Naughty Butler Seeks Same

This was in the good old days, when the Wayne Foundation building had a promotional tie-in with the National Broccoli Council.

And yes, "the summer days drag by"...

...Along with this storyline, which somehow requires Batman to be sidelined for as long as it takes Tub to get in shape to fight him. And what does everyone's favorite tight-lipped workaholic do with all this free time? You're probably thinking, "He'd continue his investigation of General Angst from the confines of the Batcave, using Robin and Batgirl as his field operatives."

But that would make sense, and this is a Denny O'Neil story. So you're wrong.

Dead wrong.

"Your back-issues of 'Honcho' have arrived, sir..."

Poor Bruce. He still doesn't have any strength in his wrists.

Also, it looks like Tub ain't the only one who's getting hormone therapy! 'Cause Brucie-boy is looking less like a brawny adventurer and more like Janice Dickinson.

Yes, thanks to this extended rest period, Batman is now the world's foremost authority on mink farming, humidifier repair, and Ricardo Montalban. And Alfred? Alfred is reduced to trolling the personal ads. So we can add "hernia" to the list of Batman's ailments!

So, Tub... How Are You Likin' That New Haircut?

Suck it up, Tub. You just have a couple of "razor bumps." Admittedly, they're each the size of a Storck Chocolate Riesen. But still.

Now, you just have to grow out your body hair and adorn your pudgy mug with a killer biker 'stache, and the people from Colt Studio will be knocking down your door! (Also, you might want to get a pair of nipples grafted to your chest. In size XXXL.) Of course, you'll need a trustworthy agent to manage your affairs. Here. Take my card.

Hey, this ice-cream tastes like high-powered rifle!

The blocking here baffles the hell out of me. Angst was holding a rifle just a couple of panels earlier, with no indication of him being anywhere near a refrigerator or kitchenette, and then he's suddenly holding a solid gold cafeteria tray with a heapin' helpin' of ice-cream on it. Where did it even come from? And is he still holding the rifle? Perhaps, between his legs? Lovingly? Because -- barring the addition of a caption box that reads "Five minutes later" -- I can only imagine one way for this panel to make any sense at all, and it requires the rifle to be a kick-ass "sundae gun" that discharges cherry-vanilla ice-cream.

Kee-rist. O'Neil's writing gives me a headache. An ice-cream headache. I think I'll let my gaze wander over to the Hostess ad on the facing page.

Ah! Much better.

In Which All Is Explained, Stupidly

Right, because who even uses guns? Aside from everybody who isn't a super-hero or a super-villain? Er, except for the Punisher. Okay, so General Angst must be planning to use Ultra-Tub as a super-henchman. I guess. Still, he could've just bought a kevlar vest for about 1/bajillionth of what this surgery must've cost.

Meanwhile, in the offices of Roger Clemens' personal trainer...

Y'know, I went to a posh English boarding school with a Sever Nerve-Trunks. Rummy chap.

Except that armies use guns! And these guns occasionally fire "high-caliber bullets"! Gah! This whole operation is actually a tax shelter, isn't it? (And I wish I could have heard the conversation between General Angst and his loan officer. "You want to invest the money in WHAT?!")

Helpfully, letterer "Karisha" (no last name, because they're a Bowie-esque androgyne with a big, tousled hair-do; intense, kohl-smeared eyes; and a puffy-sleeved, silk blouse open down to here) provided a word balloon in the lower right-hand corner to indicate the reader groaning at Denny O'Neil's inane storyline. "UNNN--" Thank you, Karisha! I'm sending you a gift basket with a selection of bronzers and scented oils and hypo-allergenic lubricants.

It's the least you deserve.

Assume the Exposition

Oh, so General Angst wanted to be surprised.

And I love that Don Newton didn't shy away from drawing an arrow towards the best-known vulnerable* part of the male anatomy: the groinular region. It's just a shame Dr. Moon's elbow is in the way.

*And therefore exquisitely sensitive, as well. That's why I like to plaster the walls of this town with "travel posters" that feature slogans like, "Visit Blockade Boy's Breathtaking Groinular Area" and "Blockade Boy's Groinular Area: You Belong There."

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's Pillsbury Doughboy

"Despite the initial prognosis of all the king's horses and all the king's men..."

Okay, so I'm no doctor. I mean, I like to play doctor, but technically I'm not one. But is it a common practice to drape a white cloth over a patient's entire body, like they're dead already? Or is it meant to keep "Tub" from collecting dust, like he's an unused sofa? Or is this just 'cause Dr. Moon thinks "Tub" is that goddamn homely? Is this a magic trick? Will Dr. Moon yank the cloth away, revealing his curvy female assistant, who will hop off of the table and prance about in her spangled showgirl costume, while General Angst claps his hands and hollers and wolf-whistles?

'Cause I'd pay to see that shit.