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galactus? ehhhhhhhhhhhhhh...i mean no doubt dude is huge and in charge of shit, but if we're getting into marvel cosmics territory there are FAR more powerful beings than galactus...

Shadow King runs a train on Xavier...

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It's not worth it to climb the chain of power because then you get to Death, Eternity, The Living Tribunal, et al. It's always how the terrestrial superhumans stacked up against one another that interested me.

Like, for example, who the hell could the Trapster fight so that it would be interesting?

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i forget all the names from when i was a kid, but wasn't there a marvel character who lived on some far off planet because he was too powerful? like his whispers would crumble mountains was the one quote i remember(from the back of the trading card i had of him)

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My dad is an architect and I don't know shit about it. Not ignorant, just uneducated. But architectural tours anywhere are fuckin ballin, no matter what.

EDIT: let me revise this - I am clued into architectural history, and while I know some things, I'd always like to learn more. KNOWLEDGE IS POWER.

True academic architecture is the biggest wasteful pissing contest there is on earth.

Most architecture is not this, thank god.

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True academic architecture is the biggest wasteful pissing contest there is on earth.

Most architecture is not this, thank god.

Well duh. What I'd love to know is how to be able to critique and analyze architecture, which comes with the academic part... I mean I could read plenty of my fathers books and study his drawings and go on site visits and listen in at meetings, but that makes me in no way, shape, or form, academically or professionally qualified to comment on any architecture.

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not the watcher or that dude who was the living planet with the face?

i forget all the names from when i was a kid, but wasn't there a marvel character who lived on some far off planet because he was too powerful? like his whispers would crumble mountains was the one quote i remember(from the back of the trading card i had of him)
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not the watcher or that dude who was the living planet with the face?

You aren't talking about Mogo, are you? The planetary Green Lantern? Also, someone please make comic book geekout threak. NOW.

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naw, he was humanoid and regular sized... he had a purple and blue costume if i remember correctly. maybe had dark something in his name.

he was in the same marvel universe cards series as typhoid mary, if anybody is a real nerd here

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best comic ever was the one where hundreds of heros took on cthulhu

or the one where hundreds took on some other giant sphinx/egyptian themed villan, can't remember her name.

i wish i still had all my comics now, damn.

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i think it might be quasar...

i'm looking at the entire card series (fleer ones) with typhoid mary, googling all the ones that sound familiar. i'm going to get to the bottom of this.

edit ps fuck rob liefeld that is all

edit 2 mass it wasn't darkseid i was thinking about, but i remember that one and it was awesome(everybody vs darkseid)

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hmm...doom and sinsister are both really fucking smart and have maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad resources, but doom leads an entire country and has a fucking time machine...sinister fucked up apocalypse, but doom has battled GODS.

doom takes it fo shoooooooooo.

nigga #1 where were you in nyc

#2 yo, when you work at comic book store, you quickly realize everyone argues about same thing and doom always wins

#3 the movie mongol was in mongolian. twas crazy

#4 every single comic from the 90s sucked. I hate anyone who brings up fucking Carnage. Fuck that bitch made ass villain. Fuck any Age of Apocalypse comic. and Fuck all speculators tryin to make bank/inc. jewflow over a variant cover of a Liefeld ish.

#5 go team venture

#6 sup leroy

#7 yo im glad there's no spider pics in this thread

if kobe kept his first jersey #8 and rapefro, kg would know what his ass tastes like

#9 is the most annoying store to find in manhattan. also, fuck, buy some lights.

#10 bitch where's my jamba juice

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i wish i did.. I never saw him in any comics, i just had a marvel card of him(fleer i think, but im googling the list i got from the series with typhoid mary, but no dice)

really vague i know, but it was so long ago.

the whispers plants line is just what i remember the synopsis on his card saying

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that and he is bar none the worst illustrator in the history of comics. zero talent OR skill, has no idea what the human body looks like(or at least he draws like it)

and don't get me started on him changing story lines....

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I am sitting in bed at 1:30 and my ankles are filthy.

I started an awful course of events earlier this evening, a clumsy ill-concieved carnival that ruined what was left of my dignity. I was heading to my solarium with a meal, having just finished a long day at work. I was planning to eat, and then read until I fell asleep, as I have work again early tomorrow morning. On my breakfast table, next to my window, I found a dying plant. Pink flowers hung dessicated and wrinkled off low green shrubbery. It sat rootbound and pitiful in a too-small temporary garden centre pot. The plant had been a gift from some fool friend, in apology for some fool thing he had done that I had forgotten already. My forgetting the event did nothing to change the plant in my apartment. I considering consigning the thing to the garbage chute, but that presented two problems. My friend would undoubtedly bleed great gouts of blood from his vagina over my treatment of his gift, and my girlfriend is fast approaching the end of her rope regarding my tendancy to kill every living thing that is given to me. The only avenue open to me was to pot the bastard.

Of course potting a plant could not be as simple as it seemed to me at the time. I have many plants in my sunroom, low maintenence green shrubs mostly. They sit in clay pots where they recieve water once a week and cause me little grievance. I pot them on the roof of my building, this being the only decent option. There is space there, and a hose. There is no space anywhere else around me. I live on the waterfront, and any parcel of land bigger than ten feet square has been used to raise great glass and steel condos to sell to middle eastern and asian financial accountants, who pay exhorbitant prices for them and feel that they are living the american dream (they are wrong of course, the american dream consists of living far higher up, working a half-assed job and spending most of my time relaxing in my underpants, comfortable in the knowledge that these immigrant wonders in the next building are hard at work managing my money). Regardless, the roof was closed to me, as it closes to everybody at ten-clock.

So that is how I found myself bent over my bathtub, scooping great handfulls of rich black soil into a wicker pot for this poor chrysanthimum (begonia? hycianth? whatever). My bathroom is an awful little hole. It's at such a disconnect from the rest of my apartment, which I consider to be gorgeous. It's like meeting a beautiful woman, falling in love, and marrying her, only to discover having undressed her for your wedding night, that she has Crohn's, and carrys her shit with her at all times in a little bag hooked into her large intestine. The tub is moldy, and the sinks back up quickly, overflowing brackish water that smells of rotting hair.

Anyhow, I got the thing into the pot, jammed some plant food spikes in the soil, put some water in it and headed back to the sunroom.

At this point I found out the liner for the wicker pot leaked.

So I'm walking across the floor of my apartment. A sanctuary one hundred-twenty metres in the air. A place I love more than I love most people. And I'm dripping black, nutrient-rich earth all over my rug.

I run screaming to the kitchen and fix all the holes. I slam the thing down on the high-bar breakfast table, and sighing, figure I'll clean up the floor tomorrow after work.

At this point I need a shower and I need to go to sleep.

So I disrobe, and step into the shower. The first minute of cleaning myself goes ok, and then everything goes to hell. The soil that missed the pot had gotten washed down the drain, but not far down, just below the rim. It has become blocked, this drain, and the muddy water surges back as quickly as it flows down. The water at my feet is pitch black, black like burnt flesh, black like a chemotherapy patient's shit. It's rising, stinking and earthy, like floodwaters in fucking New Orleans. I'm clawing frantically at the drain as the water rises to below my knees. I cut the water and jump out of the shower, leaving filthy caveman footprints on my white bathmat. I ruin a perfectly good towel trying to get my feet and legs clean enough to walk on the carpet.

So fuck it, it's now 2AM and I still have a gritty mud coloured mess stagnating in my bathroom, and there's dirt all over everything I own. But I work in the fucking morning, so I have to go to bed.

It's killing me, this mess is.

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