- The very idea of Demitrius lends itself well to the kind of surreal, almost dadaist fun that superhero comics can do so well. Unfortunately, it's all weighted down by mounds of soggy, pretentious "Marvel Method" prose. Blech.
- "Creature"? "Transformed non-man"? Sure, a guy sprouts a couple of cranial lobster arms and suddenly he's a monster. Would you have used those words if you'd written the comic where Abra Kadabra turned the Flash into a marionette, Young Gerry Conway? I should think not. Young Gerry Conway is unfair to mutated proto-Serbs!
- [Setting: the interior of a brownstone in Hackensack. The Del Pieros, a retired couple, are having coffee in their dining room when someone rings the doorbell.]
Mrs. Del Piero: I'll get it, honey. [She opens the door and sees a twenty-foot-tall man in green coveralls, with lobster-clawed arms protruding from his skull.] Yes...? Oh! You must be the new delivery guy my neighbor Mrs. Totti mentioned... Demitrius, is it?"
UPS guy: Yea... I am Demitrius -- and I bring DEATH! [He presents her with a small cardboard box.]
Mrs. Del Piero: Death? For me? But I didn't send away for any death.
[Demitrius is busy punching buttons on his electronic clipboard, but acknowledges her with a shrug.]
Mrs. Del Piero [calling to husband]: Honey? Did you order my death?
Mr. Del Piero [raises coffee mug cheerfully]: Not today, honey! But don't tempt me!
[They both chuckle at this.]
Demitrius [presents her with the clipboard and his stylus]: Just sign here, and here, and here.
Mrs. Del Piero [hesitates]: I don't know if I'm-- I mean, could I send this back? If it's no trouble? It's just that I not ready for death.
Mr. Del Piero: Who's it from?
Mrs. Del Piero: Hang on, I'm talking to the delivery guy!
Mr. Del Piero [louder]: What...? Who's it from? Who sent it to you?
Mrs. Del Piero [frustrated]: How should I know?!
Mr. Del Piero: Well, it's got a shipping label, don't it?
Mrs. Del Piero: Oh, for--! Fine! [she examines the box] Oh! It's from my sister!
Mr. Del Piero: WHAT...?!!
Mrs. Del Piero [hollers]: IT'S FROM MY SISTER! [to herself] I suppose I can't send this back to her...
[She reluctantly signs the form, and Demitrius departs. She carries the little box into the dining room and sits back down with her husband.]
Mr. Del Piero: Well? Aren't you gonna open it?
Mrs. Del Piero: Oh, I'd rather not. I guess I'll just put it away somewhere.
Mr. Del Piero: Like where?
Mrs. Del Piero: I thought maybe in the -- [catches herself, smiles, and wags her finger at him] Oh! You're a very naughty boy!
Mr. Del Piero: Almost got you! [grins, takes a sip of coffee] So what are you gonna tell your sister when she calls and asks how you like your death?
Mrs. Del Piero: I'll just lie and tell her it's wonderful.
Mr. Del Piero: Ah, so it'll be just like our wedding night! [then, wistfully] ...Y'know, I probably will kill you someday.
Mrs. Del Piero: Get in line, darling.
[They both laugh.]
- Reading the captions, I have to wonder if Young Gerry Conway ever intended for Demitrius to be drawn with lobster-clawed cranial appendages in the first goddamn place. He talks about fire and lightning bursting from Demitrius's brain and grabbing Iron Man, not some kooky monster arms. I'm guessing he had pictured some kinda Kirby-kracklin' energy spewing out from a bloated noggin and not the Golden Age-styled nonsense Tuska wound up drawing. The sad part is, the story's better for Tuska's "mistake."
- Demitrius to Slasher: "And that is why you are the tool--!" Preach it, brother!
- "Mister Kline!" Ugh. Once again, this limpest of villain names ruins a perfectly good melodramatic pronouncement. It would have been exponentially cooler if Demitrius had said "Doctor Doom!" or "Kang the Conqueror!" or hell, even "Zarrko the Tomorrow Man!" Anything but "Mister Kline!"
- George Tuska's groundhog-like fear of delineating shadows makes it easy to pretend that in that largest panel, Demitrius hasn't quadrupled in size after all, but has merely leapfrogged over Iron Man, into the foreground. And as we all know, Demitrius is fond of leaping.
- Are your appetites whetted for a balls-out battle between Iron Man and Demitrius? They are? Well, too damn bad, because Young Gerry Conway thought the next panels would be best put to use looking in on Mr. Kline and his "uncluttered desk." Heh.