Ever see the look on a comic fanboy's face when you show him his very first genuine shojo comic? And by comic fanboy, I don't mean a neanderthal for whom female comic characters conjure up images of a double D, bikini-clad broad striking a pose that wouldn't be out of place in Playboy. I'm talking about the well-read comic geek, who appreciates Alan Moore, Warren Ellis, Neil Gaiman, Los Hernandez Brothers, Ennis and Dillon, perhaps even some Rumiko Takahashi and Otomo Katsuhiro.

He'll start flipping the pages, looking for demons or samurai warriors or ninjas or a giant robot or some sort (any sort) of action scene. And slowly it dawns on him, he's holding in his hands the sequential art equivalent of Dawson's Creek. It's like his "Boys Only" club house has been redecorated with flowers and lace curtains in the windows.

Dicebox isn't your older brother's science fiction comic. No muscular heroes toting huge laser cannons, piloting light-speed-capable spaceships, rescuing buxom and scantily clad females, thwarting evil empires, and, in general, saving the universe.

Nudity.

It's one of the big no-nos of family entertainment.

In American entertainment, no one is ever just naked. They're having sex, or implying that they would like to be having sex, or in the shower while a homicidal killer sneaks up on them, or trying to catch the mischievous dog who's scampering away with their underwear. The revealing of the butt crack, the nipple, or the genitals serves a purpose, be it to titillate, to shock, to lampoon, or to get you to pull out your credit card. It's never just there.

Unless it's in an art museum, or in a National Geographic Magazine , or in a webcomic called Sparkneedle.