DEADITORIALS

Here are some of the editorials that appeared in the pages of Deadworld under our "Deaditorial" feature. We thought you'd might like to see some of them and the
dialogue the editors had with the fans.

Deaditorial:  A message from King Zombie

    I want you future dinners out there to remember this…I’ll be paying lots of you a visit on Christmas Eve and I don’t want any shit like milk and cookies on the fireplace mantel. I want those stockings full! If everyone just sacrifices a little (a toe, a finger, ear, piece of intestine, etc…) everyone gets to stay fairly intact for the holidays. Hey, I got the Christmas spirit too, you know.

Deaditorial:  from Stuart Kerr, scripter, issue #4 (vol. 1)

    I am sure that you are all quite aware that this comic, Deadworld, is aimed at and appeals to a rather specific and particular audience. I need not go into detail, because you know who you are. And you are also very aware of the fact that comics is a medium, an artform. What you could not possibly know, although I do not speak for Mr. Vincent and his own personal demons, is that I come up with many of my ides, and even write whole scripts, while engaged in yet another artform.

    It is ancient in origin, yet common in our time. Though it is often taken for granted by a majority of people, it is an artform that is, even today, usually handed down from master to novice through apprenticeship rather than formal schooling.

    It is the venerable art of butchery.

    Ah yes, nothing quite puts me in the mood to write about blood and guts more than blood and guts does. It is quite inspiring to turn large chunks of fresh animal flesh into hamburger or sausages. Slicing through veal or fresh kill pork has much the same feel as plunging a knife into a living human body. It rolls and quivers under steel as it cleaves through a blood filled liver. Delicately placing tongues or hearts into attractive little Styrofoam trays. Plopping pork brains into plastic tubs. Spatter red all over a once white knee-length jacket. Very inspiring stuff, believe me.

    All these things ease my mind gently into the proper mode, that level of depravity and sickness of which, dear reader, you can only dream. If federal regulations did not prohibit such tings, I would love to include an internal organ or other body part with each issue, perhaps even a "collect-the-whole-set" series. Alas, but it is not possible. It is the utmost desire of Mr. Vincent and myself, however, that through these stories and the masterful renderings thereof, you may experience as close as inhumanly possible that ultimate experience of warm, dripping flesh in your own sweaty palms.

Deaditorial: from Chester Jacques, editor, #14, volume 1

    What makes a monster?

    What is it that changes that shadow glimpsed in the dark alley into the fearsome beast that just waiting to get us? What is there in the sight of bad dental work that causes adrenaline to pump and sweat to flow (not to mention other body fluids that may be leaking)?

    Is it the sight of a huge, ugly, unintelligent beast, bent on power and terrorization? No, as long as he keeps on paying my allowance, I’ll get along with Dad. Maybe the sight of a gaping maw, wailing an unearthly cry? Nope. Carly Simon is kind of cute. Okay, it’s the wielding of a sharp, curved blade, just wanting to open the still-living flesh and eat the warm bowels. Sorry, I happen to LIKE fresh oysters.

    No, I guess one true monster is deep inside all of us. And before you go on to think this is one of those "preachy" editorials about loving your neighbor and that crap, read on. I know that the most popular arcade games are the ones where you’re either a sniper or someone with an incredible bad attitude towards other pedestrians. Shoot the blue guy, kick that ninja, knife the dudes on the street, and blow up the red car. I’m not saying that’s not fun, heck, I’ve probably got more invested in those games that I did in my college education.

    But is there really something inside each of us that needs to see blood? Something that relishes cannibalism (or is that cannibalism with relish?) and likes seeing the suffering of others? Hey, better them than me, right? Well, that’s a moral judgment that’s not for me (or anyone else) to decide. Deal with it yourself, scum, or I’ll shoot out your eyeballs next time you come at me in the arcade asking for quarters.

Deaditorial:  from Chester Jacques, Deadworld: volume one collection

    Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the Thirteenth, and (of course), Deadworld. What is it about today’s society that sends throngs of splatter-fans out to buy the latest issue of Fangoria? Is it the actual desire to see the inner workings of the digestive system? No, there would be a lot more people signing up for medical classes. Is it the urge for a good horror story? Well, a little. But why would Clive Barker (gory, horror, with drippy bits) start to outsell Stephen King (suspenseful horror) with an upsurge in movies based on H.P. Lovecraft stories?

    Sure, people like to be scared, but isn’t "Psycho" incredibly scary without a single scene of knives entering flesh? So, why aren’t more movies made like that today? I suppose it’s a demand for more realism, along with a need for escapism. Realism because we know that murder is messy, and we’re a little tired of TV death. You know the type, where the victim just grabs the wound and falls over, without ever messing his shirt up with blood. Or falls over the edge of a building (in slow motion), but the corpse on the ground just has a leg slightly out of place. Give me a break!

    Escapism enters the picture more in the movies, where we see a bunch of teenagers getting permission to go co-ed camping, having lots of sex (and shower scenes) and having a great time together while babysitting. Hey, I never got to do stuff like that! Nuke the suckers! Slowly, painfully, in lots of details, I want to see those bastards fry. It’s escapism, but it’s fun to watch.

    Our country is obsessed with death. We deny it (if Grandma has just "gone to heaven", why are we pushing her down the other way?), or ignore it (in most Oriental cultures, cemeteries are shrines, not places hid off in the distant suburbs), but we are obsessed with it. Even the most religious person, who believes he is going to the greatest reward of all, still runs away from death.

    It is easy and beneficial to mock things we are uncomfortable with. Some people are afraid of race or religion, so they mock other’s race or religion. That don’t care, don’t joke. Well, that's why we "joke" about death. We are still a little afraid of it, so we make up stories about zombies and wizards who can defy death.

    It is a release.