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Lobo is an alien humanoid being from the planet Czarnia. Lobo is 6'4", 210 pounds, with red eyes and dark grey hair. Lobo is the last surviving member of his race, because he killed almost every other Czarnian on a whim one day.

Czarnia was a planet of peace and tranquility until Lobo was born. No one knows why he was the way he was, it just happened that way. Upon his birth, he bit off four of the midwife's fingers. Lobo ripped out his elementary principal's throat when he was five during a temper tantrum. Lobo then got a radio receiver implanted into his brain, which received Cosmic Rock Zombie Radio, a station where Lobo threatened the DJ Wolfman Wilf to play "I Killed My Folks (No Accident)" by Oedipus Wrecks 365 days a year, 24 hours a day under penalty of mangling.

After leaving Czarnia, Lobo worked as a bounty hunter/assassin for a while. On a personal mission to eviscerate Garryn Bek of L.E.G.I.O.N., who had accidentally run over one of his pet space dolphins, Lobo met Vril Dox. While the two initally got along, both individuals' natures took over, and the two fought to determine if Lobo would stay or not. During this fight, Cosmic Rock Zombie Radio went off-the-air, and Lobo, without his usual musical motivation, lost the fight to Vril Dox and had to join L.E.G.I.O.N. When L.E.G.I.O.N. was taken over by Dox's son Lyrl, Lobo was forced to join Dox's new group, the R.E.B.E.L.S. Eventually, Dox got upset at Lobo and kicked him out of R.E.B.E.L.S. Lobo has since gone back to bounty hunting.

Lobo is extremely strong and resilient to damage, on par with Superman. Lobo also heals extremely quickly in addition to his durability. Lobo possesses a tracking sense that locks onto a person's aura, and he can track them across the universe if necessary. Lobo apparently does need to breathe, as he has been subdued by gas in the past, yet he is able to survive in the vacuum of space unaided. Lobo formerly had the ability to make clones of himself by spilling a drop of blood. In L.E.G.I.O.N. '89 #7, Vril Dox, leader of L.E.G.I.O.N. at that time, poisoned Lobo to remove this ability. However, Lobo had a clone escape, who may have replaced the original Lobo, that still possesses or possessed the ability to replicate.

He's very tough to kill, but he or his clones have been killed on a few occasions:

  • Clones: Large explosions in the airborne ships they were piloting. (L.E.G.I.O.N. '89 #7)
  • Alternate future Lobo: Disintegrated by beams from Vril Dox/Lady Quark amalgam. (L.E.G.I.O.N. '91 Annual 2)
  • Lobo: Blown in half by large gun. (Lobo's Back #1)
  • Reincarnated-as-a-woman Lobo: Blown apart by WWII-era artillery. (Lobo's Back #3)
  • Reincarnated-as-a-squirrel Lobo: Squashed when top half of Lobo's original body fell on him. (Lobo's Back #3)
  • Clones: Killed by large salvos of missiles fired by Vril Dox from a L.E.G.I.O.N. ship. (Lobo, Vol. 2, #9)
  • Lobo or Clone: Killed by the other. (Lobo, Vol. 2, #9)
  • Lobo: Charged with 500,000 volts, inhaling poisonous gas, a spike in the brain, and at least 17 severe blows to the head by a hydraulic hammer. (Lobo/Deadman: T.B.A.T.B. #1)
  • Lobo: Pulled in half by two farm tractors. (Lobo, Vol. 2, #32)

Due to the ending of Lobo's Back #4, one can make the assumption that Lobo can never be permanently dead, because he is neither allowed in heaven or hell.


Lobo is a painfully fashionable nightclub downstairs from the Morrison hotel beside the river Liffey in Dublin, Ireland. Billing itself as "Dublin's most exclusive nightclub", Lobo employs model-gorgeous bar staff and waiters who seem to be trained in a wide range of expressions ranging from simple disdain to outright, openly communicated revulsion. Their cocktail menu is very popular, with drinks starting at 7 or 8 euro, and if one is so inclined one can sample their sushi, prepared, of course, by "our highly-trained Sushi Chefs."

Admission to Lobo is €10, and is in strict accordance with their door policy, shared by their parent, the Morrison: if you look like you have money, or are good looking, you can come in. The result is that Lobo, on a typical Friday or Saturday night, is full of affluent, drunk young professionals, poseurs, and the occasional minor celebrity in the "VIP area", which is usually empty. The music is usually excellent, with local and national DJs keeping the tone from descending into the mindless popular disco beat that dominates Dublin's night life. The decor suits their profile: low, atmospheric lighting; a gigantic fish tank crowded with exotic-looking fish gently waving their expensive fins; an enormous golden gong hanging like a surrogate sun against the back wall; exquisite urinals cascading with crystal clear water, that look like no one has ever pissed in them.

It is very easy to get thrown out of the Morrison, and it is very easy to piss the staff off. A friend of mine was ejected when he decided it would be an excellent idea to ring the giant gong with his head. Apparently they don't like that. Neither do they like patrons to play with the pencil-thin hanging bulbs that illuminate each low table in the VIP area - if they see you swinging them or shining them in your friends' eyes, they will approach the table and, without a word, firmly remove them from your grasp and replace them in their correct position. With an expression of disdain. Or possibly even revulsion, depending on how you are dressed.

One night, myself and two friends had blagged ourselves into the VIP area, presuming that it would be empty as usual, but there turned out to be a large group of beautiful, airbrushed-looking guys and beautiful, stick-thin girls sitting around four of the tables. We were curious, and eventually, when Jake had drunk enough, he approached them and started to talk, propping himself up against the back of one of their chairs, drawing suspicious glances from the attentive bar staff, who were perhaps regretting letting us into the area (I don't know why they let us in. Maybe they thought we looked like sleazy record producers). After nearly half an hour Jake returned and sat down, grinning, and said "Wanna go to a boy band party?" It turned out that the celebrities in question were the boy band, Five, with whom he had been having an animated discussion about greyhound racing and football, and they had invited him to a party. He was very excited. "There'll be coke and groupies!"

Unfortunately, all the cocktails were catching up with Jake very quickly, and within twenty minutes his eyelids were drooping, and he was saying things like "I'm gonna talk to them again. They support fucking Manchester United." We left, and he spent the walk home shouting "Lesbians!" at anyone who walked past him, male or female. Ever since then, whenever he's in Ireland, he tries to persuade me to bring him to Lobo again, convinced that it must be swarming with bands and TV stars and bright glittery groupie parties, the shiny image that they try so hard to manufacture.


Lobo's website: http://weblab.ucd.ie/~c97bf26b/lobomenu.htm

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