From Clyde Crashcup#1, 1963: Our Hero Phones It In, While Passing Time Before Final Spate of Comix Masterworks

In recent posts, we examined the curious horror comix of John Stanley. They were created as Dell struggled to reinvent itself as a viable force in the comix biz--despite Gold Key, the rechristened Western/K.K. Publications, having made off with all the licensed properties and the better artists.

Dell was left with John Stanley, a major talent who was equally at a crossroads. He'd found anonymous success writing, laying out and sometimes drawing other people's characters, for nearly 20 years.

In this time, Stanley had tried to create and sustain a couple of original comix creations (Peterkin Pottle, Jigger and Mooch) but saw them both quickly die.

It was evident that Stanley had the ability to do this on a larger, more successful scale, as his pal Walt Kelly had done with "Pogo Possum"-- a Dell Comics debut that was, by 1962, an internationally celebrated major syndicated newspaper comic strip.

With the gifted, expressive cartoonist Bill Williams, Stanley tried again, in 1961--right before the Dell/Gold Key rift-- with a picaresque urban sitcom, initially titled Around The Block, but soon changed to Dunc 'n' Loo.

This eight-issue series is among John Stanley's finest comix work. It is my personal favorite of all his original creations. If you're a new reader to this blog, use the Search function to find some selections from this series in earlier posts.

That the series lasted for eight quarterly issues says that it must have sold at least decently. Most unknown new titles failed after two or three issues.

On its own, Dell tried hard to regain its footing. They acquired new licensed properties, as quickly and randomly as they could sign the contracts. By this time, they had characters from the emergent limited-animation TV cartoons to consider.

They wisely acquired the entities of Ross Bagdasarian's popular The Alvin Show. Spin-offs of songwriter Bagdasarian's novely pop hits, under the alias of "David Seville," Alvin and his chipmunk brethren briefly tickled the collective American fancy in the early-to-mid 1960s.

The TV cartoons were of better quality than the thuggish output of Hanna-Barbera, but far less witty than Jay Ward's visually primitive Rocky and Bullwinkle.

Among The Alvin Show's sub-features was "Clyde Crashcup," an eccentric would-be inventor, whose shtick was inventing things that already existed. Talk about your cognitive bias issues! Here was a character concept seemingly tailored to Stanley's interests as a writer and comedian.

Crashcup is a sort of grown-up Tubby Tompkins or Peterkin Pottle. Despite the cautious whisperings of his voice-of-reason sidekick, Leonardo, Clyde refuses to accept that his ideas have already been thought out and seen to fruition. Time and again, he is driven to do things the hard way, just to prove that he can do it.

Dell bravely launched a Clyde Crashcup title, which lasted five issues, and entrusted it to Stanley. The end results seem a bit off to me. Perhaps Stanley was still dispirited from the debacle of his 1962 horror comix.

Dunc 'n' Loo's final issue was yet to be published when the first Crashcup appeared. Was the writing on the wall for Stanley's superb original concept? Whatever the reason, Stanley's Creatometer is set to "MEDIUM" here.

The three stories presented here, from the title's debut issue, teem with Stanley themes and -isms. Missing is the dynamic drive, the bustling, roughhousing urban wit that distinguishes Stanley's best work of the late 1950s and early 1960s.

Clyde Crashcup Invents The Cow










Clyde Crashcup Invents The Desert Island







Clyde Crashcup Invents The Broom







I have no data to back this up, but I begin to suspect that the villain of the piece may be editor L. B. Cole. He edited the horror comix and other Stanley-penned projects from Dell's awkward transitional era.

Cole's editorial hand pressed down hard on Stanley. This must have frustrated the author. With Western, Stanley was given free berth to flex his comedic muscles and write dense, rich stories, usually full of melancholy and macabre themes. Little Lulu was among Dell/Western's bread and butter titles. They weren't about to mess with a winning formula.

[SIDEBAR: I'm still uncertain why Stanley left Little Lulu in 1959. This is where comix history fails us. No one thought to ask these questions while Stanley was still around to answer them. If Stanley was sick of writing LL, why did he immediately take over Nancy and Sluggo, which was basically Lulu Redux, and write it with such vigor and commitment for the next few years?

Did Dell's editors feel that Lulu was, by 1959, a finely-oiled comix machine that any writer and artist could take over? Stanley's successors tried their hardest to ape his writing, comedic style, timing and comix vocabulary. Their work was clearly patterned on what Stanley did with the series, in the 14 years he ran it.

I wish I knew the answer. End of sidebar.]

Staples of Stanley storytelling-- cramped urban environs, pirates, witches, invasive landlords, cognitive biases, frenzied physical action, SFX in balloons, balloons with motile tales, vivid onomatopoeia--abound in these comix. Yet the end results seem diluted and dis-spirited. Perhaps Cole's hand was too heavy for Stanley's work. Perhaps this was just a paycheck project, done without much TLC.

These remain appealing stories--of much higher quality than Dell's other creators--but they seem tame and timid, in the wake of Dunc 'n Loo, and following Stanley's bravura run on Nancy and Sluggo. One can see glimmers of Stanley's cartooning style in some of the character poses--including the Little Lulu perennial of upraised, smiling faces:


The witch at the end of "Broom" is a double for Lulu's Witch Hazel:



I have a feeling that Stanley's scripts, as turned in, were a lot more vivid and appealing than the pale finished stories. I am still exploring the early post-rift Dell titles for other possible Stanley material. These comix are works of corporate turmoil and indifference--confused moves from a vulnerable former giant of the comix world. While clouded beneath heavy editorial hands, there may be more undiscovered works of John Stanley hiding in their forgotten pages.

John Stanley's New Yorker Cartoon, 3/15/1947

Thanks to Jeet Heer and James Gill for helping me locate this one-off shot at the Big Time for our hero, John Stanley.

Alas, it's from the well-intentioned CD-ROM within The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker.

I suppose that, with such a draconian project, it wasn't possible to include every cartoon and have them in large, hi-rez images. For a browser, one just perusing the cartoons for reading pleasure, it's fine, but for us more OCD comix/cartooning devotees, the end result is frustrating.

All that said, I think this is a charming cartoon. Its drawing style completely ties in with the "Little Lulu," "Woody Woodpecker" and "Jigger" stories Stanley drew around this time.

It's rumored that Stanley continued to write cartoons for other New Yorker artists. Apparently, correspondence exists in the magazine's files. When next I get to NYC, I'd love to spend a day (or two) researching this, and seeing if I can find out exactly how long Stanley's connection to this high-status magazine lasted--and why HE didn't continue as a cartoonist there.

This is just as good, if not better than, some severe competition in the March 15, 1947 issue. Stanley is up against Charles Addams, Sam Cobean, R. Taylor and other big-leaguers.

This cartoon has a strong thematic link to his contemporary comix--the theme of rich vs. poor, and of the underprivileged yearning for the creature comforts of the well-off.

I wish this was a better-quality image, but it's the best the book's CD-ROM offers. I hope to find an original copy of this issue soon. I'll scan the cartoon and post it here if/when.

The HaLLoween Spirit 4: Tiny Martians Enliven Costume; Cruel Catgirl Skews Party; Rotund Goblin Exposed, Painted Pink By Witch

After all the sturm and drang of Tales From The Tomb, let's return to the more reassuring world of "Little Lulu." Here are the last three stories from the 1958 "Halloween Fun" giant. Previous installments can be found HERE, HeRe, HerE and hERe. Whew!

These last three stories take place in comix "real time." That is to say, they occur "live" before the reader, with no breaks or jumps. As this giant comic began that way, it's appropriate that it end in this manner.

First up is Tubby in "The Headless Goblin," which guest-stars the little men from Mars:










There's some rich "Tubby talk" in this typical later story. Though Tub bears the sting of angry ants, he is rewarded by show-stopping and status-boosting SFX. His self-worth is boosted, and he awaits his much-deserved chocolate-covered cherries.

A minor but pervasive Stanleyism is seen on the story's last page, in the fourth panel. Spots before the eyes, in Stanley's world, connotes confusion, fear, worry, illness and other distress-related states of mind.

I believe R. Sikoryak picks up on this in his brilliant melding of Stanley's "Little Lulu" and Nathaniel Hawthorne's The Scarlet Letter, as seen in his recent anthology, Masterpiece Comics. This is brilliant stuff, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

The kids have regained their composure and returned to the party for "The Great Don't-Dad Hunt." Here, we see Lulu in an ur-Catwoman costume, as she and Annie manipulate their friends for their personal gain:









Lulu is a rascal in this story. Were it not for the reassuring adult-offered reward of ice cream and cake, the other kids would be justified in egging (or toilet-papering) the Moppet household. They have been well and truly used by Lulu. And for what? A doll's hairpiece! Tubby doesn't look so conniving, or as greedy, in light of this story.

The final story, "Ol' Witch Hazel and the Bashful Ghost ," is perhaps the only of Lulu's fractured fairy-tales in which she does not appear in any way, shape or form.











Though an odd way to close this Halloween giant--in that it offers a cursory wrap-up, rather than a formal conclusion, this is a wild, antic story, in which one senses that Stanley felt like cutting loose and having some fun. He seems to really enjoy depicting Witch Hazel without the presence of Lulu, or of Little Itch, the witch-in-training who is usually right by Hazel's side in these stories.

The rotund, mustached, pink goblin on the story's last page is a wonderfully perverse visual element.

Well, kids, that's it for Halloween. I managed to fulfill my goal of posting a month's worth of Halloween-worthy stories, while moving all my stuff across town and working on my graphic novel. I think I'll take it easy tonight and let Halloween happen.

I may be absent for a bit, as I set up my new domicile. I hope to have a new post in a week or so. 'Til then, please check back often, and I hope yours is a Happy Halloween!

Tales From The Tomb #1, pt. 4: Elemental Swamp Horror Takes Elder Dog's Life; Mordant Humor Dominates One-Page Fillers

Here's the last of Tales From The Tomb... "The Mudman." The Grand Comics Database claims this story was drawn by George Evans. I only wish it were... the GCD has some endearingly nutty errors. This is not George Evans' artwork, I assure you...

THIS is an example of George Evans' typically graceful artwork, just in case you're unfamiliar with his comix.











"The Mudman" has a Tubby-esque main character, given to some mild cognitive biases and full of chatter. If Tubby had been presented with a horrific event, as seen here, the results would likely be similar, especially this panel:



"The Mudman" offers the only bona-fide monster rampage moment in this unique anthology. Stanley obviously wished to end the book with a bang. His sense of comic absurdity barely keeps contained. Or, to be fair, I'll say that it's hard to read "serious" Stanley without an overlay of his strong sense of comedy.

Two tongue-in-cheek fillers end this book. "Asphalt Test," drawn by Frank Springer, is cut from the cloth of Dunc 'n' Loo, and is quite amusing:



"The 'Interview'" sends off Tales From the Tomb on an appropriate note of nuttiness.



Well, there you have it, folks. 80 addled pages of nightmare images, neurotic fantasies, a truckload of ellipses, and some undeniably effective moments.

Tales From The Tomb ended John Stanley's short-lived career as a writer of non-humor comix. I wonder what might have happened, had these comix been OK with people, and had Stanley continued in this vein.

I'm glad he didn't, as we might not have his mid-1960s auteur period, where he was a total cartoonist for a few happy years. But, as daffy as some of these stories are, they are always compelling and colorful and, even when their scare-concepts fail, or are staged ineptly, damned imaginative.

As I said in a prior post, there are no other horror comix like John Stanley's. We can only be thankful that this eccentric outburst saw print.

Look for the final Halloween Little Lulu post--on Halloween! See you then...

Tales From The Tomb #1, part 3: Padded Therapist, Tragic-Mystic Cat, Grouchy Scion of Wealth All Involved in Horrific Events

We're on the home stretch of Tales From The Tomb...

Today's posting offers two of its freakiest stories, plus one of its most oddly moving and, dare I say, poetic.

Freak flags fly first with the slice of psycho-horror that is "Crazy Quilt." This is THE story from TFTT that most who read it as kids remember with a shudder. Well, just see for yourself...







"Crazy Quilt" is, at once, John Stanley's kookiest piece, and one of his most revealing as a writer.

The concept is sheer nightmare lunacy. It is a perfect sort of childish bad dream. Being quilted, in the cold light of day, may not strike a mature adult as terrifying. It might actually be a virtue in colder climates.

But from the viewpoint of a child, to whom the world is a sweltering mass of unknown and untested things, this concept is most potent. The idea that a comforting, warming object like a quilt could become something frightening and dangerous is appropriate for a child's imagination.

For a man who said "I don't believe in therapists and pills," Stanley turns in a stellar performance-in-words via poor Miss Birkley, the protagonist. She twists and turns on the psychiatric couch as she tells her story, rich in details and punctuated... with... synapses. I feel that Stanley sympathizes with her.

Therein, we find an interesting variant on the "you are doomed... doomed... DOOMED!" bit that appears in some of Stanley's later Little Lulu stories, and in the harrowing encounters, in Nancy and Sluggo, between Sluggo and the push-button psychotic McOnion.

The rich attention to detail, in Miss Birkley's theraputic monologue, anticipates the nervous, similarly vulnerable dialog of Stanley's Thirteen Going On Eighteen. Stanley's dialogue grew longer and more intense in the 1960s. This talky trend reached an apotheosis in his last work for comix, the first issue of O. G. Whiz (which you'll find in an earlier installment on this blog).

The villain of the piece, of course, is the psycho-therapist-slash-quilter.

Next is a curiously poignant story with subtle scare elements--"The Cat That Was Part of The Night."












"The Cat That Was Part of The Night" suggests a lost Val Lewton horror movie of the 1940s. It is more about domestic tension and dysfunctional adults than horror, per se.

The most charged moments in the story concern the trauma of separation between the little girl, Sue, and her black cat Sammy.

We've seen a dress rehearsal for this scene in the "Li'l Eight Ball" story from New Funnies #101, which was posted HERE not so long ago.

In both stories, Stanley invests the moment of separation with much drama. He is better able to voice this pain in "The Cat..."
Here, he paints a strong portrait of an effed-up family dynamic. Dinah is a commonly-seen 1960s Stanley character--the shrill harridan whose job in life is to bitch and moan and make the world around her tense.

Dinah and Jerry do not get along very well. Jerry is a passive schlump, while dominating Dinah rides him with gusto. Both adults use the child, Sue, for emotional target practice, scoring indirect but vicious hits on one another in her name.

Sue has retreated into a pacifying bond with her cat, Sammy. She describes him poetically on the story's third page:

"Sammy is black--like the night! Sammy is a little part of the night! If he's put out he'll go back into the night!"

All the supernatural elements in this story occur off-stage. We see them through Sue's eyes. She becomes chillingly cruel as she watches Dinah being shredded to bits by the resurrected cat:



In the cold light of day, police surmise that it was your run of the mill raspberry bush scratch/broken neck combo. But Sue knows better.

"The Cat That Was Part of The Night" is the most powerful and convincing story in Tales From The Tomb. I wish the artwork were stronger. The artist does a sort of pastiche of Jack Kamen, George Evans and that Madison Avenue drawing style of the Space Age. The results are, like much of this book, oddly primitive. Yet they somehow--if just barely--succeed.

Back to Wonkyland for "The Long Wait"-- no relation to the Mickey Spillane novel of the same name.








The Tales From The Tomb formula--novel concepts made zany and dream-incoherent--reach their peak in "The Long Wait."

In this story, Stanley calls one of his pet themes--that rich people are no damned good--and gives it a new twist.

Here, we see a very rare instance of a wealthy person (and an admitted scoundrel) willing to atone for his misdeeds. Despite the physical improbability of the story's last panel, "The Long Wait" impresses with its blend of grim ritual and of a miscreant baring his soul and confessing his crimes.

Rich, detailed dialogue fills this story. Mr. Drone's ironic recitation of the "classic" version of his life story, followed by what really happened, is among Stanley's most impressive writing. As well, the interactions of Drone and his man servant, Robert, in a situation usually played for black comedy in Stanley's world, are handled here with impressive gravity.

The concept for the story's shock ending is worthy of the best of the E.C. horror comix. Its shoddy treatment by the artist really robs this piece of its potential impact. As it stands, its blend of grave, affecting dialogues and a kooky finale are par for the TFTT course.

And now, to clear the palate, here's another one-pager, "Goblin's Ball"-- a goldmine of runaway ellipses...

Until... next... time...

Tales From The Tomb #1, pt. 2: Male Wallflower Bewitched at Formal Dance; Adulterous Swinger Compresses Due To Prank

Ah, you’ve returned! Heh, heh, heh! You’re wanting more from Tales From The Tomb, are you?

Well, let’s set up the next mind-fudging batch of stories from this notorious John Stanley effort. First up is “Oh, How we Danced.”












Poor “Lonely Les!” Even Tubby Tompkins fared better when he courted Gloria, so many times, in such utter vain.

The story's next-to-last page, with its repetition of the word "no," is striking in its intense, frenzied despair. Many modern-day comix artists try to create this sense of hopelessness and darkness in their work (which is usually autobiographical). This page comes out of nowhere in the comix landscape of 1962.

“Oh, How We Danced” attempts a haunting atmosphere, which the artist (Ken Bald?) does well with. This is the most impressive and successful story in the book, in my humble opinion. I wish the ending were given another page. It's very breathless, and teeters on incoherence. Again, when viewed from the dream angle, this fuzzy narrative style works very well.

This would have made a good Twilight Zone episode.

Next is a two-page quickie.




I confess that the payoff to this short-short story makes no sense to me. Perhaps the semi-capable artist forgot something? Perhaps the editor was snoozing? I dunno.

More links to non-horror Stanley Stories here... the husband and wife bear some resemblance to the McOnions of Stanley's Nancy and Sluggo comix.

We conclude today’s broadcast with the appropriately 13-paged work of wonder that is “Two For The Price Of One."















"Two For The Price Of One” has significant thematic ties to Stanley's Little Lulu and Tubby stories.

As a story, it's similar to the improvised tales told by Lulu to bratty neighbor-kid Alvin, in every issue of John Stanley’s Little Lulu.

As well, its plot--of a scheming person seeking mind-fudgery via an elaborately orchestrated hoax--is also cut from the cloth of many a Lulu/Tubby classic.

And, lest we forget, Stanley called upon midgets often in his stories to be deus ex machina figures--to raise stakes or confound the protagonists and antagonists of his stories.

However (and you knew there had to be a ‘however’), few of those deliberately humorous Lulu/Tubby stories could boast such a nutty set-up, married to such a whacked-out, zonky conclusion. Stanley does set it up, with the butler's voodoo doll... but the delayed reaction of the squashing throws a monkey-wrench into the proceedings.

When the a-hole main character assaults the butler, shaking him and insulting him, I'm reminded of Stanley's Thirteen Going on Eighteen. Comedic moments frequently surface in these horror stories, furthering their narrative incongruities.

This is perhaps the most E.C.-like story in Tales From The Tomb. This one begs for an artist of the skill-level of Joe Orlando or George Evans to have illustrated it.

Note the vivid use of comix “typography” in all of these stories. They're written and laid out with real gusto. Stanley wasn’t slacking his way through this project.

Something many Tales From The Tomb stories have in common is their shaggy-dog nature. This story, in particular, is more like a Don Martin Mad Magazine gag piece than a bona-fide horror story.

It does start out in best E.C. fashion. Once the midget angle appears, any resemblance to a traditional horror or suspense story goes out the window. The story's punchline beggars the imagination; it prefigures some of the grotesque imagery of Stanley's Melvin Monster stories.

I must confess that these stories have grown on me as I’ve been posting them. They’re still daffy as can be, but they’re like a force of nature. Just as you can’t tame a hurricane, nor stop a blizzard, you have little choice but to stand back and let Stanley’s horror comix go about their inexorable, zany-dark way.

Coming up next: the immortal “Crazy Quilt”—easily THE most wacky story in Tales From The Tomb, plus other mind-skewering meisterworks!

Tales From The Tomb, Part 1: Rabid Carpet Claims Tenant Lives; Perky Artist Takes Own Life; Hiker Caught In Frigid Time-Loop

John Stanley's career took an unpredictable--and unforgettable--turn in 1962. At this time, he created the only non-humor comix of his long career. Following 1961/2's Linda Lark, Student Nurse was this one-shot 80-page giant and the one issue of Ghost Stories (recently featured here).

What motivated Stanley to venture outside the sardonic sitcomix that had been his bread and butter? I wish I knew. Maybe Craig Yoe knows. He interviewed John Stanley in the early 1990s--in what was probably the only in-depth interview anyone did with Stanley, period.

I can only hope Yoe--or someone-- got the lowdown on these very curious career departures. None of them proved very successful. The horror comix appear to have gotten Stanley in some hot water. Again, I've only heard little bits of information, here and there.

Dell Comics was in crisis in 1962. The company split in two. What had been Western Publishing, based in New York, changed to Gold Key, and took all the licensed characters that had long been the company's mainstay.

Gold Key mediocritized the Dell company formula, and rode the success train for another 20 years. They changed name once more, to Whitman Comics, before they perished in utter blandness.

Poor Dell! They'd taken Western for granted for decades. Without a clue as to how to proceed, they bravely soldiered on. They made one bad decision after another as they desperately sought a foothold in the growing comix market.

Reviving the horror comix genre was, in theory, a good idea. The Comics Code had neutered the genre in 1955. Since Dell operated outside the highly restrictive Code, they could publish scary comix and get away with it.

John Stanley would have seemed their best bet for this project. He specialized in dark humor, and his stories had, for years, regularly featured macabre themes and settings. In the age of One Step Beyond and The Twilight Zone, there was a defined consumer need for horror/SF anthologies. Marvel Comics had ridden this trend in the late '50s and early '60s with their seemingly endless stream of monster comix, often illustrated by Jack Kirby and Steve Ditko.

There had never, and I mean NEVER, been horror comix quite like John Stanley's.

Tales From The Tomb appeared more-or-less simultaneously with the first issue of Ghost Stories. It was a high-voltage double-dose of freaky, trauma-rich material. Apparently, it upset kid readers. This, in turn, upset parents, and the flak got back to Dell's editors. Stanley was taken off horror.

Ghost Stories lasted 37 issues--after Stanley had left comic books for good in 1971.

Stanley recovered from this strange episode with a brace of "auteur" humor comix which he wrote and drew. His brief foray into horror left a lasting impression on those who read them--whether in 1962, or last Tuesday.

Here are the first three stories from the pluperfectly effed-up, whacked-out Tales From The Tomb. More-so than Stanley's lone issue of Ghost Stories, Tales From The Tomb really pushes the envelope on eccentricity. Every story has something odd, troubling or outright inexplicable about it.

According to The Grand Comic-Book Database, "Mr. Green Must Be Fed" was illustrated by Frank Springer. A journeyman "whatever it is, I'll draw it!" kinda cartoonist, Springer worked for almost all 1960s and '70s comix publishers, and also did comix parodies for The National Lampoon.

He's a perfect choice for this unforgettable, addled tale of urban horror.














"Mr. Green" is a horrific cousin to Stanley's humorous 1961-3 Dunc 'n' Loo comic book series. The setting is similar--a dirty Old-World tenement not unlike the Airy Arms; battle-axe landladies who intrude upon, presume upon, and manipulate their tenants; and, most vividly, the sense of urban congestion--of small, malodorous rooms, of grime-covered windows that let in the constant roar of traffic and voices.

Add a throw-rug/portal to Monsterland to the mix... yikes! Nightmare reality layers atop urban tension, and creates a story as upsetting as it is ludicrous. The put-upon protagonist-in-peril does escape with his life, having freely swapped his last shred of dignity for a ticket out of Hell. Yet the landlady and her hungry carpet go on, unscathed, to claim new tender, tasty victims.

You know, had this story been illustrated in a funny style, by, say, Bill Williams, it would work very well as a macabre, dark-humored humor-horror fusion--a superior version of similar stories that were the staple of DC Comics' 1970s title Plop!.

There is humor, and humor potential, galore here--from the squabbling of the duelling landlords on the first page to the pushy, manipulative Jewish landlady who rents the poor schmo the room for the night.

At it stands, this story simply is. Nothing I can say about it will change that fact. Laugh at it; be scared by it. It exists.

"Still Life" attempts a darker tone, while it fools us into thinking the protagonists are in a safe zone at story's start.










The early pages of "Still Life" contain a great deal of sharp dialogue, and two characters that are well-shaped and rather charming. Their chit-chat has the desired effect of luring us away from an expectation that something bad will happen to the urbane young painter.

Stanley wrote great chit-chat. The painter's disparaging remarks about the curse of the gnarled old tree are almost enough to cause us to dismiss the possibility of any bad hijinks.

The attempted shock ending doesn't work at all. Yet it's presented with authority enough to almost convince us, for a nanosecond, that it might be plausible. Again, it begs for the Plop! treatment. Were the artwork cartoony, it would work much better.

"Turnabout" is eccentrically illustrated by its unknown artist. If M. C. Escher had moonlighted in the funnybook field, in collaboration with Basil Wolverton, the results might be a little bit like this...






Ironic? Abstract? Surreal? "Turnabout" is particularly dreamlike. It isn't scary, shocking, surprising or revealing. It's like a dream you might wake up from with a start and a "Huh?"

As such, it's a remarkable piece of bizarro comix. Once read, it's hard to forget.

There's more--much more--of Tales From The Tomb. And it gets weirder...