Friday, May 16, 2008
Say, who's this handsome devil?
Why, it's none other than me, as envisioned by fellow blogger (and arch-villain) Captain Koma, over in the Heroes United forums! It's stunning, no? I'm not currently in the market for a new costume, Captain, but if I ever turn to the dark side -- and contract conjuctivitis -- I'll definitely consider this look! Hot damn but I'd look fetching! Observe, if you will, the lush red beard, the dashing eye-patch, the marvelously masculine segmented shoulder-pads! I'm a hunk! I mean, I'd jump this guy's bones in a nano-second! And he's me! ...Okay, so that image is a trifle too "out there" even for yours truly.
Well, this is as good a time as any to give you all a little flavor of my life as it stands right now. My massive, rampant, uncut celebrity is starting to sag a little. I no longer get mobbed by hoards of nearly-naked hover-bikers. Dang it. Still, I have enough clout that I worked out a deal with my good friend Eyeful Ethel: to help restore confidence in her stockholders, her company is now officially called "The Eyeful Ethel Detective Agency, Featuring Blockade Boy." I don't think she resents it too much.
Ethel tried to lure Dentata Damsel away from that voiceover gig she'd taken with Paramount-Universo. It turned out that the folks at Paramount-Universo had never even heard of Dentata Damsel. We later discovered, she'd been living with Tusker in some twisted "Beauty and the Beast" (TV show) scenario, and, in her words, "platonically banging" him. They're both in counseling right now.
Still no sign of Nightmare Boy.
Ethel hired two new detectives: Compass Kid and Bad Apple Boy. The first is a mildly-powered Braalian with an uncanny sense of direction; the second is a Rimborean poseur with souped-up Chlorophyl Kid powers. (You'd be surprised how many toddlers have fallen into vats of mutagenic hydroponic solutions. It's a national tragedy!) I'll write some more about these two next week.
Storm Boy has regained some of the weight he'd lost, but it actually looks good on him. I guess it's because he's still working out. So he's kind of "husky" now. The important thing is, his upper arms are finally thicker than his forearms. Which is great, because the whole "Popeye" thing had been freaking me out.
Oh, and I still have enough name recognition (and raw, blistering sexiness) that I've been invited to enter a holo-vid reality show contest! It's sort of a biathlon, where the contestants have to master both complicated sexual positions and complicated ballroom routines. The show is called "Schtupp It Up and Dance." (And for me, the first part should be a breeze.)
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Normally, I'd excoriate Judge Carter Blaire for being so snippy about his daughter's accessories. I mean, the Dazzler is a grown-ass woman; if she wants to tramp it up with glow-in-the-dark plastic crap, that's her prerogative!
But I was once sent into a sulky, weekend-long drinking spree over one of Storm Boy's belts, so I'm not about to throw stones.
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Judging from the "his 'n' hers" go-go dancer costumes, I'm guessing they're on the run after cheating on Lifetime's "Your Mama Don't Dance".
You know me; I'm not a huge fan of cut-outs to begin with. I mean, I know I've used them before, but they have to be placed sparingly and strategically. And for a bent, cone-headed oldster, they should be placed nowhere. Nobody wants to see your liver-spotted love handles, Gramps. And if you wear that nutty tunic over a filmy white bodysuit (as you are in this case) it just makes it worse. Because then I'm forced to employ my imagination.
And I can imagine some pretty freaky shit.
Monday, May 12, 2008
I can't tell if those things on their heads are flowers, crocheted doilies, luncheon meat, or just their brain matter bulging out of the holes in their noggins.
I also think it's telling that one of these "hats" totally effed up Mister Spock when it got stuck to his back, and yet these ladies don't even notice them. (Granted, the li'l neural parasites would have to burrow through a good eight inches of hair-do before it touched flesh.)