That's Not What Guys Mean By "Bros Before Hos", Superboy

Mon-El first grew suspicious when he awoke to find a greasy, S-curled pube in his mouth.

Boy Meets Boy, Boy Loses Interest In Boy

A funny thing happened to me on the way to ValXan's worldship. No... make that two funny things. The first thing is, the time bubble's robot navigation system suddenly piped up and droned, "HOMING FUNCTION IS ONCE AGAIN AVAILABLE." Which is great, but see, here's why it's funny: the first time I ever tried out the time bubble, the computer informed me I couldn't take it home (i.e. to my own timeline) because that specific era had been destroyed and replaced. And then that replacement timeline got destroyed and replaced, and so on, and so on. It was a real mess. So when I heard that message, my immediate thought was "Great, now the damn time bubble's going on the fritz."

The other funny thing is, while I was moving forward in time, I nearly got sideswiped by another time bubble moving backwards in time. They were going so fast I couldn't tell who was driving, except there were two of them and one had green hair. And I'm wondering who the hell in the Legion of Super-Heroes has green hair. That'd be nobody, right? Unless Princess Projectra's latest dye job went south on her. ...What, you thought that white-blonde stuff was her natural color? Bitch, puh-lease. The other possibility: Storm Boy has gone punk! (God save the queen!)

The whole ValXan deal was a bust, by the way. By the time I got there, he'd been married to that RatBat with the tattered Wonder Woman costume for like five or six years and they had a whole litter of human/RatBat hybrids scampering around, and I couldn't even interest him in a little hanky-panky on the down-low and to tell you the truth, he'd gotten kind of flabby so I wasn't even that into him anymore. So there. (I did get an offer from a male RatBat in a tattered Vibe costume and while it was tempting, at that point I was just feeling worn out. Time bubble lag, you know.)

When I climbed back into the bubble, the homing button was still lit up. So as a lark, I dialed up my own era on the tele-screen, y'know, just to take a gander at it. (That channel's been gray and murky for a couple years now.) And sure enough, there was an image of the Legion, getting their asses handed to them by a hypnotist. (Haw! Good thing he didn't have a mime and a juggler with him or else they'd be totally screwed.)

I was glad to be able to go home, finally. But at the same time, I felt like I'd been jerked around. Finding out my era was destroyed was pretty devastating. I was finally making peace with the idea. And now suddenly with no explanation my continuity is valid again? What's up with that shit?

And it turned out there were scads of Legion continuities I could choose from. There was a future one where Mon-El was called "Valor" for no good goddamn reason and everybody was dressed either like an 18th century fop or like a janitor. And there was one where all the people had these weird, taut, vaguely English faces with teensy-tiny eyes and noses and mouths, and the costumes and hair styles were atrocious. Remind me never to visit that one.

So in the end I just went home to my regular continuity in 2966, to my "swingin' bachelor pad"... which I used to share with Weight Wizard. *sigh* I've lost the will to screw! I'm just staying inside, puttering about in my crotch-hugging orange pajama bottoms and my (unbelted) purple silk robe, drinking too much space wine and growing my hair and my muttonchops back out and trying to decide what to do next.

At least I have Jeremy's copy of "Star Spangled Comics" #36 (September 1944). Maybe that will cheer me up.

Yes, there's nothing kids love more than a gun-toting Parkinson's victim. Bang! Step lively, boys! Bang! Now yer doin' a little step I likes ta call the Pecos Polka! Bang! Oops! Well, yer young. I'm sure yer "adult toe" will grow in soon enough.

Sheriff Hawkins looks kinda familiar, somehow. Where'd he say he was from?

Holy--! I know this guy! From when I was vacationing in the DC Universe's "Old West." He was the sheriff but I'm the one who "deputized" him, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Kee-rist. He used to be hot. A little on the small side, but he had a real "Gary Sinise" thing going on. Damn. Now I feel old. Maybe the "Robotman" feature will cheer me up.

*whistles* That is one of the most downright beautiful splash pages I have ever freaking seen. Not only does it make me want to read the story, it makes me want to strip naked and rub myself all over the story, and cook a seven-course gourmet dinner for the story, and maybe nominate the story for President. A cyborg, a herd of dinosaurs, and a giant disembodied green guy? How could it go wrong?

Um, villain guy? Nobody's there. Maybe you should write all this stuff down, and then you can tell your therapy group. Also, aren't you supposed to be green? I call "shenanigans."

Serendipitously, the animal trainer happens upon a freshly thawed herd of mammoths, mixed generously with other prehistoric mammals. Nobody communicated this to the artist, however, because he drew them as dinosaurs. So the human characters point at and gape over and flee from fancifully depicted T-Rexes and Tricerotops and such. Meanwhile, the captions and word balloons clearly refer to them as "mammoths" and "elephant ancestors" and -- my personal favorite -- "queer elephants" (a.k.a. "Log Cabin Republicans").

But it's hard to complain about a comic book story with panels like this:

That, my friend, is the dictionary definition of "panache": riding atop a yellow tyrannosaurus with a safe in its maw. Wish I'd thought of it. Actually, there's a lot of dino-riding going on in this story.

But that's a drawing of -- that's not a -- aw, I give up.

And finally, your obligatory out-of-context panel of gay subtext. (Because this is a blog, and that is what we do.)

Yes, Robotman. Let's test your hard body.

From behind.

Masquerade Smarties

Next Jimmy's headed to the Byrne boards to really start some shit!

Everyone's favorite boneheaded, er, redheaded cub reporter has donned "The Helmet of Hate!" -- which is also the title of this reprint story from "Jimmy Olsen" #113 (Aug.-Sept. 1968). Like a lot of Superman Family stories from its era, it's filled with so many SHOCKING TWISTS and STARTLING REVELATIONS that it chokes on them, and dies an exceedingly moronic death. The primary plot element here is deception. Sure, the reader thinks one thing is going on, but it's actually something entirely different! And they'll explain with excruciating detail how everything was done! I wonder sometimes if the Superman comics were edited by Julius Schwartz or the Amazing Randi. (The closest modern example I can think of is the first couple years of the JSA comic, in which every seemingly unbeatable villain had a fatal Achilles heel -- which the JSA knew about all along! Or any Warren Ellis/Garth Ennis/Mark Millar story where the "hero" is a deceitful wiseass.)

Suffice it to say that everything that seems to be happening to Jimmy and Superman is all a ruse in order to foil an alien invasion. Got it? Swell. Now I'm free to talk fashion!

About that helmet -- I'm not sure why so many sci-fi helmets from the 50's and 60's were transparent. You'd have to make sure your hair was flawless before you put it on -- and then the weight of the helmet would smoosh it down. So you'd be screwed! The Hate Helmet doesn't seem as bad, since the glass or what-have-you is kept away from the top of your coif -- as long as you keep your hair reasonably close to your scalp. A pompadour might be a bad idea. And just imagine the grease marks all over the glass!

But Jimmy didn't just accessorize with a Hate Helmet. He's also brandishing a red Kryptonite gun! Or is he? ...Okay, he's not. Hope that doesn't spoil the story for you.



Uh-oh! The red-K has turned Superman into a devil! Not! That costume looks kind of familiar, doesn't it? I'm guessing he popped into the Phantom Zone and borrowed Mon-El's tunic.

Mon-El: Superman! At last, you've come to free me from this dreadful prison!

Superman: Um... yes! That's precisely why I'm here! But you'll have to remove your top first.

Mon-El: Sure, I-- what?

Superman: I'll need a sample of your clothing in order to match your exact molecular frequency. So hurry up and get nude.

Mon-El: I've got a button here that popped loose. Can't you just take that instead of the entire tunic?

Superman: Oh, I'm sorry, Mon-El, I thought you were serious about wanting to get out of here. But obviously you'd rather stay in the Phantom Zone getting phantom dry-humped by General Zod than enjoy untold freedom in the outside world. Tell you what -- when you grow the fuck up and decide to act like a man, you give me a call. 'Kay? Bye.

Mon-El: Wait! I'm a grown-up! I'm serious! [he hurriedly removes his tunic]

Superman [snatches the tunic from Mon-El's hands]: Yoink! See you in 990 years, sucker! [he vanishes]

Hey, pixie boots! I didn't even know they made shoes like that in Superman's size. He really went all-out on this devil costume! For him, I mean. I don't hold Superman to an especially high standard when it comes to costume design. I would have spruced it up with some nice gauntlets, maybe with talons on them, and a much longer and nicer cape. Or a cloak! I just watched Michael Powell's "The Tales Of Hoffman" this weekend, and I think Leonide Massine's "Schlemil" costume in a shade of crimson would have been nice as well. It was a military number with these big silver hawks or owls or something on the shoulders. Very striking. Superman could have used bats instead, or some kind of lame-ass Kryptonian fauna that only some nerdy loser would be familiar with. Like a rondor! (Oops.) And now for the shocking conclusion!



Oh, for--! Now he'll never be able to return those things to Hot Topic.