In Which Decembers Comics Doldrums Set In But Are Somewhat Relieved

December brings us many things, as such,

But as I page through this month's Preview Guide,

As far as comics go, I don't see much.

The offerings are quite on the thin side

For titles new and int'resting, unknown

And debut works. Oh sure, there's lots of capes,

With one bright spot among them: my mind's blown

(E'en as my comics pushers' mouth just gapes)

To see it there, that my pal Cullen Bunn

Is writing Superman/Batman. I knew

Already, but it's really fun

To see it on the Preview page. Woo hoo!

There's no one thought he'd ever see the day

That I'd buy superhero books, but hey.

Happy Birthday, @CullenBunn

O Cullen, that you wish us not to sing

To you today, does not really preclude

My taking on another silly thing:

A sonnet saying, "Happy birthday, dude."

A gross-out champ whose accent stuns me dead,

A daddy to the cutest child extant,

A storyteller whose shiny bald head

Doth blind us -- no, in fourteen lines I can't

Tell who you are, not adequately, so,

I'll simply hoist a margatweeta (or

An excreble concoction which we know

We'll never touch again). I shall wait for

Your children's book with interest; meanwhile

You keep that Sixth Gun coming, will you, chile?

In Which I Have Lots Of Fun With The Sixth Gun

The West was always weird, but now we've got

A stranger tale than I have ever seen

Outside a Deadlands game. Right on the spot

I knew I'd found a winner. Here's the scene:

The Pinkertons are after The Sixth Gun,

The pow'rs of which are as yet quite unknown,

But which I know, since this is Cullen Bunn

And Brian Hurtt, that, when at last it's shown,

My socks will be shot off. The story's told

In finest campfire style, and crisply drawn.

I will not soon forget the ugly, old

And ghastly hangéd men who speak upon

Such matters as would turn one's hair quite white,

E'en ere the real bad guys rear up in sight.