Godhead looks like a deflated Bob Ross. There. I said it. The oldest planet in the universe, a now-wizened old hunk of rock that leads us one step closer to finding the whereabouts of Zephyr Monsoon. Popstar, part goddess, Zephyr is a magnet that attracts trouble from all over. Luckily, that attraction also pulls in 3 of the universe’s best men for the job. Strong, educated, fixed? Probably not, but hey, they’re not bad dudes, they’re The Worst Dudes. Let’s see how they got to Godhead and the bad choices made along the way, shall we? Let’s.

When a popstar goes missing, who do you call? The cops? Well, let’s say you want it kept out of the public eye. Who can you reach out to then? A private eye who looks like a cross between Jet Black and Lobot? Sure, he has a good reputation and is street savvy. Perhaps a close relation? Maybe a godlike relative or an ex husband? Heck, why not both? You have access to (a.k.a. got saddled with) Zeph’s younger half-brother who acts like a brattier Damien Wayne, so go with it! When you’ve got a threesome like that on your side, well… well, you’re pretty much boned. Speaking of boned, let’s talk page one. Let it not be said that making some calls to hang out with friends is a bad thing. Reaching out and making a connection with people, inviting them to spend time and enjoy each other’s company, learning and growing together. Lovely. What isn’t so lovely is when you get that call from a drug-addled, horned-up, naked pussycat with purrfectly coiffed pink ::ehem:: hair. Evenso, compared to the “friends” he reaches out to for a Hang & Bang seesh, Caligula Monomacho may be a damn saint. Sure, Zephyr’s ex chubby hubby may not be making it to the ice cream social, but he’s not opposed to social creaming, as it were. Page one, folks. Page one.

It always hurts to see someone in pain. Unless that someone is a raging alcho-POS, then it can be amusing when they get kicked in the proverbial “junk,” which is precisely what happens when you go sniffing around for clues in the wrong places. But hey, if you’re down in the dumps, there ain’t nothin’ like a nice bottle of Cirrhosihol to float you till your next wellness shot. Fortunately, Cal comes across as someone who doesn’t believe in alcohol poisoning, so he won’t die from it. Plus, how else would we know where to go next? He’s too important to die! He’s one of the Worst Dudes! Being Caligula Monomacho = WINNING! This is definitely Cal’s issue. Not a personal issue, I mean this issue (#2) is about 80% naked, depressed, overweight cat with an inferiority complex. Been there.

Again, The Wrong Dudes pleases the pop culture leering eyes. Not as many background jokes this ish, but enough to get an, “Ohhhhh… I see what you did there.” I appreciate the minute details that sometimes get lost in the fray, only to be found by wise eyes that haven’t stopped reading back issues of MAD Magazine just to see what Sergio Aragones hid in the shadows. Now that we know what the mission is and have begun to scour the universe, we end where we began this piece. Godhead. Nice place to visit if you aren’t opposed to a staph infection. Don’t believe me? Well, you’re welcome to pick up The Worst Dudes #2 and start a dialogue. I’ll make time for you.

You Can Thank Me Later…

Creative Team:  Aubrey Sitterson (writer), Tony Gregori (artist)
Publisher: Dark Horse Comics
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