Soles of the Damned

It's Batman vs. the Spook, in my dramatic reading of a scene from "Detective Comics" #435 (June-July, 1973). Thrill as the Dark Knight defeats the Ghost Who Walks (On the Ceiling) by... getting him to brag about his shoes? Then, brace yourselves for the twist ending!

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part Four

Welcome back! So... Batman's and the Creeper's plan of surprising an uptight middle-aged bachelor in his own bedroom--? It doesn't work the way they'd hoped.

Rather than being "scared spitless", as the Creeper so cutely put it, Watley boots them out on their sorry asses. Still, that whole "I'll call the police" business had to be a bluff, given that Watley lives in Gotham, where the police own a massive spotlight with Batman's symbol on it. I suppose the Creeper is a "wanted man" (by a very narrow definition of the term), so they might hustle him out of there, but all Commissioner Gordon would do is hold Batman's cape for him while he rummages through Watley's underwear drawer.

...I'm trying to imagine what kind of "Creeper Symbol" the Gotham P.D. might develop if they ever wound up cooperating with the irritating little queen. Maybe a cannon that shoots red fur boas a hundred feet into the air?

What's wrong with this picture?

...And why does it piss me off so badly? Is it because it's a cheap, pointless gag that borders on complete incomprehensibility? Yeah, that's the ticket. Also, it's a "background joke", but Jim Aparo has drawn the panel from a perspective that points directly at it. Holy balls!

And if something as minor as that can send me into a frothing fury, you can just imagine how I feel about the Simon Pegg-alike in Garth Ennis' "The Boys." Or any gratuitous appearance in a super-hero story of the Three Stooges.

Anyway, Batman has an idea to draw the Origami Monster to them by creating "an irresistible target." Perhaps he could arrange for Bela Abzug to do nude jumping jacks on the roof of an abortion clinic, set to the greatest hits of Elton John. But no, the Creeper has figured out how he can implement the Batman's plan, whilst simultaneously torpedoing Vera Sweet's chances to advance her career!

Check it... Ryder's new show is directed by the Frankenstein monster! Good for you, dude! It's never too late to get your degree from the DeVry Institute!

"America: Get Your Freak On!" That's what it says on all your currency, right?

I'm sorry, but I have to draw the line somewhere. And it's at Vera Sweet's unending collection of "Dogpatch Chic" polka-dotted business wear. My eyes can't take it! Why, Vera? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?

"Minutes later", Ryder heads out into the streets, where Batman swings over his head and offers up a compliment -- before asking him "Don't you worry taking stands like that will endanger your secret identity?"

Yeah! Suck it, pre-Crisis Clark Kent! Of course, I'd like to think that a real hero would've noticed that the entire city of Gotham has floated up in the air and flipped upside down. (Seriously, what the hell is everybody walking on?!)

Batman has no time to figure out if he should be happy or mad about Ryder's dig at his barrel-chested alien buddy, because he has to go shanghai Watley -- in a disturbing panel, which shows him muffling the spindly demagogue with a blue-gloved hand, and telling him, "Easy, doctor! I just want to show you something! Hope you're not afraid of heights..." Sounds like Watley's going to join the Batplane Mile High Club. Whether he likes it or not. Still, I have a feeling he'll like it, if you know what I mean.

Their business concluded (entirely off-panel and within my own imagination), Batman deposits Watley on a roof, with a crisp new hundred-dollar bill between his butt cheeks. And then The Golly-Gosh Batman kicks some origami monster ass!

Batman calls that a kick? Feh. Cyd Charisse could've done the same thing, standing perfectly upright. Plus, she'd have executed some cool, sexy maneuver where she leaps up in the air and does the splits and then a scissor-lock thing on the origami monster's head, and sexfully crushes it to death. I dunno. Maybe Batman's saving that for his "finishing move."

Wait, so was there a squeaky-voiced, toddler-sized origami monster back then, too? Tracking down that kid in Watley's kindergarten class who ate paste, and giving him a wedgie? 'Cause that actually sounds quite adorable.

Y'know, if it wasn't for the placement of the bat-symbol, I'd think Batman had somehow absconded with Ma Hunkle's rack in this panel.

Conveniently for all involved, issues of religion, race, sexuality, or economics never even came into play with regards to Watley's motivations. To be honest, I'm not quite sure what to make of that. It was probably done to avoid offending people -- although, folks with extreme political/relgious views are pretty much incapable of not being offended. And while I think a lot of humanity's basic motivations can be boiled down to fear (or greed), the idea that Watley is merely a "scared little boy" seems rather condescending. The hidden message here is that all Watley needs is a little psychological therapy (and a good lay) and then he'll become a Democrat, like any sensible individual. And might I add, yikes. (I wasn't terribly fond of either of your major political parties when I was stranded in your era. Er, no offense. But don't worry; once Ralph Nader becomes President-For-Life, you'll all be much happier -- oh. Oops. I guess that counts as a "spoiler." Forget I said anything.)

Yes, if there's one thing Republicans and Democrats enjoy, it's burning paper!

So every time somebody watches "The O'Reilly Factor" a wino is murdered?

That sounds about right.

Tomorrow: Batman vs. the Perfect Killing Machine!

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part Three

At the end of my last post, Batman had set the paleo-conservative origami monster ablaze, like so many copies of "The National Review." The monster merely reformed itself out of more 8.5" x 11" sheets of plain white paper (which were conveniently stacked nearby), and ran away, shaking its little paper fist. Meanwhile, Dr. Clayton Forrester Watley continues to preach from his bully(ing) pulpit:

The montage has spoken! That night, the sexy young brunette broods in a chair by a ginormous window. "Liberals are a cowardly and superstitious lot," she thinks. "How can I strike fear in their hearts?" Just then, a slutty black cocktail dress and a bottle of hair color in "Piss Blond" #17 crash through the glass, slicing her face to ribbons and necessitating some cut-rate plastic surgery. "That's it!" she declares. "I shall become a total bitch."

Also, Jack "the Creeper" Ryder decides it's time to confront Watley.

Wow, a statue of a gazelle (or what the hell ever) taking a dump? That is elegant! But where the heck is that smoke emanating from? Does he have a hotplate back there? 'Cause I'm telling the landlady.

Is he checking out her (admittedly ample) ass, or does he just covet that skirt? With Ryder, it's a real toss-up.

Later, at the Batcave -- which the Creeper visits so often during this story that he might as well just move in -- the jaundiced juggernaut of justice does his best impression of that clingy dude who has no other friends and tries to fill the awkward pauses in your conversation with awful jokes.

Creeper, you're pissing off The Dadgum Batman, here! Do you want him to punch you in the face? Because he totally will.

Oops, my mistake. I was thinking of the post-Crisis Batman. This one just politely asks you to stop. And if that doesn't work, he'll send you a strongly-worded letter. And if that doesn't work, he'll use his "Bruce Wayne" identity to secretly drive you to financial ruin. Also, you can stop checking your mailbox for any invitations to the Justice League, 'cause they ain't comin'.

Action sequence! Batman and the Creeper follow a bilingual and sloppily punctuated distress call ("Ayude! Help me! Ayude, por favor!") and discover the origami monster attacking either a mother and her little kid, or a hooker and a midget.

Batman shouts at the lady to vamoose. ("Vaya la policia, señora! Ahora!") The Creeper, forgetting what "Bats" had asked him to do three pages earlier, goes on the offensive.

Yeah, I don't think that insult really deserved the "SNAP!" sound effect. (Was that sound produced by the fire escape breaking off, or a really appreciative off-panel beatnik? "Crazy, daddio!" *snap, snap* Or maybe it's a road company of "West Side Story.")

The Creeper nails the origami monster in the noggin, and tears its head off, because it's only super-strong when the plot calls for it it's concentrating, like a paper doll version of Ultra Boy -- er, not that I own any of those.

Again, we see how the pre-Crisis, Dang Ol' Batman was prone to gaping like an EC protagonist at anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Once, a Denny's waitress forgot to charge him for his orange juice. He went into a fugue state and burned the place to the ground.

And now, A Shocking Twist! (If you're not Scipio or Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, anyway.)

Wait for it...

Aw, hells no! Get the fuck out of here!

How's about you practice cramming it, huh, nerd?

Tomorrow: the stunning conclusion!

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part Two

"The Brave and the Bold" #178 (September, 1981) opens with Batman assaulted by a windstorm of paper, while on the trail of a serial killer. "Ten victims in three weeks -- ranging from junkies and derelicts to a few college kids who had a bit too much to drink!" thinks Batman (sternly, natch). And in each case, a chain of paper dolls was draped around the victim's torso.

A caption box then informs us that "Nearby, at the studios of WHAM-TV" (all George Michael, all the time), this is happening:

September, 1981, folks. Thank goodness people stopped subscribing to that paranoid nonsense by your own year of 2007, huh? Am I right? Who's with me, people? ...Guys?

*crickets chirping*

One citizen who's filled with outrage (at Dr. Laura's Clayton Watley's ability to score his own TV show) is Jack "the Creeper" Ryder, whose manager informs him "Lotsa people want to hear what he has to say, Jack! Besides... that could've been your show! You're the one who gave up newscasting to work in security, remember?" And while Ryder's regretting that bone-headed career choice, made for him by another writer (probably not Ditko) back in an issue of "World's Finest", he's nearly run over by a gal in polka dots big enough to psyche out Deborah Domaine -- not to mention, she probably has the Don Henley song, "Dirty Laundry", playing in her brain, 24-7.

Anyway, I'd never seen this Vera lady before or since this comic, but I think she's just the bull's balls, as we say in 2987. And, of course, I love how the purple-suited "Ryder" engages her in some grade-A, catty repartee, before ducking out to put on stripey green Speedos and a red fur boa. Subtext? You're drowning in it!

Thanks to Watley's skills as a rabble-rouser, his audience members have apparently switched off their massive 1981-style television sets (approximately the size of an oven and weighing in at just a few grams lighter than a dwarf star) immediately after the end of his program, and have moved into the streets looking for somebody to pelt with debris.

Granted, the Creeper may be exacerbating the situation by allowing Batman to roger him on top of that roof, in plain sight, right across from that playground.

He's skipping out of danger!

Naturally, his impish gadding-about leads him right into a confrontation with the Origami Monster.

The origami monster is all about the environment.

The monster uses the term "pollutant" a lot, and while it does have a dehumanizing ring about it, it's also vague and off-puttingly euphemistic. I mean, who talks like that? Outside of supervillains, religious fascists, radical socialists, and -- okay, so I guess there are some nuts out there who do talk like that, but here, for some reason, it seems rather toothless. I'm torn over it, to be honest. The origami monster and Watley are both intolerant reactionaries, but it's hard to pin down exactly what they're reacting against, because their terminology is so goddamn toothless! (Although the origami monster seems to have a major grudge against winos.) I'm sure this intellectual shilly-shallying was a necessity in the mainstream publishing world of 1981, but it doesn't make it any less annoying. On the other hand, most politicians, pundits, and religious leaders don't really say what they mean, when they express a view that they're certain will encounter any amount of opposition. For instance, fear mongers (and their fearful followers) will say that they oppose gay marriage, not on the grounds that they don't understand gays or that they think gays are weird and gross, but because they're certain that the very existence of gay marriage will somehow stop heterosexuals from getting married. Which doesn't even make any sense, but it gives the homophobes something to latch onto that sounds like a positive (helping to preserve an institution... that was never in any danger from that quarter, but whatever) instead of a negative (trying to oppress a group's freedom). So in that sense, the origami monster is just as self-deceptive and prevaricating as the people it parodies. It's just that I can't imagine this aspect of its personality was intentional.

Okay! So anyway, the origami monster at this point has the Creeper bundled up like so much ground chuck, and it launches a fearsome attack on Batman... that could be duplicated by any rowdy third grade class:

Thankfully, Batman's keen mind recalls that FIRE BAD.

Fahrenheit 451: the temperature at which goofiness burns!

That's not the end of the origami monster, though. Check back tomorrow!

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part One

Guest-starring: Minnie, the MILF Wonder!

...That joke was written by Tusker, by the way. He was looking over my shoulder while I was examining this ancient comic, and just said that to me. I didn't know he had it in 'im! Maybe I've been too harsh with the boy. I'm starting to realize that his crushing shyness has made him seem way dumber than he really is. I've been helping him to act with more confidence, and more and more, he'll drop some little bon mot like that, just out of the blue. And thank the Luck Lords, 'cause I was worried we were going to be trapped in some effed-up "Of Mice and Men" relationship for the rest of our lives.

But of course, this is Tusker, the King of the Sad-Sacks, we're talking about, so he had to immediately screw up that little moment of brilliance with this pathetic exchange:

Tusker: No, seriously, she's hot.
Me (scoffing): What, so you're into moms now? Dude, you're only twenty-two! You wanna be tied down to some lady with a kid?!
Tusker: At this point, I don't really feel like I can afford to be choosy. [He glumly slinks away.]
Me [rubs throbbing temples]: Holy balls.

Okay, I've got to go for now, but I promise to spend at least a couple more posts on this comic, because it's written by Alan Brennert and therefore is FREAKING AWESOME. I mean, it has an origami monster in it! C'MON!

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: Poison Ivy's Chauffeur

"THE STORY YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR!"

Oh, so it's written by Kevin Smith?

No? Good. It's another Gerry Conway story, though. Just give me a sec to pound down an entire bottle of antacid (with a vodka chaser) and we'll dive right in.

Okay, that is one of the goofiest, most pathetic-looking tree monsters I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot of goofy, pathetic-looking tree monsters. I own the entire run of DC's "Millennium", for Pete's sake! Remember that one? Where the Floronic Man looked way too much like that big-haired kid from "High School Musical", and he insisted that everybody refer to him as "Floro", like he was that weird, "kind-of" friend from college who showed up for his sophomore year with a tie-dyed dashiki and a scraggly beard, and he wanted you to call him "Moon Sphinx" or some stupid shit, and you laughed right in his face, and the next time you saw him, you called him "Moon Sphincter" and then you and your friends pelted him with beer cans until he went away? Yeah, it was kind of like that. But this guy--! With the hang-dog expression, and the walrus mustache made out of twigs--! He's the ultimate in lameness technology. Batman just needs to shove his sorry ass into a wood chipper and be done with him.

Now, this story is penciled by the magnificent Gene Colan, so the monster's sorry appearance might be his fault. But I doubt that, because the inker is Klaus Janson. I have no idea how Janson got assigned to this job. (Or any other, for that matter.) I guess editor Dick Giordano thought the delicacy and richness of Colan's pencils could best be highlighted via Janson's muddy, blobby, black patches and veiny scribbles. Honestly, I don't know what the hell Janson dips in his ink bottle to achieve such unremitting hideousness, but I suspect his main tools are a blunt push-pin (for fine lines), a mascara brush (medium weight) and a whisk broom (spot blacks).

See how he scarred up Poison Ivy's face, up there? You can't expect me to believe she looked that bad in Colan's pencils.

Oh, brother! Get a load of this doofus! Who really created this monster? Poison Ivy, or Sid and Marty Croft? It looks like an overgrown Muppet! I could buy this jerk-off as the mascot for some obscure community college's volleyball team, like, "The Fresno Fighting Ficus" or something, but not as an opponent for Batman.

Tree monsters are too stupid for reverse psychology, so Batman uses plain ol' forward psychology, instead, and points out the obvious. And because we're on the third-to-last page of a Gerry Conway story, the tree monster totally has an Afterschool Special Moment. Apparently, he never realized he was a tree monster until Batman mentioned it. I would have loved to have seen the tree monster face the panel on "America's Next Top Model", especially back when Janice Dickinson was still on the show. "Tree Monster, your hands are like bundles of sticks, you've got no waist, your hair needs to be raked, and I'm sorry, but in this photo, it looks like you have no penis."

Jeebus. Was the tree monster this simple-minded when he was a chauffeur? Because it's a wonder Ivy's car ever made it out of the parking garage.

So who's the real monster in this story?

Steel yourselves, gentle readers, for the Giant Sun Hat of Doom!

That's Ivor standing in the back, in his pre-arboreal period. You remember Ivor, don't you? Ivor, her chauffeur? And yes, that is Bruce Wayne on the left side of the panel, although Janson's inks have altered his hairstyle and face into those of some vaguely Mediterranean stranger. And I'm pretty sure that happy balding guy on the far left is supposed to be Barbara Gordon. (Kidding.)

Ivy looks awfully cocky for a gal with a humongous potato chip atop her head. It's frightening! It's immense! It could blot out the sun, if it so desired. Only it doesn't want to. Not yet.

And you know what? I don't think Ivy even knows she's wearing it. I think it just drifted through space (from God knows where) and just... settled... on her noggin. And she hasn't even figured out it's perched there.

At least, not until... now.

Tomorrow: Origami paper monster! Need I say more?

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: Anthony Lupus, Part Three

To recap, Bruce Wayne is in Alaska, with the mission of bringing back known werewolf Anthony Lups, so he can donate bone marrow to his sick niece. Wayne and his supposedly rugged EPA pal, "Clayton", locate Lupus' remote cabin, but nobody's home. So the EPA guy basically decides to just take over th' dang place. Hey, what do you expect? He's from a government agency! Eminent domain, baby! Also, he has some troops he'd like to quarter there...

Oh yeah, and then Lupus finally shows back up, in pog form monster mode. And he's miffed.

Awright, Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway, you're asking me to believe Batman is frozen with startlement, just because a werewolf barges into the room? I'm sorry, but even for the Pre-Crisis Batman -- y'know, the one who acted more like a swashbuckling hero and less like a weirdly-omniscient Green Beret? -- that's a little hard to take. The guy battles space aliens on a daily basis alongside the Justice League, and he takes one gander at a werewolf and he's all aghast? Hell, why not just go ahead and dialog him like a society matron in a Marx Brothers film? ("Oh, this is positively scandalous--!")

Thankfully, Batman snaps out of it, and applies a little fire to the situation...

...And Lupus takes a dive head-first into the snow, in a bit of Vaudevillian slapstick one doesn't usually see in werewolves. Outside of "Scooby-Doo" cartoons, that is.

Clayton can't help, because he's fixated by Bruce's ass.... which Bruce has been booty-poppin' with metronome-like regularity throughout their life-and-death struggle. I'd say he was doing it unintentionally, except for all his rhythmic grunting. UGHN! Ugh-ugh ,UGHN! UGHN!

Conway's relentlessly clunky prose struggles to impart suspense, as it declares that the hero has achieved "a kind of safety." (Similarly, a Gerry Conway story gives the reader a kind of entertainment.)

And now that we've entered the tale's final act, I suppose there's no more homoerotic subtext to be gleaned from--

Of course, I may be mistaken.

And then the formerly "top" dog, Clayton, scrams out of there in a closeted gay panic.

I guess Bruce shouldn't have crooned "Bess, You Is My Woman Now" to Clayton when he was just starting to wake up.

Alone at last, Bruce indulges in some pretentious moralizing... Conway Style!

Wait, wait, wait... so he's saying the EPA guy is like a werewolf, because he refuses to believe in werewolves... no, wait, he's saying the EPA guy is like Lupus because the EPA guy doesn't want to believe in the supernatural, and Lupus doesn't want to... not stop killing endangered species? Wait, what? No, that can't be it. Let's see, he's saying that Doctor Thirteen, I mean, "Clayton", won't accept evidence of the paranormal, even when it tries to strangle him to death, and Lupus won't accept evidence... that he shouldn't kill endangered species? Maybe? Aaaagh! My head hurts.

At least, with Clayton out of the way, Bruce feels free to dress up as outrageously as he wants!

Just in case he ever met another werewolf? I'm boggled!

Just think how much "contingency plan" crap must be cluttering up the Batcave! Hell, by rights, the Batmobile should be about the size of a Greyhound bus. "Robin! Run to the Bat-Bus and see if you can find that bottle of mummy repellent! The powder, not the liquid! ...No, the one for Aztec mummies--!"

After some missteps, like capturing an actual wolf in that goofy net, Batman finally ends up in a life-or-death struggle with Lupus, atop the Alaskan pipeline, because it's topical. And their battle is just loaded with juicy Conway narration! ...That's "juicy" like a fart, by the way. I'll give you a few highlights, but you really ought to read the whole page if you have time.

This comic came out the same year that as the song "Leather and Lace." Coincidence? I think not.

Meh. That's not arbitrary enough, Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway! A truly arbitrary name would be something like "Vice-Admiral Cheddarballs Clambake-Smythe" or "the Scrunchinator" or "HoboCorp."

But whatever you want to call it, Batman prevails, and he finally gets Lupus into that net.

When you've been super-heroing as long as The Blankity-Blank Batman, you can make an outrageous promise like that without even cracking a smile. Keep hope alive, Lupus, but I can guarantee that Batman's going to spend about as much time working on a cure for you condition, as Superman does, concocting a way to get Mon-El out of the Phantom Zone. In other words, don't throw away the tattered pants just yet.

Tomorrow: Poison Ivy, a tree monster, and a sun hat so big, it would freak out Jervis Tetch.

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: Anthony Lupus, Part Two

"Love... exciting and new...!" What's great about the middle act of "Detective Comics" #505, is that nearly every scene seems like the set-up for porno flick. With Bruce Wayne as the "bottom."

Porno Set-Up #1: Bruce Wayne, in his best purple suit, cocks his ear and his hips in the direction of two brawny, angry men. (The bearded guy is actually quite a looker, as you'll see in the later panels... it's just that this is a bad angle for him. Speaking for myself, I have no "bad angles" but I try to sympathize with the genetically less-fortunate. That's why I put up with Tusker and Storm Boy!)

Porno Set-Up #2 (in a film I'd call "Bruce's Choice"): Clayton's manly "native" parka and boots have sealed the deal for Bruce! Time for a little light stalking, and then he makes his move!

"Without another word, Bruce Wayne closed the door. Tenderly, he took Clayton's hand and began to suck on his thumb, all the while staring deeply, longingly, into Clayton's eyes...

With his free hand, Clayton pressed the intercom button. 'Carrie,' he murmured, 'Hold all my calls...'

That's Porno Set-Up #3, by the way. "I.O.U.s"! Haw! Careful, Clayton... Bruce is insatiable! But at least he pays for it.

Two men, braving the elements, away from the comforts -- and rules! -- of civilized society? Sign me up!

Porno Set-Up #4: "Unbidden, a pained sigh escaped Bruce's sensuous lips. 'Oh, the cold air, it's just having its way with me,' he cried. Bruce's powerful limbs seemed drained of their legendary strength. As fatigue overtook him, he could almost feel the indomitable Clayton's steel-gray eyes sweeping over him, contemptuously, yet hungrily..."

C'mon! I don't care how cold it is, we're talking about The Dad-Blasted Batman, here! He's not gonna go all soft just 'cause he forgot to wear earmuffs! But then, Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway wouldn't be able to indulge his Jack London fantasies if he couldn't talk about people freezing to death. Gah.

Anyway, Bruce and Clayton (who never gets a first name) find Lupus' cabin, and decide to make themselves at home, just like Goldilocks!

"A night unlike those Bruce Wayne has known in Gotham City..." (Porno Set-Up #5.) Just think how angry he'll be when he gets back! And he'll surely demand satisfaction...! (The lights dim, amateurish techno music fades in, etc., etc.)

I think ol' Brucie-Boy is already pitching a tent. And what in tarnation is he doing with his hand--?

Y'know what? The sexual tension is just too pungent at this point. Something needs to happen! Conway, could you just go ahead a write in a make-out session for these dudes, or...

Oh. A werewolf attack! That'll work, too! So the two dudes start making out with the werewolf, and... no?

Okay.

Check out the doorknob, by the way. (And no, that is not one of my come-on lines. I don't care what Storm Boy tells you. It's a damn lie.)

No, it's another Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway trademark: the Easily Startled Inanimate Object.

Tomorrow: action! Just not the sexy kind.