By Liefeld. I’m not cruel enough to put anyone else’s name next to this.
I have to know how Liefeld sleeps at night. How he cons others into working for him, not with him mind you, FOR him. This comic isn’t a homage or a parody it’s an embarrassment.
The story is called ‘Leverage or Dude where’s my co€k’ and I could end it right there. The whole issue is a series of unrelated action shots between a collection of ‘characters’ who deliver expository nonsense in the nineties style, i.e. an entire treatise on the mating habits of gibbons delivered in the arc of one punch. There’s not one original thing in this fiasco. Liefeld’s defenders would argue he created the template these characters are based on, I would argue that all he can create are knock off Deathstrokes and Terminators. I would then suggest his defenders buy Velcro shoes and stay away from anything sharper than a plastic spoon. There’s a bulky, white haired, gun nut called Cabbot. CABBOT. He’s not even trying. I looked it up, it’s an actual name, I’d like to think he knew that. The writing. There isn’t any.
Back to weird anatomy and the type of facial expressions a sadistic proctologist enjoys watching in his hidden camera footage. There’s a full chorus of pouches, badly designed weapons, swords that vanish never to return and there’s nothing a chiropodist would recognize on the end of anyone’s beefy stump. Usually there’s an ‘inker’ credited who manages to make sure there’s at least some backgrounds and all the appendages have the correct number of digits but either Liefeld is getting better…*Lead’s better half would like to apologise for the interruption he’s turned a funny colour from laughing so hard* Right! Back again… Or, the inker took the money and ran.
It’s a bad comic. A cynical collection of the worst tropes in comics farted out to cash in on nostalgic times that should stay in the fifty pence bins for former speculators to weep over as they find other means to put their kids through college.