I’m sure you’d agree, it would take a hard and incurious heart not to bend down and investigate further.
Any onlookers taking stock of my reactions would have seen excitement (hey, wow, it’s some kind of comic book!) swiftly turn to vague disappointment (oh, right, it’s one of THOSE comic books..), as I slipped my discovery into my record bag and continued on my way.
Jack Chick comics are of course the stuff of legend, and a perennial internet time-wasting favourite, but I am faintly amazed to find that Christian groups here in London are still using his hardline fundamentalist diatribes as a tool to win converts.
Beyond the wonderfully unnerving, surreal cover, this particular little number tells the tale of Charlie, an everyday fella who likes nothing better than to hang out with his work buddies and deny the sanctity of Christ’s ministry on earth.
This allows Chick to begin proceedings by pulling some cunning reverse psychology on us:
Of course, it’s not long before Death himself says “Hi There!” to Charlie (I don’t recall the concept of the grim reaper ever playing a big part in Xtian mythos, but whatever), and he finds himself sweating down in Hell, being lorded over by some self-righteous, pain-in-the-ass angel (Lucifer, I suppose).
And it is here of course that Jack Chick’s terrifyingly totalitarian worldview begins to assert itself. I mean, it’s not like Jesus is a being a jerk or anything, as he sits enthroned at the end of days passing down judgement. He’s your best buddy, after all. He doesn’t want to sentence you to an eternity of fiery torment for the unpardonable sin of saying something dumb on 27th September 1972 and not realizing that you should go to church every week, but THAT’S JUST THE WAY IT IS, you dig? Rules is rules, and you can’t expect old Jesus to stick his neck out and, ooh, I dunno, forgive you, after you’ve gone and wasted your time on earth mouthing off in your lunchbreak like a big doofus.
Imagine living in that world, everyday, with the cosmic secret police on your back. You’d probably end up staggering ‘round the streets scattering cheaply printed end-times comics too.