Finally Reprinted!

KILL YOUR BOYFRIEND #1, DC Comics/Vertigo, June 1995
What do you get when you cross Ferris Bueler's Day Off and Natural Born Killers? One weird double-bill! But seriously folks, that's what Grant Morrison's Kill You Boyfriend reads like. It's a coming of age story about a schoolgirl who's so bored with her life, she simply decides to chuck it all for a life of random crime and anarchy.

And it's fucking brilliant! AND it's finally being reprinted for a whole new generation. Look for it on comic stands.

It's a simple and even random story with excellent art by Philip Bond (who would later work with Morrison on Bananarama) that really starts when the heroine, who has this fun habit of talking directly to the audience, joins up with a rebel without a cause who shows her the joys of vandalism and random violence. So they go off to kill her boyfriend.

Truth in advertising, guys.

And I mean, the little pisser deserves it as much as any literary character does. If only for his tastes in reading*:
Well, at least he reads. The world was a different place in the mid-90s, I guess. Besides, he refuses to have sex with our girl! But here's what he's up to when they come over to kill him:
Classic bit #1? Hiding the tape under the furniture. Classic bit #2? Buttoning your pants AT THE DOOR. Smooth, very smooth.

From that point, there's really no going back, and our heroine will experiment with booze, sex and drugs, fall in with anarchist artists, and steal some cake! Finally, it'll all come to a head on Blackpool Tower as the dark comedy gets even funnier by borrowing tropes from Greek tragedy. The ending is deliciously open-ended. Did it really happen? Do rebels invariably sell out? Is the story a fantasy that explains a later crime? Is inflicting boredom a greater crime than murder? DC has finally seen fit to reprint this book, just in time before we killed THEIR boyfriends.
*Note that the writer of this piece, in addition to not condoning the murder of any intimates, whether the sex was bad or not, admits to having read crappy fantasy novels when he was a teenager. But not Lord of the Rings. That thing reeks. Tolkien couldn't write himself out of a paper bag. Oh, I said it!