Growing up, I remember an episode of Full House that crossed over with Family Matters. At the age of 8, my mind was blown at seeing Urkel interact with the Tanner family, dancing with Uncle Jesse. Seeing a character displaced into an unfamiliar setting was fascinating. At the time, I thought it would certainly be the most unexpected and delightful crossover I would ever experience. Then, I stumbled into the world of comics where the unthinkable often happened, for better or for worse. 

Comics where characters published by one company meet those published by another company have always had a special appeal. In the first major inter-company superhero crossover DC’s Superman met Marvel’s Spider-Man. Since that landmark 1976 event, from time to time, comic readers have witnessed unbelievable meetings on the printed page.

The X-Men met Kirk and Spock. The Savage Dragon fought crime with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Batman brawled with a Predator. Seeing characters in unfamiliar settings, interacting with other characters they should never meet, remains a captivating storytelling device today.

It’s fitting that the best crossover in the history of the comic medium is also the most absurd. In 1994, two contrasting universes merged for a single, unforgettable experience when the Punisher occupied Riverdale in a 48-page, ad-free issue. Archie Meets The Punisher is surely the strangest crossover event in all of media, yet it excels in every aspect.

It’s the afterthought that really gets to me, these Fundalini Pages of MAD #515. The issue is constructed around the centerpiece of “The 50 Worst Things About America” (a misnomer of note, it’s a pre-summer warmup for some of the greatest things about America, but in MAD’s usual “jugular vein”), and around one of the funniest iPhone parodies ever done by the magazine. But that’s for later. For now, it’s the Fundalini pages, and some of the most memorable. But what really shines through on that opening page and on the pages that follow is how finely the Usual Gang of Idiots craft the art of the afterthought.

It’s right there in the bottom corner of the first page—the cover they thought of, after the actual cover was completed. Issue #515’s cover is dedicated to #4 on the “50 Worst” list, “Our obsession with cosmetic surgery”. The cover is Lady Liberty, with “work”. MAD  mascot Alfred E. Neuman, pokes his head out from the observation deck. It must be said that this cover is beautifully done. The artwork in the actual list doesn’t repeat the same gag the cover does. But this cover flawlessly apprehends both the great and sweeping political ideals (the Statue of Liberty) ushered in by the American Revolution, and the material aspirations (the cosmetic surgery) that this revolution in thinking has made every American heir to.

As with everything the MAD “humor in a jugular vein” here, is a directed humor. In this issue it is a humor focused on understanding that deep and abiding connection between the revolutionary thinking of earlier America, and the pursuit of material happiness that that revolutionary thinking ushered us into. It makes sense that iPhone is up for grabs this issue, as is material care for the elderly, as is the Hunger Games. But it’s that double-take, double-punch with the cover that really frames the issue.

Some things, you’ll never forget. Some memories fight their way through. I remember standing in St. Paul’s Cathedral for the very first time. I remember feeling the black hand of fate, and that Japanese couple splintered off from their tour group, struggling with the inscription. “If you’re looking for a monument to his life, look around you”, was what I hoped I’d said translating the Latin on Christopher Wren’s memorial stone into my broken Japanese. I remember learning that St. Paul’s had taken Wren 30 years to build after the Great Fire of London. I remember that it was the work of a thief in the night, stealing in and erecting the new when what the bishops wanted was things as they had been. I remember imagining Wren frustrated at having to hide his true vision. I remember reading about him unearthing one small piece from the original Cathedral—a stone phoenix with the single word, “resurgam”, inscribed; “it will rise again”—and I remember thinking of that as a turning point. And I remember rarefying the lesson, that language is a gift and it will allow you to endure, and build something that will stretch centuries into the future.

Aside from Northlanders for Vertigo, and now Conan for Dark Horse, Brian Wood has made his career writing about the modern world—vast and intimate real world settings, with intricate details about the places, things and people that inhabit our world. Part of that has to do with the visuals that accompany his stories, which are firmly in the hands of the artists he chooses to work with.

There have been many names: Becky Cloonan, Riccardo Burchielli, Cliff Chiang, Brett Weldele, Steve Pugh, Toby Cypress, Rob G, Rebekah Isaacs, Davide Gianfelice, Dean Ormston, Ryan Kelly, Massimo Carnevale, and many more. For The Massive, Wood picked artist Kristian Donaldson, who he had worked with on Supermarket and several issues of DMZ.

Wood keeps coming back to the same artists. “It’s a collaborative thing,” he says. “And they’re my friends on top of that.”

One of the timeless refrains of skeptics, dating back to the cynics among the classical Greek philosophers has been (to rephrase), “Why do bad things happen to good people?”. Dealing with the cliffhanger explosion that rounded out the previous issue of Blackhawks, series regular writer Mike Costa reminds us of how this lament really is a misdirection, and that the answer lies within that verbal formulation itself. Bad things happen to good people, because bad things happen. Our lives however, aren’t defined by what has happened to us, they’re defined by the actions we take to exceed situations beyond our control. There’s a great and silent human drama to this kind of action, and it is one that Mike captures in all its poignance and complexity.