Before the draconian Comics Code Authority, there were the beloved EC horror comics of the 1950s. We little maggots greedily feasted on blood, guts, gore and heavy irony.
These masterpieces introduced dark tales of supernatural revenge on evildoers, each containing an undercurrent of humor and a smashing ironic ending.
The artwork was stunningly graphic. The creepy, decomposing characters who narrated the tales employed wordplay and used “big words” in enticing ways that sent kiddies racing for the dictionary.
I almost turned blue waiting for that vengeful, mildewed hand to emerge from the fetid sod of the old family plot. Those squirmy, satisfying feelings produced by those ironic endings were too delicious.
Then came censorship.
Balderdash!
These works didn’t corrupt innocent youth. They inspired budding artists, writers and sick humorists everywhere. It was the Vault Keeper’s fan page that introduced me to the art of parody – something I have pursued for fun ever since.
Oh, I’d sell my cemetery plot to be that obsessed little ghoul again, still haunting the local news stands and eagerly awaiting the next EC horror fix.
