by Jayden Leggett, Editor
Where oh where do I even attempt to start with this one? An ultra-violent and highly sexual sci-fi noir romp rife with foul language and starring an overweight gun-for-hire who is in desperate need of a larger shirt. Suffice it to say, Job Dun: Fat Assassin #1 is impossible to pigeonhole into any one specific genre. With a tale as imaginative and entertaining as this, who even cares about labels?
As the title suggests, Job Dun: Fat Assassin #1 by Spray Comics follows the expletive-riddled exploits of obese mercenary Job Dun. From what I can tell (and I could easily be incredibly wrong about this), Dun lives in a place where reality truly is subjective to the eye of the beholder, thanks to a special device called a “spray-maker”. In a nutshell, the spray-maker is embedded in the pineal gland of the user’s brain, and allows its host to “spray paint” their own reality into an aesthetic appearance of their choosing. Seems that Job Dun is quite the horny bastard indeed, as his “Perve” setting transforms his surroundings into all sorts of smut. Gimps, strippers, big-breasted nymphs and so on are common sight within the pages of this comic.
Like I stated earlier, I could be very wrong about the reality in which Job Dun resides, and this is largely due to the narrative mechanic that is created by the book’s presence of the spray-maker. This is largely because I still don’t fully understand how it works, despite the brief description given within the panels of the book. Is everything the reader sees the result of Dun’s own spray-maker? Is the sexy buxom redhead who hires Dun really buxom and sexy, or is this all due to Dun’s spray? Or is it due to her own spray which she has put in place to make herself appear buxom and sexy? What is real? What is an illusion? All of these were questions that arose as I read this comic, but by the end of the book, I was clear on one thing: to fully enjoy Job Dun: Fat Assassin #1, one must live by the following mantra: “Just go with it”. For by going along with the ride, you shall be rewarded with one hell of a good time.
Exactly one half of this good time can be attributed to the way-out-of-left-field thinking and immensely creative writing of Job Dun’s author Mark Hobby. From baby-sacrificing cultists to sexy nun security guards, this book is packed with far out subject matter. An “arse-spitter” gun that resembles a crab and shoot nails, synthetic strippers with actual working money credit card slots (not a metaphor), genre bots armed with hyperbole mashers that spit cliché comic book cover quotes, this book seemingly has it all. My only criticism of Hobby’s writing is that some of Dun’s hard-boiled monologues were so stylishly written that there were many times when I had no idea what he was actually saying. Then again, this could easily also be a comment on the mental capacity of yours truly…
Bringing up the other half of previously mentioned good time is the glorious artwork of Ben Michael Byrne of Kranburn fame. If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of checking out Byrne’s amazing art work yet, Job Dun: Fat Assassin # 1 is the perfect place to start. Particularly if you love tits. Seriously though, this book is just oozing with visual flair. Each character in this book is a highly-stylized caricature: over-generously proportioned scantily-clad women, creepily constructed gimps and bondage freaks, grotesquely slimy alien cultists, and of course the immensely flabby and morbidly obese body structure of Job Dun himself. This book is a visual feast, particularly with the many panels that feature enjoyably distracting background elements.
Like many of the books that I seem to find myself reviewing, Job Dun: Fat Assassin #1 probably won’t be in everybody’s “Most Favorite Comics I Have Ever Read” list, but for those who appreciate uninhibited creativity, sleazy subject matter and far-out story telling, I couldn’t possibly recommend Job Dun any more. Job very well done indeed…
Rating: 
ComicsOnline gives Job Dun: Fat Assassin #1 4.5 out of 5 jiggle jugs belonging to sexy simulate-girls.
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