The Power Of Estrogen!
There is nothing wrong with your computer system. Do not attempt to adjust the screen. We are controlling transmission. If we wish to make it louder, we will bring up the volume. If we wish to make it softer, we will tune it to a whisper. We can reduce the focus to a soft blur, or sharpen it to crystal clarity. We will control the horizontal. We will control the vertical. For the next few blocks of text, sit quietly and we will control all that you see and hear. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to… Busted Knuckles #100- Painted Nails-THE ESTROGEN TAKE OVER!!
Beau Smith, your normal host for this knuckle dragging, beer swilling, womanizing testament of testosterone has been seduced, tricked and placed into a secret unsafe house where he is being forced to clean, cook and wear a frilly apron while we, the women of comic books, take full control of this last fortress of furry chested ideas and manly misdeeds.
Beau Smith-Real Man Or Real Myth? Prepare for that answer to be exposed.
Beau Smith: Exposed
by Amanda Fisher – Muse Comics, Missoula, Montana.
Well, I thought to myself, I must really like this guy to come all the way over here for this mess. I scanned the room, looking at the backs of a large crowd of people craning for a peek at something I couldn’t see. Flashbulbs exploded everywhere, giving the room an erratic strobe light and making the thin faces seem gaunt and hard. The people were scrawny and pale, as if Tim Burton had fashioned each of them of from clay and posed them for the scene. I should leave, I thought, and turned to go.
Amanda Fisher. Art by Edwardo Barreto
The sound of a quiet, ragged voice stopped me. “You came,” he said.
“You said this was important, and I’m here,” I said with an exasperated sigh. “Though I’m not really sure what I’m doing.” A man with a large camera pushed me aside as he stretched his arms up for a shot. I elbowed him.
Beau broke into a broad smile, and pushed back the brim of his hat. “You’re here because I need someone to see this. I need someone to understand.”
“Understand what, Beau?” I looked around, finding no clues from the crowd as to why my longtime friend and drinking buddy had called me out here to a part of town that neither of us would usually be caught sober in.
“Understand all of it. You know, the name-callin’, the fighting, the cussin’, the columns, the ranch?the Flying Fist?all of it.”
I looked him over and saw the same get up he always wore when we went out: an old cowboy hat, complete with cord around his neck in case anybody was stupid enough to knock it off of his head and a black duster that covered him down to his boots. He had his arms crossed, and his eyes were excited. Maybe there was somebody here from his past, maybe somebody that had wronged him and turned him this mean old cuss. Maybe he’d been hunting somebody that had taken something from him, or maybe he was avenging a lost family member. I shook my head and laughed at myself at that last one. What was this, a comic book?
In any case, after so many years of evading any mention of his past or what was behind the crude, ill-mannered cowhand I’d come to love, he was ready to tell me something.
And, I have to admit, he had me curious.
“All right, all right,” I said. I didn’t want to sound too interested; I knew Beau hated mushy stuff and thought that any sort of public displays were too girly for real men. “What are you going on about this time?”
“Tell you what, Manda,” he said, looking down at his feet, “I’ll just show you.”
I knew it, I thought. So much for the heart-to-heart.
“You wait here, and watch over there.” He pointed to a door beyond the crowd. I didn’t see anyone there I recognized, and nobody seemed to be looking at us. I sighed again, and shrugged. “Sure, Beau. Whatever.”
I found a wall and put my back to it, my hands in my pockets. I don’t know what Beau has to do with these jerks, I thought. Maybe one of them is the one he’s after. I looked around again, but nobody stood out in the sea of bleak faces and quick flashes. I scowled anyway, in case whoever he came here for had seen us talking.
I stopped, in mid-scowl, as Beau emerged from the doorway on the far side of the room.
He stepped forward and the crowd turned toward him. A confused quiet settled in the room for a moment as he stared into the bright lights, and he managed to get out one line before the din rose up and swallowed his words.
“I’ve always just wanted to be myself, Amanda!”
With that, his hands went to his chest and ripped open the black duster, revealing a tiny blue sequined vest over a white leotard and matching blue sequined trunks. He dropped the coat and put his hands on his hips where shiny pistols were tucked into a blue sequined belt, and stepped forward, moving to the beat of disco music as it got louder and engulfed the audience around the small stage. A mix of photographers and fans angled for better views as several large, muscled girls poured out of the doorway behind him and took their place in line, each in white feathers and blue sequined suits. Beau strutted forward, using the small stage as a catwalk to turn and show off the glittery blue shorts that were clinging to his backside.
He writhed, he twirled, and he looked like he was truly alive for the first time in his fifty years.
I reeled, the last few years of my friendship with Beau flashing before me?suddenly it all made sense. The bullying, the “manly man” attitude online, the cowboy fetish. The overacted passes he made at women when he knew people were watching, and his quiet, introspective sensitivity when he thought no one could see. How he never really could get close to me, as a woman, I mean. The drinking, the fights, the catcalls. Beau, why hadn’t I seen it before?
Head high and smiling, Beau was caught up in the performance, lost in the adoration of the people surrounding him, and I knew he’d already forgotten I was there. I shuffled toward the door, too full of my own thoughts to watch anymore. I was disturbed, but somehow relieved, as though I’d unlocked a mystery of the ages. It wasn’t revenge he was after; it was acceptance.
Before I left, I turned back and whispered toward the stage, “don’t worry, honey. You don’t have to be the tough guy anymore. I’ll tell them all for you, I’ll tell the world. Just leave it to me, and your next Busted Knuckles column.”
We still love the real you, Beau Smith!
A Top Secret Manly Memo Of Beau Smith’s Uncovered by Gail Simone Writer of Birds Of Prey, JLU Unlimited, and so much more.
10) WILDCAT VS. MONSTER TRUCKENSTEIN (note to self: not manly enough)
9) THE BLACK TERROR BITES THE HEADS OFF NAZIS (‘nother note to self: could use more manly…is sweat the answer? Or herpes? Or some hell-delivered hexified hybrid called swerpies?)
8) BIG BOW-HUNTIN’ CODPIECE-SCRATCHIN’ BATMAN ADVENTURES (once more with the note to self: am I gay now? I’m asking myself, have I turned gay? ‘Cause this seems a little gay.)
7) GREEN LANTERN’S BEER GOGGLE NIGHT OF RELAPSED ALCHOLISM AND LINGERIN’ AMAZON FUNK IN THE FORTRESS OF SOLITUDE (notey-note to selfy-self: Seems a mite girly, consider giving Hal a manly GI-issue crewcut)
6) WYNONA EARP’S GOT A HUGE PACKAGE, PLUS KILLIN’ FIFTY-TWELVE ZOMBIES WITH GRENADES (self-noting: why don’t I just make it a paper dolly book while I’m pinkin’ it up? Also, more blowed-up zombies)
5) HOUSE OF M: BENDIS’ TESTICLES AND ONE TIME I GOT IN A FIGHT IN THIRD GRADE AND KICKED THIS KID’S ASS FOR HIM (notage for selfage: seen more manly things in the Sweatin’ To The Oldies Locker Room. What’s that I smell? It’s not the testicles, it’s ESTROGEN! Well, to be fair, I s’poze it COULD still be the testicles)
4) ULTIMATE CONAN AN’ TARZAN BRONZED OILY TEAM UP IN THE LAND OF PUMPIN’ IRON AND TAQUITO PLATTERS WITH BEANS AND RICE AND TEN BUCKS IS TOO MUCH FOR A LAP DANCE FROM AN UGLY WOMAN (Beau, this is yourself talkin’…WHERE’S THE MANLY? Bet Chuck DIXON wouldn’t write no story ’bout Yankee Mexican food!)
3) WEIRD WAR TALES FEATURIN’ ARM WRASSLIN’ WITH SGT. ROCK AND SPAWN AND BOY I BET THE PUNISHER’S GUN RACK IS ALL KINDS OF AWESOME (note 2 me: stop droolin’ and get MANLY! You wrote BOOF, consarn it!)
2) GUY GARDNER OPENS TIN CANS WITH HIS PENIS (n.t.s: WAY too femme, plus them edges is HAZARDOUS sharp!!!)
1) BEAU SMITH’S HOW TO PUNCH A MAN IN THE FACE TEAM-UP, ALSO FEATURING Spider-Man (Note to self: aw, damn, guess I’d better by me some fancy dresses and high-heeled shoes so I’ll look nice for the girly parade, dammit all ta hell! PLUS now I think I got swerpies!)
Beau Smith – How Does This Manly Man Write Such a Womanly Woman?
by Danielle Henderson, author of Tales From Fish Camp, published by Ait/PlanetLar.
The All Powerful Danielle Henderson
Beau Smith can punch you in the face hard enough to make your teeth bite your toes. One long, hard stare from his steely eyes will cause your synapses to stop firing and your eyes glaze over. He eats deer hooves for breakfast and drinks methane gas for kicks.
Beau Smith – he is a manly man.
I wondered just how such a manly man could create and write such a character as Wynonna Earp, a tough-as-nails lady with a bullshit meter set on ZERO. How is it that male authors, like Wally Lamb, are able to write female characters, not just write them but develop a back-story, get into their psyche? Well I’m not sure about Wally Lamb, but Beau Smith has the inside scoop. You see, Beau ovulates.
SAY IT ISN’T SO, you cry! Not Beau Smith, the man that took down a grizzly with his bear hands! Not Beau Smith, the same man that pulled a railroad car around North America for his summer vacation!
I’m afraid so. You see, Beau hunts, kills, and rips meat from bones with his bare hands because he suffers from immense PMS. Hunting and killing is the only thing that keeps him from falling over from waves of cramping pain. Trust me, several of us ladies have learned to take a page from his book in that respect.
Now Beau doesn’t bleed – he doesn’t have a uterus, just some…sensitive lady parts that sort of…developed over time. He’s currently working on an OGN about the sordid details, and I don’t want to ruin the plot. So all I’m really at liberty to say is that Beau goes through the motions of a female menstrual cycle without the residual fluid. His moods shift at the drop of a hat – one minute you could be talking to him about the Knicks game, the next minute he’s curled in the fetal position in a corner, watching a movie on Lifetime about a woman wrongly imprisoned for killing her deadbeat husband, crying about the injustices “us” women must suffer at the hand of the court. He’s practically inconsolable when watching Animal Planet’s Pet Rescue.
The flipside is a world of expletives and thrown objects. It ain’t pretty to see a grown man toss over a table and declare “I’m not writing another PAGE until you get me some CHOCOLATE!” before roughly sitting in a chair and sobbing into his hands. If you try to comfort him, prepare yourself for a litany of curses and flailing, limp hands.
You see, ladies and gentlemen, Beau TRULY connects to his female readers, making Wynonna Earp so enjoyable and relatable. HE GOES THE EXTRA MILE, even if that extra mile includes a trip to the drugstore for tampons.
We love you Beau.
What It’s Like To Work With Beau Smith
by Lora Biondi Innes. Co-Creator and Artist on Courting Fate
For his 100th column of Busted Knuckles, Beau Smith asked me to tell the world what it’s really like to work with him. But to talk about the real Beau, we’ll have to first take a closer look at this claim he consistently makes–that he’s the Last Real Man.
The Lovely Lora Biondi Innes
By reading his Busted Knuckles column every week, you’d think that a real man is a muscle bound tough guy with more facial hair than brains. A blockhead who’s willing to knock out the teeth of any pale-faced ninny who even looks at him the wrong way. A brawny man who eats meat and potatoes and hasn’t touched a green vegetable since his momma told him to. And when he walks into a room, beautiful women leave their resolve at the door, throwing themselves at his feet…maybe even getting into a wrestling match over him. And a real man doesn’t speak much, just grunts.
In fact, no one’s heard a complete sentence from him since, well, probably the last time he ate a vegetable.
Now, I don’t know who the man I just described is, but he’s certainly not Beau Smith. You might get that idea from his column, but reading Busted Knuckles is like watching a Woody Allen film. (I know, I know…short, pale, neurotic, Jewish Woody Allen is probably the last person you associate with Busted Knuckles.) Everyone thinks they know who Allen Konigsberg is because of the caricature he’s created–his fictional identity, Woody Allen. Likewise, you probably think you have Beau Smith figured out after 99 columns of Busted Knuckles. But no one can keep up all the grunting, scratching, and tough talkin’ twenty four seven–and I’m lucky enough to know some things about Beau that you’d never guess from what he writes.
For instance: Beau likes his vegetables. In fact, last time Beau was in my neck of the woods, my husband and I decided to take him out for dinner. But where to take the Last Real Man? It had to be manly…and that meant lots of meat…and definitely lots of servings…a buffet, but more masculine than that. We came up with a local Mongolian BBQ–limitless bowls of bountiful meat, cooked as you watch on a giant, steaming grill. But when we ran the idea past Beau, he instead suggested some girlie establishment where he was able to get a vegetable stuffed spinach tortilla wrap. (I think I ate more like a man that night than he did.)
And as for that infamous temper of his, he seems to have gotten things under control. I’ve heard his tall tales of yesteryear about flying fists that ended in some trouble with the law. But the angriest I’ve ever seen him is during his reenactment of the infamous run-in that he and Bob Hickey had with Lou Ferrigno at a local dining establishment?
There is one incident in my mind that personifies the real Beau Smith. I met Brian Michael Bendis at a convention once when he was signing a copy of Fortune and Glory for me. I told him that I was Beau’s friend and that he asked me deliver a “hello” for him. Bendis looked at me skeptically and said, “You’re one of Beau Smith’s friends, eh?” I assured him I was. He grilled me, “So? do you know his real name?” I won’t give away Beau’s little secret here but let’s just say that I passed the pop quiz. I think Bendis’s little litmus test would have been more accurate if phrased, “Are you part of Beau’s family?”
See, Beau has lots of friends. You might be one of them. Beau seems to know everyone there is to know in the industry. It’s quite impressive actually, walking around a convention with him, only to have your conversation interrupted every few feet by someone else wanting to say hello. Beau’s heart is big enough for a lot of people. But there is a line that you can cross with Beau where you leave the realm of friend and become family.
Beau Smith is fiercely loyal, and as devoted as the world’s best golden retriever. Family, honor, loyalty: these are the themes of both Beau’s favorite movie, Tombstone, and also his life. I’ve had the privilege to cross that line with Beau, and he has stood by me with no good reason other than he loves me. He asks about my husband every time we talk, tells me to stop working so hard, to eat my vegetables, and be good.
One day I might even listen to him. Until then, he’s been as faithful of a friend as you can ask for. When I met Beau, I was an unpublished, wet behind the ears, rookie art student. He has always encouraged me through the “I’ll never get published” blues. After I graduated college and couldn’t find work in my field, Beau encouraged me that every success story starts out waiting tables. He said that I should hold out for my dream…unlike some of his friends who took good paying, but less exciting jobs and got comfortable there. “Don’t let that happen to you,” he’d warn. But when I got tired of making a living selling coffee and “let that happen to me” by taking a commercial art job at an illustration studio he said, “At least you get paid to draw every day–think how sharp your skills will be on the other side!” Always the optimistic encourager.
And also the ever persistent pimp. Beau has never stopped selling me out to his friends, showing my portfolio to any editor or publisher who will take the time, even though he’s never made a dime off my work. He treats me like I’ve been signing autographs at conventions for years, when in fact my first comic book is just now in the works to be published (though you’ve probably seen my work unknowingly on a shelf at your local Toys R Us). For years, he’s been pushing to publish the project we’ve been collaborating–Courting Fate. You would think, after that long, he’d give up and try another story that had a better chance of seeing print. But not Beau. He’s in my corner rooting for me twenty four seven, whether I’m drawing his characters, doing freelance for one of his friends, or just getting paid to draw Clifford the Big Old Red Dog.
So what’s it like to work with Beau Smith?
Its like working with the truly Last Real Man.
JENNIFER: Even though you are a tough guy and rough hombre, you still have a sensitive side, right? How did you get in touch with your feminine side?
BEAU: Of course I’ve got a sensitive side. It’s the side of my bed where the ladies lay and wait for me to tell em’ to go make me a sandwich. As far as how I “get in touch” with it? I just grunt and roll over their way. You want pictures, don’t ya?
JENNIFER: Why do you strive to write comics that aren’t just for the typical fanboy, but ones that women can enjoy just as much as who people associate as the typical comic book reader?
BEAU: I love women. Always have, always will. When it comes to writing heroes I’ve never figured gender mattered. Both men and women are heroes. The secret is not to write em’ by how a woman or a man would think or act, but how a hero would think and act.
JENNIFER: Is it true pink is your favorite color?
BEAU: Of course it is? oh? you mean to wear? Sorry, I thought you meant?
[At this point of the interview Smith was hit in the head with an iron skillet to make him focus a little better.]
JENNIFER: What’s the best remedy for busted knuckles?
BEAU: [Under the threat of the iron skillet.] Uh?I guess havin’ you ladies substitute for me on Busted Knuckles more often?
The Ever Smiling Jen Contino Mentoring The Next Wave Of Female Readers
End Of Transmission
We will now allow you to resume normal knuckle dragging, beer swilling , womanizing transmission. Your injection of prime estrogen is complete and you will carry it within your DNA.
This will be used as a tracking device so that when the time is right we will once again control your computer transmission. When Once again you will be brought into? Painted Nails-The Estrogen Take Over.
Another Happy Ending for Beau!
This is your amigo, Beau Smith. I just wanted to thank all the lovely ladies that helped out with this HUGE 100th episode of Busted Knuckles. I hope you enjoyed their thoughts and words as much as I did. I wanted to give the Knuckleheads of Busted Knuckles something special for the 100th episode and I think we pulled it off. A tip of the cowboy hat goes to Amanda Fisher, Gail Simone, Danielle Henderson, Lora Biondi Innes, and Jennifer Contino. They are lovely, smart and they all have my manly respect and love.
Special thanks goes to Jason Brice who runs Silver Bullet Comics. He was kind enough to ask me to come on board 100 episodes ago and I thank him for always editing, checkin’ my spelling and puttin’ up with me droppin’ my “G’s”. Busted Knuckles would be busted without ya, amigo.
Most of all I wanna thank all you knuckleheads that read and support Busted Knuckles every week. You make it the best place to hang out in. To use a girly word, I “cherish” all of ya showin’ up.
Here’s to the next 100! Beers are on me.
The Flying Fist Ranch
P.O. Box 706
Ceredo, WV. 25507
Prove your manhood by visiting Beau at the Flying Fists Forum!