head and he thinks “Gulp!” as a guard notifies him that the “party’s over.” As the prison walls evaporate into nothingness, the guard begins lecturing Bob and his cousin, mentioning that “[the kid] might be a little off base,” to which a footnote adds, “Love gospel – no repentance.” Does Chick mean that the “love gospel” follows a different, repentance-free theology from the guard (and, implicitly, Chick himself)? Is this a command to love the gospel? Why do the footnotes raise more questions than they answer?*

The tract, in any case, plugs right ahead after the guard’s tedious, heavy-handed lecture with a melodramatic, predictable plot twist (a prison fire) that pretty much spells out “The guard was right, now listen to him.” Chick’s stories tend to be about damnation and redemption. In a damnation story, some dumb schmuck – whether a happy-go-lucky sinner, a devout satanist/Catholic/Jew, or a pathetic 6-year-old unaware of Jesus – goes on with their wicked ways despite the overbearing advice of a Chick-loving Christian, and is usually shown in the last panel burning in the flames of hell. One example is the ridiculous Flight 144, where it’s missionaries who spent decades in Africa who end up damned; another is Fairy Tales. Some tracts lean toward either damnation (the main character[s] end up stewing in hell) or redemption (everybody converts, yay!), but most have a mix of the two: some characters get damned as an example to the rest, who hurry up and pledge themselves to Jesus. So I think we can sketch out pretty easily an archetypal tract plot structure:

Protagonist is sinful –> Fundamentalist tries to convert them –> Protagonist is unreceptive –> Some crisis occurs –> Protagonist falls right into the fundamentalist’s hands –> Protagonist ends up on their knees begging for forgiveness.

Bad Bob! follows this structure meticulously. After the prison fire, do you think Bob retains even the slightest bit of his earlier antipathy toward Christianity? If so, you haven’t been paying attention. These characters aren’t remotely realistic; they’re poorly-motivated caricatures who exist solely to propel Chick’s morality tales along.

A Chick mainstay: the former sinner repenting.

You may ask, why is Bob still wearing his burnt, tattered clothes? Why is the wall inconsistently and incompletely drawn? Why does Chick give his speech bubbles such strange, jagged shapes? I don’t know why, but all of these artistic tics contribute to the ultimate impression the tracts make. Another note: Chick loves his establishing shots, but is terrible at them. We have a few in Bad Bob!, including one of the prison and another of the hospital, but his attempts to incorporate dialogue into them just lead to confusion and inexpressiveness.

So, Bad Bob! ends up with Bob’s conversion, followed by his old druggie friends laughing about his changed behavior and concluding, “we’ll just hafta go find a new dealer” (although the question of how effective a dealer he was while in prison is itself never considered). The final page, as with all tracts, has a list of Chick’s basic pointers for beingĀ  Christian, including how to be saved, what prayers to pray, and even other tracts you should read. Now, having glanced over a tract and identified some common features, let’s consider why tracts are worth reading (outside of being a gullible, homophobic, anti-everything, fundamentalist loony).

First, as I’ve pointed out here and there, Chick’s visual style is so distinctively and defiantly odd. He doesn’t care if the backgrounds don’t make sense, if characters’ faces are eerily twisted, or if the speech bubbles and sound effects interfere with the rest of the panel. It all exists in the service of his evangelism anyway. So do the characters, dialogue, and story, which means that if these make no sense or conflict with each other, that doesn’t matter either. As long as one character represents Chick’s beliefs and someone else represents the opposing viewpoint / Satan (since his worldview is so fiercely Manichaean), every other element of the comic is secondary.

But instead of just making the comics really bad and incompetent (which they are), the extremely low emphasis placed on quality, accuracy, or logic in the visual depictions or storylines grant the comics a strange appeal. As the saying goes, it could be compared to an artistic car crash – you’re unable to look away, and so, for example, Ashley and I become fixated and spend hours reading tract after maddening tract. It’s a desperate search for the depths which Chick’s art can reach; you’re compelled to keep reading to find out how bizarre and divorced from reality his reasoning and portrayals human behavior can become.

So Chick’s work has an Ed Wood-like appeal on one level: it’s so bad, but also So Bad It’s Good, and almost so bad it’s avant-garde, also like Wood. Then there’s also his inexplicable, wide-reaching exposure and recognizability. Whether or not he’s untalented or insane, Chick is an artistic pioneer. His work has reached and, God forbid, probably converted a lot of people. It’s been found sitting around in public places or handed out by strangers on street corners. Despite all of its aesthetic and rational shortcomings, Chick’s technique works and, if nothing else, it gets its message (“Think like me!”) across to people with all the subtlety of the Tsar Bomba. And besides, the tracts are handed out for free. That can help a lot, I think, when you’re entirely ideologically driven with no visible profit motive.

I think I’ll cut this discussion short for now, but hopefully in the (much later) future, I can return to it and examine some more of Chick’s method and madness. This is some fertile ground for analysis and I still consider Chick one of my many artistic influences. He’s got some interesting stuff going on. So I’ll leave that for whatever point in the next few weeks I get a chance to write more.

* See Bible for explanation.

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Creative droughts and the world of Jack Chick

It’s one of those days. Little ideas flit in and out, but on the whole, my mind is empty. The human mind is a strange, strange place; whole worlds can exist, then be demolished an instant later. Works of extraordinary genius can be dreamed up, then fall apart as if they never were. And it can be swarming with one thought after another yesterday, feel bone-dry today, and tomorrow be just as fertile as it ever was. But I wanted to write a short blog post, and here I am doing it. There must be something to say, after all. I think that’s a vital part of life: having something to say. Otherwise, if I didn’t believe I had that, I might as well sew up my mouth, pack up, and drift into oblivion.

I read a quote in the Sandman Companion that I really liked. It was from Steve Martin: “I think I did pretty well, considering I started out with nothing but a bunch of blank paper.” I think this applies to the act of creation in general. It’s a beautiful thing to be able to start with nothing but empty line after line and gradually fill in the blanks. It’s like solving an impossibly difficult puzzle with a lot of possible answers, only a few of which really work. It’s like giving birth, except you can scrap your baby, usually without much remorse, and you have free rein with genetic engineering. So that’s being creative. And I like to do that myself, and I also like to take a peek into the evidence that other people have been creative, as well. Like, say, reading poetry. Someone began with nothing and, using the resources of language in and outside their head, produced, for example, Shakespeare’s Sonnet 55.

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments ,

Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme…

Or start with nothing but empty celluloid and produce Roy Andersson’s You, the Living, a dark Swedish comedy about coping with emptiness and solitude, told in a strictly stylized manner. I had the good fortune to see it last year at an illicit Film Society screening; one of our members had downloaded it because, naturally, it was unavailable to view anywhere in the country. Only three of us attended the screening on a Sunday afternoon (I had just returned, I think, from Dallas), and now I give thanks to illegal torrenting that I was able to see it. It’s poignant, it’s weird, and I very much recommend that you violate international law by downloading and watching it, unless you can go either to Sweden or to the one theater where it’s being shown in New York City. Creativity is beautiful, but works of art being unavailable for financial reasons is like taking that genetically-engineered baby and chaining them to a post.

Then, on the other side of artistic creation, I want to touch on the subject of Jack T. Chick, someone whose work I find myself returning to again and again. Chick can’t draw well, his dialogue is nonsensical, and his storylines are, well, also nonsensical. Yet he’s one of the most visible comics artists in pretty much the whole world. Why? Because his (sincere) fans are very devoted and willing to go to extreme lengths to make his work seen, like passing them out during Halloween, putting them in public places, etc. Some stand on street corners handing out his comic pamphlets. And all this contributes to Chick being easily seen by those who wouldn’t seek his work out normally (i.e., most sane/intelligent people).

Chick, you see, is a fundamentalist Christian – one who not only alienates, but actively insults most of his prospective audience. The words “raving,” “lunatic,” and “frothing at the mouth” seem like understatements. Chick is, as some would say, a Grade-A, certified loony. Although I’ve heard that in person, he’s actually a pretty nice guy. If you’ve read any of his comics before, you know what I speak of; if not, a good sample of his unique brand of extremist incoherence is Fairy Tales?, the story of a young boy who turns into a serial killer because he’s told Santa doesn’t exist, or something.

The start of Harry's descent into sin, from "Fairy Tales?"

I’m afraid I have very little time today, so I’ll have to cut this particular post short. However, in the future, I’d like to delve a little more into why, exactly, I keep reading Chick’s bizarre, inept comics. Their value, after all, is almost entirely ironic; even if you agree with Chick’s self-contradictory dogmas and conspiracy theories, the comics are still poorly drawn and written. But they just have so much ironic value, and they’re so poorly thought out, that they gain a quality similar to the films of Ed Wood and enable you to read them over and over again. They take place in a Chick-created world incredibly far removed from this one where satanists roam free across the landscape, poisoning children’s bodies and minds, and where the most committed practicer of witchcraft will turn his/her life around with the slightest prodding from a Jack Chick enthusiast. (If the status and influence of Chick’s comics within the world of the comics is any indication of Chick’s ego… wow.) In some confusing, twisted way, I feel we have a lot to learn from Jack Chick. Just so long as we never, ever try to take him seriously.

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