In an Internet chat room, not so far, far away, at this very moment in time, or just a little bit earlier, veteran readers of Kyiv Unedited virtual comics, digital drama, online entertainment, are discussing and debating the most recent publication on this site: “Smith Tells The Guinea How It Was… or the other way around” – ONLY IN THE CHECKOUT.
The apple of discord, thorn of contention, the thing that’s really pissing people off is whether The Half Guinea, portrayed in this unsigned piece, is genuine, authentic and not a fake.
According to one argument, the “classic” Half Guinea is a rough-hewn if sometimes philosophical character.
Although often portrayed as intrusive and obnoxious, he has never been known to demonstrate an interest in investigating the peculiar crimes of passion that comprise the daily fare of this site’s Commix section.
In other words: He’s an asshole but has never tried to play detective, much less grill the likes of John Smith, tripping him up on details toward an investigatory conclusion, the satisfaction of some hunch with the obvious legal if not moral implications.
“It’s like he just likes to fuck with people, but not prove anything,” noted one loyal reader.
But others note an amazing metamorphosis that has taken hold over the contents of this site that coincides with its well-publicized editorial infighting.
As a prelude to further change, the proponents of this position note The Guinea’s single-handed kidnapping of his coworker in The Checkout section, The Hunched Cornish, hitherto seen as virtually invincible, if pathetic and monstrous.*
“I mean – what the hell was that all about?” reads one comment on the matter.
Indeed, has The Guinea, formerly limited to café speculation on death, regular verbal harassment of The Cornish, and the occasional brief sexual interlude with a beautiful Negro woman in a public space… has HE undergone an unexplained but nevertheless genuine, organic mutation of personality predisposing him to take a more active role in the detective work of Kyiv Commix?
Or is it the case – as a third line of interpretation seems to suggest – that it’s not the ‘otherworldly’ Guinea, but rather the seemingly everyone’s-man, John Smith, who is the agent of change here.
After all, this argument goes, the piece isn’t signed – by The Guinea, Smith, or anyone else.
And wouldn’t it be just like Smith, moralizing, finger-wagging prig that he is, to usurp the functions of an all-knowing yet anonymous author in a piece where he plays the starring role.
Thus, The Guinea becomes his foil, an unwitting accomplice in the whitewashing of what looks like Smith’s fall from grace, or at the very least, his hubris-filled attempt to lord it over his hapless colleagues, Jack Step and Dirk Dickerson.
“That would be just like Smith,” opined one passionate reader.
But why would Smith engineer an episode in which he is suggested to be having an affair with a “stinking” and “sleazy” stripper? And surely he must realize that The Half Guinea is free to correct the record at his leisure, exposing Smith as a forger… that is, unless The Guinea is involved in the scheme himself… which would then imply…
*
Muckraker: STOP the car: I’m gonna puke.
Icon of a Kitten: Go ahead. I’m as confused as the next guy. How do we know what to believe?
Muckraker: And how do you know if you have a dick? You look down between your legs, grab hold of what’s there and see if it works later on in the bedroom or toilet.
Kitten: As I said: go ahead, have at it. But that’s not going to clarify what Smith is up to… if anything.
Muckraker: Smith, Smith, Smith. That’s all you people talk about. He’s a prig, a moralist, arrogant and insensitive, white male privilege and all that shit. Or The Guinea… Eek, what a lecher, sexual predator, misogynist, maybe even a racist.
School Marm: Can we get back to the discussion at hand, please?
Kitten: Yes, we can… and thank you. Smith is a detective and The Half Guinea isn’t. Correct? Correct. We don’t know exactly what kind of agency he works for, but he conducts stakeouts and investigations, carries a notebook, totes a revolver and (it shouldn’t be overlooked) the man is almost always described wearing a fedora.
School Marm: Agreed, but where are you going with this?
Muckraker: Into the toilet to look for his dick HAAAAAA hah, hah.
School Marm: Enough of that. Please, Kitten, continue.
Kitten: Thank you, again. The Guinea on the other hand appears to be some kind of mythical creature, a ghost, a monster, a goblin… whatever. He can tear off his head and flit from place to place as if in a dream, but he also likes sex with dark women, coffee and pastries like us humans.
Muckraker: Speak for yourself.
SchoolMarm: Hush.
Kitten: So you see. It’s like apples and oranges. These two characters occupy parallel but distinctly different realities. The Guinea cannot be a detective into human affairs any more than Smith can pull off his head.
Muckraker: or than you can find your dick.
SchoolMarm: Just ignore him, please.
Kitten: That’s it, I’m afraid.
Muckraker: Oh, is it? And don’t tell me to hush. I’ve heard your analysis and it smells like The Half Guinea’s armpits. That’s right. Why hasn’t either of you two geniuses focused your superior intellects on Commix Girl? She used to be a regular in this chat room. But lo and behold, she’s now starring in The Commix! How did that happen? I’ll tell you: She’s fucking Smith? Do you hear me? She’s the stinking whore in that “holey sheet”.
School Marm: My goodness.
Icon of Kitten: You’re out of line, Mister!
Muckraker: And you’re out of brains, Kitty! Did you really believe that cock-and-bull story about her parents being murdered by Russian gangsters in the 1990s? Hah, haha – it’s right out of a cheap Hollywood movie – only twenty years late. There’s the fake news for you – not The Guinea of that last piece, but that opportunist little bitch in Underoos. The Ferret found her out, so she kicked his ass…
School: You’re disgusting.
Kitten: I’ll bet he voted for Donald Trump.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we are experiencing technical difficulties…
Filed by Admittedly No One, On a Date and In a Time That Never Were
*See Commix Apocrypha, “Rewriting Wrongs”, as well as “Josh Davies Found Dead… By Himself” further below in this Post Scriptum, for the disparate and solitary parts of the completely fabricated Half Guinea fantasy, in which he deftly overpowers, knocks out, manhandles, carries, abducts, humiliates, and tortures The Hunched Cornish – yeah, as if that could ever happen: The Secret Board