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.

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.

Doctor Strange:Master of the Pimpin' Arts

In "Doctor Strange" #52 (April 1982) the title hero demonstrates many times over why he's Earth's Clotheshorse Supreme.

By the bilious bowels of Bill Blass! Doc looks aces in this classy three-piece number sans coat, with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up for a touch of sexfulness. In lieu of a tie, Strange has accessorized with a stethoscope which can be yanked dramatically from the neck whilst ordering people about. In fact, the whole thing's so sexful that it's aroused him! And there's only one way to satiate his urge: "Hello, Wong. There is an emergency here..."

But of course that's not the ensemble Doctor Strange is famous for.

Hey, what's the big deal? I can conjure up a weird outfit with just a snap too. Anyway, I've always liked Doc's costume, even if it makes him look like a cross between Ming the Merciless and a ballerina. Now let's see how he dresses for... oh, let's say 15th century Spain.

Suh-WEET! I love those two-layer cloaks. It's why I used one for my He-Looker design. And of course he brought along some boxes for his extra hats. Right? I mean, that's what I'd do.

I think he looks terrific. Like a bad-ass Pilgrim. ("Charles Bronson is Myles Standish in "Thanksgiving, Bloody Thanksgiving!") I'd love to see him in a steel cage match with Solomon Kane. Let's get that hat off his head and see how he styled his hair.

Muttonchops?! I'm in heaven. Why can't he always have muttonchops? Why can't every superhero have muttonchops? (Batman could have muttonchops. He could glue them to the outside of his cowl!)

Also, it's hard to tell from this panel but Doc's wearing his hair longer and he's tied it back in a little ponytail. Like, a dinky one. Three inches at most. Like Patrick Swayze. So that part's kind of lame. But the muttonchops more than make up for it.

Y'know, that hat looks awfully familiar. Hey, Doc! Put it back on so I can get a better look at it. And spin around a few times. Really work it.

A-ha! Now I remember. Looks like Doc's all gussied up for breakfast. At Tiffany's.

Grampa in a Bottle

In "Marvel Team-Up" #77 (January 1979) belly shirt-wearin' oldster Silver Dagger escapes from the mystic orb that had imprisoned him and goes on a full-tilt rampage against Spider-Man and Ms. Marvel... Claremont style! Yup, it's a Chris Claremont script so it's a given that Silver Dagger will be supremely powerful. But to quantify it further, even his armpits project rays of eldritch energy.

The battle of the century: Spider-Man versus b.o.! Although I must take issue with Silver Dagger's ensemble. A belly shirt? Kinda girly. In fact, completely girly. And the no-sleeves thing combined with the big round plate on the chest makes me think he raided Moonstone's closet for this get-up. I'll give him points for the bitchin' white mustache -- almost as nice as mine! Almost. But I have to take those points back off again for the Stephen Wright haircut. There's nothing wrong with male-pattern baldness but you don't gotta flaunt it. Honestly, he looks like Bozo the Clown's abusive uncle.

Elsewhere in this issue, Doctor Strange's girlfriend Clea is transformed into a being of pure strawberry jam.

Told you it was a Claremont story!

The Startling Secret Origin Of Doctor Strange's Funky Biker 'Stache!

At some point in the early 80's, artistic license or editorial fiat mandated that Doctor Strange be drawn with a more fanciful Ted Nugent biker moustache instead of his traditional pencil-line number. (I say "biker moustache" instead of "fu-manchu" because technically a fu-manchu features a clean-shaven upper lip and the only hair is on the sides of the mouth. I'm a bit of a connoisseur when it comes to facial hair, so I know these things.) Nobody knew why Doctor Strange switched to this groovier style of face fuzz until "Doctor Strange" #54 (August, 1982). The issue begins with Doctor Strange moping about his student/girfriend Clea leaving his eldritch ass (her stated reason being that she thinks another woman loves him MORE but seriously, come fucking ON.) And then, doodly-doodly-doop! Cue the harp glissando and the swirly effect on the TV screen, we're transported into a flashback sequence by a different writing and art team. In other words, it's a cut-up filler issue that never got published, and they'd better go ahead and print the damn thing because Clea is still Strange's girlfriend in it! It starts with a biker 'stache-free Doctor Strange and the buxom Clea enjoying a stroll in Washington Square Park. And who should they run into but Shaggy of "Scooby Doo" fame!



Zoinks! Shaggy sports a "My First Goatee" (by Playskool) and as Jeremy likes to quip about such dodgy facial hair, "A little club soda and it wipes right off." Note also the pseudo-braid on the back. All you need is a half-dozen rubber bands and forty-five seconds of free time and voila! Your unruly mane of dry, hopelessly damaged hair, which has never seen a bottle of conditioner, is arranged in an unreasonable facsimile of a braid. This look is wildly popular with roofers and carpet installers. "The psychic emanations pouring from his body are almost palpable!" thinks Doctor Strange. No, honey, that's just the heady melange of patchouli and B.O. But yes, it is quite palpable.

Since the filler story is written by J.M. "Starbaby" DeMatteis, it ends with a bunch of hippies passed out on the floor. Then the regular team of Roger Stern and Paul Smith tack on a new last page, in which Clea makes an interesting request:



This should have been Doctor Strange's first clue that his relationship was in trouble. Clea's basically telling him, "I want to start seeing other people, but for now I'll settle for you just looking like other people." And Doctor Strange, still so gooey-eyed in love with her and yet so self-centered he's not really listening to what she's saying, goes along with it. Kind of sad, really. That said, I think Doctor Strange looks cooler with the biker 'stache than he does without it. The VanDyke's pretty nice, though. Does he still have that? Now, if only he'd do something about his hair. Really, if I had my way he'd look like one of those Ultimate Fighting guys, with the crew cut and no shirt and a lot of tattoos and... sorry, I kind of drifted away for a second. Um. Heh. Anyway...!

Bonus! In "Doctor Strange" #71 (June, 1985) we find out what Doctor Strange would look like with a full beard and Shawn Cassidy hair.



And the answer is, "Like a suicidally depressed llama."

Casual Fridays At 177A Bleecker Street

Lazy, rainy Fridays at the Sanctum Sanctorum of Doctor Strange... could it get any better? I imagine it would be like living in a Pier One. Cool foreign knick-knacks everywhere, the air permeated with a sublime, musky incense, and lite jazz blasting from hidden speakers. But unlike Pier One, you can stroll about in your bare feet and a cool robe and the salespeople won't scream at you or call the cops. Uptight bastards... but I seem to have gotten off track. Where were we? Oh yes.

Here's Clea, the Vili Fualaau to Doctor Strange's Mary Kay Letourneau, in a fetchingly convoluted penoir-and-genie-pants ensemble. It's very nearly see-through (the shameless hussy!) and features a stiff orange collar that would have done the Karate Kid proud. The very best part? The collar doubles as a dry-erase board. That way, when you're done doodling on it, you can jot down helpful messages. Like "Buy more incense" or "Exorcise cats." If it weren't for that way-out collar, Clea's "satanic milkmaid" up-do would overpower the gauzy frock -- but with the collar, the hair's practically a necessity.

And what would Hep Cat Supreme, Doctor Stephen Strange wear? Dig it!



Suh-weet! I covet that robe. Profoundly. Knowing that such a glorious robe exists and that I don't have it makes me die a little inside. And you know me; I'm an expert at sneaking into places and taking whatever I want, er, need. (Like "my" time bubble. Haw!) But I'm sure Strange's crib is fortified to the rafters with spells that would turn me into a bunny rabbit (with bangin' highlights) or hurl my taut white ass into a shadowy limbo-realm if I so much as tapped on a huge round window. So I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. Hey, let's look at the back of the robe...



Gah--! Hang it all, now I really want that robe! And you just know it's the most comfortable robe, like, ever. Probably micro-woven out of the silken moustache hairs of teenage satyrs and hand-dyed with the hypo-allergenic inks of Polynesian octopus-spirits. And yet it's machine washable. Because it's magic. Check out the bottom half of it. There's even a scary crimson bat-creature on it to guard against people yanking it up when you're not wearing any underpants. Which is the case here, I'm sure. Oh, I must have that robe! Unless... maybe the robe itself is guarded with spells. Like, if anybody else tries to wear it, it eats them or maybe it transforms into an abbreviated terrycloth number, rendering itself unfashionable. Yikes. I guess I'd better leave well enough alone. No doubt, the bathrobe of Doctor Strange is not intended for mere mortals.

Bland Sabbath

From "Defenders" #96 (Marvel, June 1981), this is Asmodeus Jones, whose real name is "Ozzie Palmer." I wonder who he's based on. No, don't tell me. Jackson Brown, maybe? Kidding! I know it's really Christopher Cross. Anyway, nothing oozes "Satanic" like a billowing, scale-spangled blouse with attached hotpants. And lots of shiny gold bracelets! Nice gams, though.

The comic book gets more deeply mired in fashion stupidity later on with this scene:



Nameless Satanic Handmaiden #3's use of the word "kinky" makes it abundantly clear that an orgy had just taken place, and that it was quite the depraved social affair. But look more closely at Asmodeus. Sure, the robe opens at the front for easy access, but underneath he's still wearing a shirt and pants. Still doubting me? Check out the next panel:



And the other guy was wearing a business suit! Anyhow, like all rock 'n' roll sex gods, Asmodeus Jones likes to cavort with groupies while wearing sensible slacks and a dress shirt -- buttoned almost to the neck and with the sleeves rolled down, of course. What kind of "kinky" activities took place at this orgy, anyway? "Spin the bottle?" Did they play four-letter Scrabble? Or have a very sensual taffy pull? C'mon, Asmodeus, you can tell me. Spill it, brother!



Er... yeah. Okay. You can stop staring into my very soul now, thank you very much. Gah! I feel like I need to take a shower now. In Lysol. And then dry myself off with a Swiffer.

A couple of notes, before I go and do that:
1. I'd love it if Marvel brought this guy back, older and more rickety with a wife and a couple of rowdy teenage kids, like that guy on that cable reality show... Hulk Hogan.
2. This issue was drawn by Don Perlin, who was like the Curt Swan of Marvel in terms of artistic sensibility and hell, age too, for all I know. Asking Don Perlin to depict the daily life of a heavy metal singer is like asking Jim Balent to draw a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. You're just not going to get the desired results.
3. Yup, Doctor Strange was there, in invisible astral form. He just likes to watch.