This qualifies as the least fucked-up thing ever written in Crossed, and only because I’ve taken it out of context.
For those who are unaware, Crossed is more or less the comics franchise equivalent of The Aristocrats; it’s a gore-soaked, rape-happy, one-joke premise that dares each writer/artist team to somehow exceed the raw depravity of those who came before. It’s also a bit like The Walking Dead, if Rick were forced to watch a gang of grinning psuedo-zombies fuck Carl’s headless torso while they rape Michonne to death with her own severed arms and legs.
It’s a questionably acquired taste, but serves as an ongoing reminder that my freak-flag is flying at half-mast compared to Garth Ennis and friends.