All the dwarf women we see in this issue -- and it's a lot! -- are busty skanks clad only in skimpy rags, while the only two dwarf men we see are dumpy, pot-bellied, and covered in layer upon layer of garish Elizabethan/Victorian clothing. Apparently tree-dweeling dwarf society is divided into two unequal strata: the pimps and the hos. Look at that diminutive, big-headed tramp, desperately angling for the attention of beefy hunk. (And succeeding, I guess! Ew.) It's like the Skartaris version of "American Idol." Any moment now she's going to slowly clap her hands with her fingers splayed apart and tell the hunky guy he has "a beautiful spirit." And then she'll invite him back to her dressing-tree and deny the whole thing later.
Later, the Warlord -- who is all about delegation -- arranges for the captive tree-dwelling prostitutes to be rescued by a woman who could really use a Brazilian wax.
Yeah, yeah, it's a furry bikini. Still, when the fur is an exact match for your own hair, is it really a good idea to wear something like that? And again, look at the tree-dwelling dwarf women and their ripped clothing. The cyclopes didn't do that to them when they kidnapped them -- that's just how the dwarf ladies happened to be dressed at the time. Creepy!
Aaaannnd creepier.
In the "Omac" backup story, penciller Greg LaRoque hopes nobody who sees this has ever read an X-Men comic and will therefore think that the carnival barker's hairdo is kooky and original! Ah, youth! But the lady in the lime green is the scariest part of the story. Radioactive earrings, boots that are literally painted on and puffy-yet-ventilated sleeves. And the hair! All that hair, and the monster, sight unseen, somehow manages to bypass it and grab her by her waist. Well, it was probably all sticky with Alberto VO5, anyway.
Hey, want to see something really scary?
Cool your jets, Poindexter. I hate to be the one to break this to you, but you're a hyena-faced spaz and nobody likes you. (There, better.) Also, I'm going to have to revoke your muttonchops. You're just not cool enough to carry them off. *RRRRIIIP!!* Yes, I know it stings. Stop crying and take it like a man. What am I going to do with them? Not that it matters to you, but I'm going to preserve them in brine and keep them on a shelf. Next to Cliff Carmichael's.
(I can't 100% guarantee a post tomorrow -- 95% but not 100%. I'm helping someone install laminate flooring in their house and computer access is an unknown quantity. Everything will be back to normal for Monday, though.)
1 comment:
What really gets me about what's-her-name's getup are the little fur booties. I mean honestly. I don't know whether to admire the honesty or deplore the brazenness of such obvious fetishry. Though for what it's worth, ol' Warlord ain't exactly Puritan either.
Good luck with your home improvement pursuits.
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