If you thought the first issue of Jackpot and Black Cat was mid, you haven’t read bad yet. Bronfman continues on her merry march of character assassination. Last issue she turned Mary Jane Watson into a melodramatic parody of Batman. This issue she annihilates Felicia Hardy, turning her into a callous liar who doesn’t care that her and her girlfriend’s larcenous blackmail scheme is causing pain and suffering to everyday Marvel citizens, doesn’t care that their scheme turned innocent bystanders into would be assassins who shot at Jackpot and a tech bro with intent to kill, doesn’t care that their heists are putting other people like the candy store employee and the customers in harm’s way. It was bad enough when Dan Slott turned Felicia into Queenpin but at least she was supposed to be a villain. Here she’s a “hero,” but in reality she’s just unlikeable. This issue also makes a mockery of issue one and destroys the reading experience. In issue one, Felicia is introduced pulling a heist. She tells us - as we are in her head - that she has to follow the blackmailer’s instructions exactly, indicating she is being blackmailed. But…it turns out the blackmailer is Felicia’s girlfriend and Felicia is in on the scheme so the narration is all a lie. This is the author not playing fair with the reader. It’s a sign of weak writing craft and highly amateurish, and it’s shameful this wasn’t caught before this series was printed and sold. It’s dishonest writing and doesn’t deserve the reader’s time and certainly not the reader’s money. The rest of the issue is just as poor. There are two artists but the art appears rushed with the scene in the candy store especially static and confusing. The colors are as flat as Mary Jane’s hairstyle. MJ is forced to play nursemaid to Paul’s feelings instead of centering her own emotions in her own book, the banal planet murderer who is super sorry he got tricked but who still refuses to show remorse for all the deaths he caused and who hasn’t done a single proactive thing to atone, the closest being making MJ’s power device which, y’know, can kill her. But then, this Jackpot version of MJ bears little to no resemblance to the Mary Jane Watson created in 1966. They can’t even be bothered to remember she has dimples and a cleft chin, that’s how little thought and care when into this book. “Mary Jane and Black Cat: Beyond” was a delight to read. It’s no wonder Marvel wants to continue to pair up the two characters, but the Zeb Wells status quo, MJ’s nonsense super powers as she plays house with a planet killer, and now the destruction of Felicia Hardy has turned the concept into nuclear waste. And Bronfman’s hackneyed, amateurish writing nails the coffin closed.

Nonsensical character assassination trash. Nick Lowe once more proves himself to be the worst editor at Marvel, approving this festival of stupidity and allowing it to see print as is.

What a miserable wet fart waste of trees this was. Absolutely shameful this saw print.

This book was awful and a horrible debut with some of saddest, unfunny dad jokes it’s been my misfortune to read. The art was also choppy, pointing to Nick Lowe’s office being yet again highly unorganized and not knowing what it is doing with a second artist needing to finish the issue. Mary Jane’s powers were nonsensical and were just whatever writer Celeste Bronfman needed them to be - and since Bronfman apparently thinks having the power of vines makes one fly like Superman, the idiocy is flamingly bright. And Bronfman apparently can’t do even the most basic research because she turned MJ into a bad actress who couldn’t fool Francine Frye even though MJ easily took down Francine during the Nick Spencer run with only her acting skills. Bronfman would also have you believe this is some sort of parable about empowerment when Bronfman makes MJ dependent on wet blanket Paul and gives him power over whether MJ's gauntlet can be turned to 11 or not. That's the opposite of empowering, Celeste. Jackpot? More like Hackpot. Or Jacksh!t. Take your pick. They are both perfect desciptors.

I almost cried when I read this issue. It's been so long since I've read an ongoing comic book featuring Peter Parker that actually starred Peter, not a juvenile manchild rubber action figure cartoon written by juvenile menchildren who have no idea how to write a literary story, just hollow cacaphonous spectacle. I'd forgotten what it was like to pick up a Spider-Man book and not immediately have my intelligence insulted as a reader. In fact, I might get misty-eyed just thinking about what an absolute treat it was to read this book. Welcome back, Peter Parker. Please stay as long as you want, Jonathan Hickman.