Ok, folks.
It's art time. Here's what you do; You'll need:
- Some paper
- Pencils or crayons (black of course)
- A rose
- Draw a black person. Draw a knife in his hand. Now draw him killing someone white and innocent.
- Now draw a clown. Don't forget to color his hair in black! He should look scary and ominous; this can be accomplished by having him slouch and quote some silly poetry.
- Now, draw the man with the knife telling the Crow that he is dumb and that the man with the knife will now kill him. For that extra bit of realism, indicate his subhumanity by having him a) drooling/spitting, b)doing some sort of drug, or c)gnawing on human bone.
- Next, draw the black man (criminal) shooting at the clown. He should be saying something appropriately ignorant and , like "You gonna die, suckah!" or, "In yo' face!" or, "Where's da beef?!" Remember: to make everything he says sound like authentic "black person" speech, misspell every other word.
- Draw the clown posing like Jesus with bullet holes in him. He shouldn't bleed, though - remember, kids! If you were killed unjustly, you'll come back as an immortal!In the same panel, draw the badguy looking scared.
- Draw the clown killing the man in some incredibly violent way. Here's a quick guideline: The more violent the death is, the longer it should take, and the clown should quote more obscure poetry.
- Last panel! Draw the clown looking sad because his girlfriend died.
Now, just repeat about eighteen times, and intersperse with pretty drawings of white women on white backgrounds, and publish as The Crow. Don't forget the rose! Place that on top of the whole thing - it's poetic, you know.
The Crow, like
The Cure and
Black Boots, is
gothic. This means it's overblown,
dark in both appearance and subject to the point of ridiculousness, repeatedly knocks you over the head with references to purity, beauty, and of course, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, all the while portraying anything that isn't the protaganist as so covered with
filth as to be the
DIRECT SPAWN OF SATAN HIMSELF. It is, like the above, the product of a mind which most likely is so immature that the only way it can cope with its
loss/
isolation/
depression/
halitosis is by writing long, self-indulgent, silly revenge fantasies.
It is, to boot, apparently from someone so repressed that he apparently sees the only sort of pleasure in the world as the property of the Babylonian hoardes who are so decadent that all they ever do is sin, sin, sin. Like rabbits. The good guys, on the other hand, read poetry and literature and hang exotic masks and never drink or do drugs or smoke and only have sex beacause they really, really, purely love each other. And sulk. A lot.
But wait a minute! You can't make fun of the Crow! J. O'Barr's (that's the author) fiancée died! I think I'll write him a letter, expressing my condolences... He seems like a very sad man.