Umar Mongers

In "What If" #40 (August 1983) Doctor Strange's enemy, the Unspeakable Umar, gets a radical makeover courtesy of artist Jackson "Butch" Guice. On the left is Umar's traditional look, rendered by Paul Smith in "Doctor Strange" #69 (February 1985) and on the right is Guice's version.

Whoo, mama! Umar, you saucy tramp, I didn't think you had it in you! And by "it" I mean crabs. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a vast improvement over Dark Crystal Gayle over there, who needs to get back to her community theater production of "The King & I" pronto. For reals, she looks like the Michael Jackson Pepsi accident all over again, only with Lady Thiang. "Here is a man who thinks with his heart, his heart is not always-- AAAAIIEEEE! Good GOD! PUT IT OUT! PUT IT OUT!"

Nope, the Guice version is much prettier, what with the cute gauzy skirt and the more realistic flaming crown and the bangles and such. That said, the silhouette is just way too slutty. What's with the arrow cut-out that points to her Unspeakable cooter? (I guess Umar really is queen of the nether regions!) If I didn't know any better, I'd think the Wasp had a hand in this. Or up it. Speaking of which... that pet, whatever the hell it is? It's getting a bit familiar, wouldn't you say? I'm no prude, but even I'm squicked out by the notion of training an animal to finger bang you. (And you just know some of those rich old society matrons with the teacup chihuanuas have thought about that on more than one occasion.)

Hey, how's about a close-up?

Ah, another glimpse into Guice's record collection. I wonder who this is. My guess? Laura Branigan. "Clea, you're always on the run now...!"

When Knighthood Was in Teeny Satin Jogging Shorts

"Doctor Strange" #69 (February 1985) begins with Dane Cook -- sorry, that's actually Dane Whitman -- exercising on the deck of a luxury liner. There he is, trotting proudly along like a prize stallion in his immodest jogging togs, shaking his hot cross buns and showing everyone his Whitman sampler. And of course, Doctor Strange is right behind him, invisibly ogling his ass. (Not that I blame him. Dude is hot.)

"Don't hope too hard! I'd have sworn he was talking to himself! About his 'cabaret act' at the 'Barracuda' in Chelsea!"

You gotta love how the shorts are threatening to split wide open and show his ass to the world, and yet his socks practically go up to his thighs. (Dane has calf issues.) Hell, why doesn't he just do his jogging dressed only in a thick wool muffler, one of those plaid hunting caps with the ear flaps on it, and a thong? Oh, right. Calf issues. Also, the wooden deck would tear up his bare feet something awful. Better add some cowboy boots to that ensemble.

Okay... I think you've cock-teased all the desperate young women on the entire boat, Dane. Enough already! Get your barely-covered ass back to your cabin and dress for dinner.

Oh, for--! You call that a Windsor knot?! And where's that nice tie-tack I bought you? Come here. Come here. And hand over the plastic helmet and the toy sword and my gardening gloves. You heard me! We are not going to dinner when you're dressed like that.

Honestly, I can't take you anywhere.

Somewhere, Under the Scalpel

In "Lois Lane" #52 (October 1964) I came across conclusive evidence that Lucky, the Lucky Charms Leprechaun, has undergone plastic surgery. We all know what the "after" looks like. But check out the "before"!

Feck! Ol' Lucky's had more work done than Nicolas Cage! Let's see... he's had ear reduction surgery, tooth implantation, botox, and complete reconstruction of his upper skull to move his eyes further apart, as well as Clay Aiken-style hair lightening. Plus he took up weight training and he fired his old costumer! So I offer my most heartfelt kudos to Lucky. It takes a big wee man to admit his failings and to take adorably tiny steps to improve himself. That puts him way ahead of his compatriots, who are still in denial about their various conditions.

Examples? But of course!

• Cap'n Crunch: achondroplastic dwarfism
• Count Chocula: porphyria, microcephaly
• Quisp: hypertension
• Tony the Tiger: gynecomastia, a.k.a. "male breast enlargement"
• Toucan Sam: deviated septum
• Booberry: anemia. Also, he's dead.
• King Vitaman: hemophilia
• Frankenberry: rosacia
• Trix Rabbit: kleptomania and species dysmorphia
• Diggum: three-pack-a-day smoker
• The Cinnamon Toast Crunch Chef: chronic flatulence
• Sugar Bear: third nipple
• Cookie Crook: converted to radical Wahabist sect of Islam while in the slammer, currently in Gitmo
• Sonny the Cocoa Puffs Cuckoo: meth addict

I could go on, but you get the idea. It's a pretty sick scene out there, in aisle five.

My favorite cereal mascot? Glad you asked! It's a handsome fella whose moniker just happens to be the same as the one I earned on my high school magno-ball team. Behold: Fruit Brute!

...Okay, so they never called me that on the court. Just in the locker room. And I was never technically a team member.

By the way, is anybody else kinda freaked out by this kid?

He looks like the "Island of Doctor Moreau" version of Alvin the Chipmunk.

Medal Detector

In "Doctor Strange" #46 (April 1981) even Doc's supreme sorcery can't get him through airport security without a hitch.

Where's your Hoggoth now?! Myah!

Quick, get the Department of Home Dimension Security on the line! And the Federal Levitation Administration!

And he didn't just teleport to his destination because...? It's implied in the story that this whole trip was Clea's idea, and she remarks that she finds the airport fascinating, but it's never made clear if Clea specifically wanted to travel on an airplane. And I know she's not from Strange's dimension so all sorts of mind-numbing, horrible activities would be new and exciting for her. But the airport--?! Hell, why not send her to renew a driver's license? Or to get a root canal? How about a romantic, intimate weekend on a garbage barge? Maybe Strange could transform her into a Demodex mite and make her live in J. Jonah Jameson's mustache for a week, where she'd suffocate in cigar smoke and occasionally be drenched in vermouth. That'd be more fun than the airport.

But I can see you're growing impatient. You want to know how Strange got himself out of this mess. Well, here ya go!

That's right. It's not a gaudy trinket supposedly invested with supernatural powers. It's a Saint Christopher medal.

From the Cutting Room Floor

In "Jimmy Olsen" #105 (September 1967) Jimmy winds up on the World of 1,000 Olsens, where everybody looks just like him. And I mean everybody. For reals! Even the women look like him! (Admittedly, it's not much of a stretch.) There are also transformed versions of himself from past Jimmy Olsen stories, like Wolfman Olsen and Elastic Lad Olsen and Human Porcupine Olsen. And everybody on the entire planet hates Jimmy's guts, which is somehow a mystery to the insufferable teen. (Jimmy's ego is on par with Jade's from "America's Next Top Model.") So the Olsenoids throw his ass in jail. And there Jimmy might have stayed, if not for a visit from Bearded Olsen.

OH MY GOD THIS IS KIND OF LIKE THE PLOT FROM "ANYTHING GOES!" *hands flutter delightedly* Er. *ahem* Give me a sec to drop my voice back down a couple octaves and we'll resume. Mi mi mi mi... MI. There, better. Sorry, Broadway always does that to me.

What kills me about this whole sequence is the phrase "when a chemical once made me grow a beard." Yeah, it's called testosterone, Jimmy. Thank God Superman put you on that hormone therapy to reverse it, huh? Now your cheeks stay as smooth as Dan Didio's head, twenty-four hours a day! Of course, your nut sack has retreated inside your stomach cavity and you've begun lactating! But it's a small price to pay to retain Superman's friendship, right?

Now let's see how this whole mess began.

Right, Jimmy. They're stoning you to death because they don't fancy your bow tie. Dumbass. Wanna know the real reason?

They've mistaken you for Tucker Carlson.

Stoning seems like a sensible response to me.