Stop me if you've heard this one.

Man walks into a bar. And the barman says to him, what can I get you? So the man orders a copy of SCOTT PILGRIM.

I'm sorry, says the barman. We don't have SCOTT PILGRIM. Can I get you something else?

Well, momentarily, the man's confused. They don't have SCOTT PILGRIM? But he's adaptable. "Okay," says the man, "do you have IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS?"

No, says the barman. We don't have IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS. This is a bar. We mainly do drinks.

The man asks the barman to check, just in case they have it somewhere. The barman has a look, and confirms that, yes indeed, the bar does not stock IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS. The man is amazed.

Alright, says the man, so you don't have SCOTT PILGRIM and you don't have IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS. I'm surprised, but there it is. What about AMAZING JOY BUZZARDS? Surely you must have AMAZING JOY BUZZARDS?

Look, says the barman, I think maybe you're a bit confused. This is a bar. We sell beer. Not exclusively beer, I accept. We also sell spirits and soft drinks, as well as bar snacks and microwaved food. And we rent out slightly battered board games with some of the pieces missing, for a small deposit. But we don't have AMAZING JOY BUZZARDS.

Not even in trade paperback, says the man?

No, says the barman. Not even in trade paperback.

'I'm sorry, says the barman. We don't have SCOTT PILGRIM.' Well, by this point the man is almost incredulous. They don't have SCOTT PILGRIM? They don't have IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS? They don't have AMAZING JOY BUZZARDS? What kind of idiots are running this place? Look, says the man, surely you must at least have some issues of STREET ANGEL? I've got them all already, but they're worth buying twice in order to show support.

For christ's sake, says the barman. No. We don't stock STREET ANGEL.

Ah, says the man. You've sold out, then. It's still available for re-order, you know.

No, says the barman. We never stocked it in the first place.

The man boggles.

For god's sake, says the man, this is ridiculous. Surely you must have at least something that's been nominated for an Eisner?

No, says the barman. Nothing that we sell in this bar has been nominated for an Eisner.

Not even a Harvey, says the man?

I don't even know what a Harvey is, says the barman. But I strongly suspect that none of our products has been nominated for one.

Okay, says the man, you don't have any of those things. I'm amazed, but that's what you're telling me. But surely... surely... you've got to have that issue of EIGHTBALL from last year.

Which issue is that, says the barman?

You know, says the man. The one with the ray gun. It was a searing dissection of the superhero paradigm. It's essential reading. It's on the set text list. EIGHTBALL. Everyone's read it.

I'm pretty sure they haven't, says the barman.

You haven't read that issue of EIGHTBALL?, says the man, in barely disguised disbelief.

No, says the barman, I somehow managed to miss that one.

The man just stares in amazement. Who the hell hires a barman who hasn't read a seminal and much-discussed issue of the highly acclaimed EIGHTBALL? Is this place run by fools?

I'm shocked, says the man. I'm frankly shocked. When I go into a bar, I expect to be offered a decent range of alternative and/or independent and/or experimental comics by a knowledgeable and friendly member of staff, and quite frankly, you're looking at me as if I'm some sort of maniac.

'No, says the barman. Nothing that we sell has been nominated for an Eisner.' The barman apologises and insists that he's not trying to cause offence. He has a look around the bar. Has the man considered buying this pack of corn-based pork rinds? There's a charming cartoon of a pig on the packet. He's dressed as a butcher. It's a slightly cannibalistic image which, on reflection, might be considered slightly disturbing. Could this be what the man is looking for?

A cartoon, you say?, says the man.

Yes, says the barman.

Is it sequential?, asks the man.

No, says the barman.

Then I'm not interested, says the man. You can keep your pork rinds.

Fair enough, says the barman.

Look, says the man, this is just ridiculous. What kind of a bar is this? How can you call yourself a bar when you're not up to speed on this sort of thing?

Well, says the barman, to be quite frank with you, we find that most of our customers are looking to buy beers. And the rest are generally looking for wines and spirits, with the occasional bar snack such as packets of crisps or nuts. And, occasionally, somebody tries their luck with the microwaved food. This, generally, is what people come to a bar for. If I'm being perfectly honest with you, says the barman, we don't have a great deal of demand for alternative, independent or experimental comics.

What?, says the man. You don't have much demand for it?

Well, frankly, says the barman, we don't have any demand for it. It's pretty much just you.

Not even STREET ANGEL, asks the man.

Not even STREET ANGEL, says the barman.

'Well, says the barman, most of our customers are looking to buy beers.' So the man looks around the bar. It's a normal enough bar. There's a couple of old guys in one corner, obviously regulars. There's some students at another table. Some people who are going clubbing later on. Somebody has put Roxette on the jukebox. It's not packed, but it's full enough. The man looks at them. He looks at the barman. He looks at the customers. He looks at the barman again. And he narrows his eyes.

"Turn off the music," says the man. The barman hesitates for a moment, and then obliges. After a couple of seconds, everyone realises that the music has stopped. The place goes quiet. Everyone looks up.

The man climbs up on top of the bar and produces a megaphone. "This man here," he says, pointing at the barman, "says that there's no demand in this bar for alternative, independent or experimental comix." He pronounces it that way, with an X. He's spent years practising it. "This man here," says the man, "says that when you people go to a bar, you aren't asking for STREET ANGEL, or SCOTT PILGRIM, or IN THE SHADOW OF NO TOWERS, or even some generic, wholesome Eisner nominee. Is this true?"

The customers look a bit bemused. But after a few moments of silence, they signal, by nodding, that indeed it is true. They do indeed have little interest in such things.

"Are you seriously telling me," says the man, "that not one other person in this room is an admirer of the work of James Kochalka?"

The customers indicate, through a combination of confused looks and shrugs, that they are unfamiliar with Kochalka's work.

The man looks at them all with disgust. He shakes his head in amazement. He turns to leave. Then he pauses at the door and looks round the room.

"It's people like you that are killing the fucking industry," he says.

Then he walks out.

The end.

There is an alternative version of this story, popular with certain fans of independent comics, where the next day, everyone in the bar rushes out to buy a copy of SCOTT PILGRIM, and remains a devoted fan of independent comics forever more.

Also the end.

Paul O'Brien is the author of the weekly X-AXIS comics review.

This article is Ideological Freeware. The author grants permission for its reproduction and redistribution by private individuals on condition that the author and source of the article are clearly shown, no charge is made, and the whole article is reproduced intact, including this notice.