On an even more basic level, the idea to portray The Ramones as rock royalty, especially before their first album is even released, is an unfortunate choice. In order for the Archies to be the scrappy underdogs of the narrative, The Ramones are forced into the role of the established mentors, not the weird grimy outcasts they ought to be. And while no one should realistically expect authentic punk ethos from an Archie comic, it's telling that, aside from a few cheeky references, The Ramones could be seamlessly replaced by just about any other successful rock band in this comic. What a missed opportunity.

Turning something as deeply personal as Miller's career-spanning bat books into a collaboration was bound to produce a flawed end product. Yet taken on its own merits, The Master Race still managed to offer its fair share of far-out comic book wackiness and genuinely thoughtful character moments. The series ultimately delivers an optimistic ending that, if not quite profound, at least feels sincere. It's a fitting conclusion to a perplexing miniseries, even if it can't live up to the audacity and ambition of its pedigree.

But it's all about the vibrant reds when it comes to the inspired moments of monstrous murder. Sometimes tinted deep orange, other times an almost pretty shade of magenta, they work in tandem with Walsh's clever staging and inventive use of sound effects to elevate the otherwise functional script to more memorable heights.

Personally, I found Superfuckers Forever to be fun but mostly forgettable, an enjoyable little oddity to be consumed and then discarded, hopefully to be picked up by the aforementioned youngsters that would really get a kick out of it. Even still, there's something wonderful about a comic that's so clearly the freeform mind splatter of its author, presented without agenda simply for his own amusement. Comicdom could use more books like Superfuckers Forever, works that eschew any pretense of respectability in order to bask in the ambiance of some authentically trashy fun.

Complimenting Fezula's artis Andr May's colors. He washes the pages in moody hues of blue and purple, but isn't afraid to get surreal, adding shocks of vibrancy that echo back to those stunning opening pages. Dead Inside will ultimately live or die by how well it can build upon the intriguing foundation of its premise. While still too early to tell, the premiere issue's execution brings enough visual flair to hold readers' attention while its vast secrets are slowly revealed.

There's no filler in Cosmic Scoundrels #1, but there's not much meat on the bone either.

Snotgirl #1 is a splendid piece of artistic synergy, and a testament to the freshness behind-the-scenes diversity can bring to comics" and then there's that final page, an honestly perplexing cliffhanger that leaves me unsure what kind of book Snotgirl will ultimately end up being. My hope is O'Malley will continue his compelling character exploration without the need for the plot-driven tropey melodrama issue one's ending implies. Time will tell.

What does work without question is the stunning visual design by Leslie Hung, Mickey Quinn, and Mar Odomo. Their stylish and complex layouts continue to be a series highlight, combining text and image in unique and captivating ways. O'Malley's humor and wit are also on point as we begin to grasp the depths of Lottie's scatterbrained neuroses. Ultimately, Snotgirl #2's charm and ambition outshine the series' uneven start.

New Super-Man #1 forces a lot of story into a small amount of pages, but its meta commentary, poking fun at manufactured relaunches and status quo changes, allows the reader to accept Kenan's otherwise conveniently contrived origin story as part of the gag. ("It's supposed to be unbelievable and clichd. Get it?") It works for now, but hopefully won't be abused as a crutch to prop up thin storytelling as the series continues. Ultimately, this first issue delivers on its clever conceit, mixing the right amount of subversion with its superhero tropes to create an engaging and lively debut.

If there's a downside to all this visual splendor, it's that the writing can't quite compete. It's perfectly serviceable, but also mostly unnecessary. I can't help but wonder if the book would be even more effective with half the amount of text, or even none at all. But that hardly puts a damper on all the fun Jones is clearly having, and it's infectious.

Farias' art splendidly captures the tale's mix of dystopian tropes and childlike sensibility. His action is fast and punchy, his staging cinematic and often stunning, and his character designs strike just the right balance between ghoulish and cute. Colorist Ryan Hill uses a simple, iconic palette to compliment Farias' line art and further capture the perversely naive nature of the book's characters and setting. In the end, it is this intriguing subtext, and the confidence of Farias execution, that elevates Motro to a unique place that is greater than the sum of its influences.

Shaolin Cowboy: Who'll Stop the Reign? is filled with enough visual delights to more than make up for itsheavy-handed crankiness, even if at times you may be tempted to skip the text and just stare at the pretty, pretty pictures. With the artistic freedom and raw talent to create whatever the hell he feels like, Geof Darrow delivers comic booking in its purest form: an unfiltered, unrefined dose of creative id delivered straight from the artist's brain to the reader's eyeballs. It's an all too rare occurrence that's well worth savoring.