I don’t want to tell you anything about The Goon. I especially don’t want to mention its creator, Eric Powell either. It and he belong to me and you can’t have them. If I ever see my Goon on the face of a Slurpee Cup, I’ll come after your family and do bad things to them. I swear by all that is unholy, if I ever hear my mother say to me " you know Joe, Eric Powell’s art style is how Norman Rockwell would have depicted America if America had ever been overrun by zombies." I’ll know his popularity has gone too far and I will be forced to hunt you down. I mean it. This comic is that good.

As a reflection of his commitment to ensure that the Goon’s legacy and vitality continue, Eric Powell has given up his life living amongst us humans and now lives in solitude somewhere in the absolute remotest part of Tennessee. Do not bother him. Do not seek him out. Leave him be. If you see him at a convention, do not ask him for a head sketch of one of his many characters because he will most definitely accept your request.

Wait! You don’t understand! Every time someone from his dedicated, loyal, yet perplexingly scant fan base asks for a sketch, Mr. Powell risks serious injury! I mean, which character would you ask for anyway? You can’t have them all!! There are no minor characters in The Goon, okay, maybe there are plenty of supporting characters, each with their own dark charm, bound together by redemption or by ruin within What The $@%T!!! plots and the sharpest dialogue money can’t buy, but mark my words, none of them can come close to consider as minor! The Goon (comic and comic only) is the best thing to happen to expression since hieroglyphics. So, if anyone asks you if you’ve heard of the Goon, you say "NO!" Alright, I’ve gotten myself all gooey talking Goon, so, I guess we can make room for another. I advise you get on.

Brother Joe C.