Daredevil Storytime (Part 7)

Welcome back Anons! Either they knew what they were doing, with this title and this character, or Bendis is stupider than we all thought.

I don't watch TV often, do trashy soap operas still use the surprise twin as a twist?

...

You'll see later on, but the artist REALLY makes Kingpin look like Bendis in this arc.

>multiple personalities
>woman named Mary

Bendis, this would be more interesting if it wasn't for the damn cover.

Bump

Well shit, you wouldn't think hypnosis was that easy to break.

Last time I saw it happen was in 2006.

It's based off a chef friend of Maleev you faggot

I haven't read Nocenti's Daredevil in a while, did she always talk like this?

Because this just NEEDED to be an entire page.

Kinda.

Thanks, PreacherAnon.

And, since this was released in '03, it wasn't completely out of the blue, I suppose.

Wait until the last issue, and you'll REALLY see it. I only brought it up there because that's his first appearance tonight.

I love sweaty balls

>tfw no one will get my cheeky reference because it was too vague
Damn it all.

Typhoid Mary was a top tier Deadpool waifu.

Especially large black hairy balls with skinflakes

Really? Why is it that you only show up when I post Bendis? Are you just the one person on Sup Forums who likes him?

Oh god, Maleev's art looks even worse without the dark mood lighting.

Apparently he got his vision back.

I have made a good amount of change kidnapping midgets and training them to be prize fighters. Everytime they win i let them fuck my sister as a reward. My sister is basically my slave at this point and i tell her to make the midgets fall in love with her and she lies to them telling them she loves them and she will help them escape if they can survive another match. Eventually the midgets start succumbing to their battle wounds. I will either have my boys bet against them or i will sell the midget off to a local midget fetishist who will fuck the little guy in the ass till he dies.

You would be surprised how big midget fighting/fucking is here in Romania.

>Soap Opera Digest

Man, that must be cancelled by now, right? Especially with Days of Our Lives getting killed by Megyn Kelly?

Don't you have school tomorrow?

Oh, also, there's like 2 soap operas left at this point, so probably not.

>"This guy, right?"

What I would give to kidnap a famous midget and make his life a living hell. I would force him to dress up in elf and leprechaun outfits and subject him to pure awfulness and humiliation. just terrible degradation and shameful acts. it would be so easy to break his spirit and drive him to suicide, but I wouldn't let him do it. if I could train a dog to rape on command then I would totally do that as well. a really big dog like a mastiff. he would be so completely and utterly powerless to stop it, not to mention terrified. a big ass dog is even scary and life-threatening to a normal human but to a midget? might as well be a dragon. I'd keep him in a cell and what's more is that I would actually place to key inside with him but put it in a high place. not extremely high but just ever so slightly out of reach. it would drive him mad. I would dress him like a baby and force feed him 99 cent store baby food. I'd also pick him up like a child and toss him from one corner to the next. I'd grab him by one leg and swing him as hard and as fast as I could then hurl him to see how far he goes. I'd rent one of those giant inflatable bounce houses and body slam him all day until my arms got tired. I'd hold him down with 1 hand and slowly stick things up his butt just to see him squirm. I would stick him in dryers and turn them on and leave him in there for long periods of time. I'd force him to fight other midgets to the death. just so many things I would do.

Bendis fans have no lives or morals. Go figure.

...

Plus side of the shithead here, you're getting TWO pages in a minute instead of just one.

Nevermind, he's actively trying to be a nuisance now.

What's wrong with a WALL of goddamn text over the same photoshop filtered photograph in four different levels of zoom?

Yeah, but we get to read his fucking diary too. Damn it man, I thought I was done hearing about midget-fucking after Uncle Fridolf died!

And after this page is

The details of my life are quite inconsequential ... Very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a 15-year-old French prostitute named Chloé with webbed feet. My father would womanize; he would drink; he would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes, he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament ... My childhood was typical: summers in Rangoon ... luge lessons ... In the spring, we'd make meat helmets ... When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds — pretty standard, really. At the age of 12, I received my first scribe. At the age of 14, a Zoroastrian named Vilmer ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum — it's breathtaking ... I suggest you try It.

Because Bendis thinks it's too unrealistic when we get panels that are just "and that concludes our report on Daredevil's activities"

>Bendis now shitting on D&D players

How did the man get a fanbase?

This page comes BEFORE

Did he really die, or did he just abandon his life to become a full time shitposter?

˙ʇı ןןɐɔ noʎ ɹǝʌǝʇɐɥʍ ɹo ,ɐʇǝq, pǝɹǝpısuoɔ buıǝq ɟo ʞɔıs ɯ,ı ˙ʇı ʇnoqɐ ʎɹɔ oʇ ǝɯ oʇ ʞןɐʇ ʎןuo puɐ ‘ʇıɥs ǝʞıן ɯǝɥʇ ʇɐǝɹʇ oɥʍ sʎnb bɐqǝɥɔnop ɹǝʇɟɐ ob sʎɐʍןɐ sןɹıb ǝsǝɥʇ puǝ ǝɥʇ uı ˙ʎpɐן,ɯ ɹoɟ buıɥʇʎuɐ op pןnoʍ puɐ ‘qoظ ǝɔıu ɐ ʞɹoʍ ‘ʎnb ǝɔıu ɐ ɯ,ı ˙ǝuoz puǝıɹɟ ǝɥʇ uı ʇnd buıǝq sʎɐʍןɐ ı ɯɐ ʎɥʍ

I'll let you know when I figure out how he keeps one.

Now that you mention it, the circumstances of his death were quite suspicious...

Yes, this isn't suspicious at ALL.

Yeah, that was expected.

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
—Introibo ad altare Dei.
Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and
called out coarsely:
—Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!
Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round
gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Well, at least this art makes some lulzy faces some times, right?

Who the fuck is Sano?

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and
then covered the bowl smartly.
—Back to barracks! he said sternly.
He added in a preacher’s tone:
—For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.
—Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do
nicely. Switch off the current, will you?

It's a good thing Milla can't see, because your ex showing up in fishnets, half a pair of pants, and a jacket would take some explaining.

So, what, does New York have a thriving Yakuza organization or something?

This page comes directly before

I'd be more concerned about "DID SHE JUST SET YOU ON FIRE?!" but that's just me.

...

And this gratuitous ass shot of Mary is just for

TODAY it seems to me providential that Fate should have chosen Braunau on the Inn as my birthplace. For this little town lies on the boundary between two German states which we of the younger generation at least have made it our life work to reunite by every means at our disposal.
German-Austria must return to the great German mother country, and not because of any economic considerations. No, and again no: even if such a union were unimportant from an economic point of view; yes, even if it were harmful, it must nevertheless take place. One blood demands one Reich. Never will the German nation possess the moral right to engage in colonial politics until, at least, it embraces its own sons within a single state. Only when the Reich borders include the very last German, but can no longer guarantee his daily bread, will the moral right to acquire foreign soil arise from the distress of our own people. Their sword will become our plow, and from the tears of war the daily bread of future generations will grow. And so this little city on the border seems to me the symbol of a great mission. And in another respect as well, it looms as an admonition to the present day. More than a hundred years ago, this insignificant place had the distinction of being immortalized in the annals at least of German history, for it was the scene of a tragic catastrophe which gripped the entire German nation. At the time of our fatherland's deepest humiliation, Johannes Palm of Nuremberg, burgher, bookseller, uncompromising nationalist and French hater, died there for the Germany which he loved so passionately even in her misfortune. He had stubbornly refused to denounce his accomplices who were in fact his superiors. In thus he resembled Leo Schlageter. And like him, he was denounced to the French by a representative of his government An Augsburg police chief won this unenviable fame, thus furnishing an example for our modern German officials in Herr Severing's Reich.

In this little town on the Inn, gilded by the rays of German martyrdom, Bavarian by blood, technically Austrian, lived my parents in the late eighties of the past century; my father a dutiful civil servants my mother giving all her being to the household, and devoted above all to us children in eternal, loving care Little remains in my memory of this period, for after a few years my father had to leave the little border city he had learned to love, moving down the Inn to take a new position in Passau, that is, in Germany proper.
In those days constant moving was the lot of an Austrian customs official. A short time later, my father was sent to Linz, and there he was finally pensioned. Yet, indeed, this was not to mean "res"' for the old gentleman. In his younger days, as the son of a poor cottager, he couldn't bear to stay at home. Before he was even thirteen, the little boy laced his tiny knapsack and ran away from his home in the Waldviertel. Despite the at tempts of 'experienced' villagers to dissuade him, he made his way to Vienna, there to learn a trade. This was in the fifties of the past century. A desperate decision, to take to the road with only three gulden for travel money, and plunge into the unknown. By the time the thirteen-year-old grew to be seventeen, he had passed his apprentice's examination, but he was not yet content. On the contrary. The long period of hardship, endless misery, and suffering he had gone through strengthened his determination to give up his trade and become ' something better. Formerly the poor boy had regarded the priest as the embodiment of all humanly attainable heights; now in the big city, which had so greatly widened his perspective, it was the rank of civil servant. With all the tenacity of a young man whom suffering and care had made 'old' while still half a child, the seventeen-year-old clung to his new decision-he did enter the civil service. And after nearly twenty-three years, I believe, he reached his goal.

So Kingpin and Mary got the names. I get that, they're fairly important Daredevil characters. But who the fuck is "Sano"?

Pages like this REALLY give you a good sense of Bendis being this sad kid from Cleveland that watched Scorsese movies until the tape broke.

For those of you who called bullshit during that Civil War II Kingpin series that diner owners were cozying up to Fisk? Yeah, it has some precedence.

His goal was achieved; but no one in the village could remember the little boy of former days, and to him the village had grown strange.
When finally, at the age of fifty-six, he went into retirement, he could not bear to spend a single day of his leisure in idleness. Near the Upper Austrian market village of Lambach he bought a farm, which he worked himself, and thus, in the circuit of a long and industrious life, returned to the origins of his forefathers.
It was at this time that the first ideals took shape in my breast. All my playing about in the open, the long walk to school, and particularly my association with extremely 'husky' boys, which sometimes caused my mother bitter anguish, made me the very opposite of a stay-at-home. And though at that time I scarcely had any serious ideas as to the profession I should one day pursue, my sympathies were in any case not in the direction of my father's career. I believe that even then my oratorical talent was being developed in the form of more or less violent arguments with my schoolmates. I had become a little ringleader; at school I learned easily and at that time very well, but was otherwise rather hard to handle. Since in my free time I received singing lessons in the cloister at Lambach, I had excellent opportunity to intoxicate myself with the solemn splendor of the brilliant church festivals. As was only natural the abbot seemed to me, as the village priest had once seemed to my father, the highest and most desirable ideal. For a time, at least, this was the case. But since my father, for understandable reasons, proved unable to appreciate the oratorical talents of his pugnacious boy, or to draw from them any favorable conclusions regarding the future of his offspring, he could, it goes without saying, achieve no understanding for such youthful ideas. With concern he observed this conflict of nature.

Is that Joey Ramone or Geddy Lee on the TV?

And directly after this page is

Sadly, these FBI chucklefucks stick around for most of the book.

As it happened, my temporary aspiration for this profession was in any case soon to vanish, making place for hopes more stated to my temperament. Rummaging through my father's library, I had come across various books of a military nature among them a popular edition of the Franco-German War of 1870-7I It consisted of two issues of an illustrated periodical from those years, which now became my favorite reading matter It was not long before the great heroic struggle had become my greatest inner experience. From then on I became more and more enthusiastic about everything that was in any way connected with war or, for that matter, with soldiering
But in another respect as well, this was to assume importance for me. For the first time, though as yet in a confused form, the question was forced upon my consciousness: Was there a difference -and if so what difference-between the Germans who fought these battles and other Germans? Why hadn't Austria taken part in this war; why hadn't my father and all the others fought?
Are we not the same as all other Germans?

...

Oh, I'd believe it.

The guy kicking Samuel's ass.

...

Bendis, this is NOT how you write a good Turk scene.

So, was Mary just standing there the whole time? How did the fact that he had a woman with no bra and a leather jacket go without comment AT ALL?

"No. Not tonight," Charlie cried as he buried his tears in his pillow.

"Oh yes, tonight. Tonight, just like yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and a hundred nights stretching before that ending at the day you came to live with me. Tonight, just like tomorrow." And with that, Willy Wonka removed his pants with a smirk. Usually, Charlie's parents and grandparents had been forced to watch, but Willy had killed them all and used their remains as seasoning for a new type of candy, Scrumdidllyumptious Green Soylent Surprise. Tonight would be Charlie's first night alone.

"Please, Mr. Wonka, please don't!" Charlie gave out one last sob of belligerence, but the Candyman tore off the young boy's trousers with no senses of regret. "Let's see, what do we have hear today? Is there a treat for me? I most certainly hope there is," said Mr.Wonka as we delved his thumb and two fingers into Charlie's anus. Forcing them in until they were at the knuckle, Willy moved his hand around, as if he was searching for something. Then, his hand stopped, suddenly.

"EUREKA! I found it!" Removing his fingers, Charlie saw that firmly clutched in Mr. Wonka's hand was an everlasting gobstopper that Wonka had placed in there last night. Taking a lick, Mr. Wonka declared "It tastes just as delicious as the day I made it, although I don't know how I got so much corn on the shell formula." Wonka said the last line with a wink at Charlie, as if he expected him to laugh.

"Oh well, time for business." And with that, Willy Wonka dropped the gobstopper to his side and began to slide his PENIS into Charlie's now-loose starfish. Charlie let out a small tear and he began to grunt with every thrust. He must escape this madness. He must kill Willy Wonka.

I know what you're thinking, but I checked. There are a few differences between this page and

So this entire issue? All backstory. You

Someone on the level of Heathcliffe.

Oh shit, Daimon Hellstrom is in this now?

Oh wait, that's just Daredevil.

Diner owners courting a fat man with lots of money just sounds like smart business.

THIS, on the other hand? I think he just used photoshop to copy-paste the last pages of the last two issues. I'd check but, you know, I'm feeling lazy.

But there were no knives in his home, in his prison. There were no guns or swords or matches, or anything. Everything that was needed was done for you by an oompa-loompa.

"Charlie, in a few minutes I'm going to place this in your mouth. I think you should like it, it's flavored with an exlusive mix of Charlie Bucket chocolate. Thanks for not wiping, baby."

Charlie had given himself poor anal hygeiene in an attempt to scare Wonka away, but Willy ignored it and facked him all the same, except now with more facials.

Charlie desperatly wanted out of this hell, and by now he was willing to go through any plan he could in order to escape. And that's when he saw it. Next to Wonka's shaking knees was a gobstopper. Charlie moved his hands back as if to play with Willy, but as soon as he was close enough, he grabbed the gobstopper and swallowed it hole. The taste was revolting, but he had grown used to the taste and smell of his own anal production, so it passed into his throat with no problem. And in his throat is where it lodged.

By the time Willy Wonka had figured out Charlie was dead, he had already came in the young child's brown gateway, wondering why the child did not let loose a barage of tears telling him to pull out.

Placing his PENIS in Charlie's mouth, he noticed the boy's flesh to be unusually cold and his tongue to be unresponsive. Facking him orally anyway, Willy Wonka knew exactly what to do with his apprentice.

He called out to the worker oompa-loompas and told them to take care of the body as they pleased, to which the oompa loompas chuckled and exchanged mischevious smiles. At once, he signaled for the Chief Loompa. Making motions, Wonka spoke to him.

"Another one has died."

"So, what should I do, sir?"

"Distribute the memory eraser chocolate, again,"

"And then, boss?"

"Tell the world that my factory is opening it's doors to the public after 15 years of life as a hermit. And make sure only boys find the gold this time."

>Hannukah gelt

Bendis is AWARE that not everyone is Jewish, right?

Good job bodyguarding, Jessica. You're as useless at that as you are at everything else you seem to do.

...

Damn it Mary, just set her on fire. With all that booze she drinks, she could go up really easily.

Okay, that's good, but I'm thinking more "Johnny Storm" size flames.

...

...

You know what, fair enough.

...

Come on Mary, finish the job. One slice, and I don't have to post the next Jessica Jones book.

I genuinely don't think he is. And unlike random characters using jewish slang, which can be justified by TV, I don't think anyone outside someone who's actually jewish would talk about Hannukah gelts out of nowhere like that.

because we absolutely needed a page where two of bendis's pet characters beat the crap out of a daredevil villain in a daredevil book

So am I crazy, or does that strike in the third panel look like it should've taken out her neck?

"Yeah Luke, I'll lend you a fifty, as soon as I recover from my burns. You asshole."

And after some Mary-ass, we get some shirltess Matt, for those of you who like them some men.

I think getting double teamed by the Cages should probably be doing more damage than this.

>"Does that hurt?"

Dumbass, he got set on FIRE. What do you think?

Bendis REALLY seems to want to make this guy Daredevil's Commissioner Gordon, but the two never really seem to have the same friendship.

Given that Luke used to punch down solid brick walls as a way of entering a room, he HAD to have been holding back there.

Matt, you're Catholicking wrong.

Serious question, how much info can you get from interrogating a blind woman?