Fightin' Words by Patrick Keller "The Comic Book Advice Guy Strikes Again" Dear CBAG, I'm currently attending a prestigious college in the Midwest where I am studying art and graphic design. My teachers tell me that I have talent, but I need to overcome an innate "lethargy problem." Still, the problem simply refuses to go away. Actually, I just don't care enough to do anything about it. Fortunately, I think I have discovered a way to incorporate my desire to be an artist with my basic laziness: it is now my goal to be a "fan favorite artist" for a major comic book company, and then make the Wizard Top Ten Hot Artists. That way, I can make lots of money without doing much actual work. However, I am told that these types get a lot of smoke blown up their ass. Isn't that a cancer risk? Signed, Image Conscious Dear Future J. Scott, While there has been research on the effects of smoking on everything from sexual performance in poodles to golf handicaps, scant little research has been devoted to the effects of cigarette smoke blown onto one's starfish of love. Frankly, I think that these scientists are either too damn prudish or having too much fun to report their findings. My own non-scientific research has resulted in a lot of slaps, burns and strained necks. As such, my findings are, thus far, inconclusive. All I can say is it tickles a bit. However, countless studies have been performed on the side effects of inflated egos. In one study, 100 lab mice were given little mouse-size Rolls-Royces, mouse mansions and mouse model girlfriends with 36DD-mouse breasts, while the control group had to make do with a double-wide shoebox, generic beer and a rusted-out mouse Le Car. The control group mostly got fat and fought a lot. However, amongst the experimental group, 29 per cent died of gnawing the toxic plastic in the mansion walls, 18 per cent had massive stress-related mouse coronaries, and one per cent tried to hire one of the control group mice to kill his girlfriend. But the majority of the experimental group, nearly 52 per cent, were mysteriously run over. It was never fully established exactly what this was supposed to prove, except that scientists can get endowments for anything, and it's a really, really bad idea to let mice drive. More to the point, there is more to becoming a comic-book professional than actual talent. In reality, it is somewhat akin to becoming a Freemason, with passwords, secret handshakes and rituals. Carefully observe the interactions of professionals at your next convention (assuming you manage to shut off your PS2 long enough to go). Do they behave strangely? Do they wear strange clothes or unusual insignias? Do they make dumb jokes about their "Giant-Size Man-Thing"? Of course they do! Why else do comic professionals seem to squabble over minute details and trivial matters? Because a lot more is at stake than just a few hundred (or even thousand) measly bucks. That would make them simply petty, conceited whiners. In fact, at stake are rank and privileges in an elite and immensely powerful group, referred to as the Illustruminati. Started in 1748 by Matthias Carver, a political cartoonist in the Colonies, the Illustruminati was a half-hearted attempt at a union for illustrators. Unfortunately, since he was the only full-time artist employed by a newspaper in America at the time, the idea was impractical. Still, Carver continued to press for a union, but was replaced while "picketing" face down at a local pub. However, the idea was picked up by subsequent generations of cartoonists and artists, who used it as an excuse to congregate and get falling-down drunk, a trend that continues to this day. Today, the Illustruminati has 17 levels, or "degrees," which have names like "Lush," "Drunkard," "Hard-Core Alcoholic" and "Garth Ennis." The lowest levels are mostly informal, but as one ascends up the chain, the rituals and responsibilities become more serious. The highest level -- higher than even Bill Jemas -- is sworn to total secrecy, and likely control nearly the entire comic book industry. If you don't believe me, consider this: The mascot of the Illustruminati is a super-intelligent monkey, and how many of those have there been in comic history? See? Most comic-book editors are either members of the Illustruminati or employees of members, so you had best know how to greet one and assure him that you're one of their own. Here is a handy guide on how to behave around editors: 1) Charge to the front of any line. Illustruminati are important people with limited time and patience for fans or non-member "friends." 2) Know the "secret handshake": grasp his forearm, he will grasp yours. Then punch him as hard as you can in the sternum. This will alert him to your status as one of the Illustruminati. 3) Now it is up to you to tell him what level you are. ("Sloppy Drunk" is a safe, low-ranking choice.) The accepted way of doing this is to repeatedly shout it at him while you slap him playfully. 4) A couple of things can happen at this point. He may (jokingly) rebuke you. The proper response is to furiously hump his leg. This is an ancient tradition dating back to the early days of the Marvel Bullpen ('Nuff said, indeed!). Eventually, he will be silent, and this is your chance! Hint that you're available for work, and next thing you know you'll be on your way to comic-book fame and glory! It helps to bring lots of liquor along with you (bribery is the only way to ascend Illustruminati ranks). Samples of your work are, naturally, not necessary. They just take up space that could be used for alcohol. And always remember the Illustruminati motto: the higher the proof, the botblz hrble rassrbt! Goo lurble! Patrick Keller has been banned from cons nationwide. Email Patrick Keller comments about this column, or discuss it on the Fourth Rail message board.