Comics are dangerous.
A nicely folded WMD in your hand, stitched down its spine with two staples, ready to make your face look like the surface of Mars. There's enough volatile information packed into 22 pages of comics than there is in your dad's Anarchist's Cookbook.
Your face will explode with ideas when you see the first panel of a good comic. Busting at the seams, a shotgun of collected thoughts scattered across the page will forcibly peel your eyelids back into your skull, and make you read.
And like rednecks aiming homemade potato guns at one another from across a football field, you're in turn going to want to aim this thought-weapon at your friends. Because it is contagious, and because you want them to feel haunted the way you do, you'll give them this slab of danger--
