Now, Which Osmond Brother Is He Supposed To Be...?

Princess Projectra should apologize immediately, as Chameleon Boy's plan is obviously fool-proof.

Chameleon Boy is a little bit creepy, and a little bit rock-and-roll.

Goodbye, Mister Teeny Eyeballs

Remember that alternate-universe Legion I glimpsed on my way back from the 21st Century? The one where everybody had taut, vaguely-English faces with tiny noses and tiny mouths and tiny eyeballs? Where everyone's hair was feathered (or else looked like Toni Tennille's) and nearly every female wore a belly shirt? Yeah, that one. It was horrific.

Well, a friend of mine from the Time Institute space-mailed me a snapshot of that Legion, and I have to say those poor shmoes seem to be pulling themselves together! For example, that Legion finally has an Invisible Kid whom I don't instinctively want to punch in the mouth (the better to wipe off that stoner smirk, y'see). My friend's letter quoted that Legion's new costume designer, one Mister Francis Manapul, as saying "I'm trying to simply rather than modernize. I think simplicity carries over and creates a timeless look." Amen, brother! Finally, that Legion has somebody working for them who shares my aesthetic. Not that it's a complete success, but still, it's a step in the right direction. Let's review...

• I'm pleased as punch my "off-the-shoulder" look for men is catching on, as Timberwolf is wearing... oh. Those are just orange patches on his shoulders which are blending with a crappy spray-on tan. My bad. It's still a pretty sweet costume. Love the bare toes! (Although I thought they'd be hairier.)
• No more belly shirt for Light Lass! It looks like a proper costume now! Huzzah! See what a difference it makes when you don't go for a trend... that expired eight years ago? Also, I love the longer hair on her. Very fetching.
• Alternate-universe versions of Triplicate Girl continue to be prudish frumps with Moe Howard haircuts, I see. And this one's cape still has that ridiculous cowl-neck... presumably so she can duck her head down into it like a turtle whenever the paparazzi show up. Ugh. Why is mine the only universe where Luornu is allowed to be sexy?
• Not sure why Shrinking Violet (or Atom Girl or whatever the frig they call her over there) needs hotpants. Whatever.
• Their version of Element Lad still looks like a complete tool.
• Is it just me, or does Colossal Boy (or Micro Lad or whatever) looks way better, proportionally, if you mentally erase the random-looking brown quilting on his arms, neck, and head? Also, who designed that thing? The Constrictor? He looks like he's part-armadillo now.
• Chameleon (Boy?) is dressed for Ye Olde Renaissance Faire and I have no idea why. It's not an unattractive costume; it's merely generic and blandly colored.
• Sun Boy's still in his "pants on fire" costume which does absolutely nothing for me. For someone with an allegedly "dynamic" personality he sure looks insipid and tacky.
• Brainy's tunic rawks. I heartily approve! Let's hope he doesn't still have those dumb Bedazzled cheeks anymore.
• Shadow Lass's costume? Still slutty. I don't care if you put a grandly proportioned cape on her. I've seen hookers with floor-length mink coats; it didn't stop them from looking like hookers.
• Star Boy and Karate Kid? Been there, done that. Big yawn.
• Ultra Boy's costume is an old reliable, but at least it's not boring. Not sure about the cut-outs on his forearms. Maybe his forearms need the freedom to expand in battle, like they get really huge, like Popeye's. Also, I'm sure he'll pass that kidney stone eventually.
• Interesting variant on the classic Lightning Lad costume. Simple, but it works. And I applaud the absence of white on this version. It's actually kind of refreshing. Assuming that's not a printing error. For example, the lightning crackling from his hand has been rendered totally invisible, and it's making Saturn Girl's thighs look all wrinkly. And with this much yellow, I wonder if the navy blue should have been replaced with black. Or maybe a deep red! That'd be cool.
• Saturn Girl's costume got a deep, gravelly, rollicking laugh out of me because although I like it, I couldn't help thinking that in a Grant Morrison/Frank Quitely universe all the white bits would be exposed skin.
• Princess Projectra is still in her Count Jugula get-up with the stupid collar on it. Feh.
• Phantom Girl... yikes. I'm sorry, but the sheer number and placement of those cut-outs are just sad (and desperate). Whenever a group of people is ignoring her -- which is often -- she whips out the scissors and cuts another chunk out of her leotard. She's fast approaching the point of "no return," where she'll just be walking around buck-naked clutching a few scraps of fabric to her bosom and ladycrotch.

Some Scars Don't Heal

You know your comic book empire is in disarray when the letterer is micro-managing the colorist. ("Blue-skinned beauty"... FEH!)

Blockade Boy here, with the start of a brief (yet all-too-necessary) break from the Gravity Girl saga! I'll finally get around to the "Legion of Substitute Costumes" post for Rainbow Girl on Monday and I assume Storm Boy's post will be soon... the obsessive li'l bugger has been spending every waking hour (which for him is about six per day) writing it and when I try to ask him about his progress he mainly grunts or waves a broken bottle of space rum at me without even looking up, like I'm nothing, and then of course I have to slap the bottle out of his hand and belabor him about the head and shoulders with my cane or magnetic codpiece and then he just sinks to the floor in a heap and sobs for a little while. So I guess it'll be ready when it's ready. Whatever. And tomorrow I'll have the first of my "accessories for super-villains" (suggested by brilliant blogger Steven)!

Anyway! Behold the majesty of two Storm Boy original costume designs! Yes, both Storm Boy and myself finally hit the "big time" and sold some costumes to the Legion! I was responsible for Cosmic Boy's kick-ass black outfit as well as Element Lad's tasteful "green arrow" number, while Storm Boy can be held responsible for these things. The above panel depicts the ladies' initial reactions to seeing themselves in Storm Boy's garments. They're holding up better than I would under the circumstances. It always looks better in the store, doesn't it, gals? (You'll note that Shadow Lass already has located a gas can so she can burn her orange bra.)

Legion of Substitute Costumes Bonus: Plant Lad

That's what happens when you forget to water Plant Lad!

Kidding. Plant Lad is a mighty hero with the somewhat useful power of turning into any kind of plant. Which is awesome when the plant is some giant alien number that can move around and eat people, but somewhat less awesome when it's, say, one of your lame immobile Earth plants. Although I suppose that'd be useful for stealth missions. ("I don't remember seeing this potted fern here before--! Oh, well. As I was saying, the new secret codewords for our terrorist operation are...")

Historians will argue that Plant Lad never got rejected for membership by the Legion of Super-Heroes. They're actually correct. Kind of. Technically, he never even got to try out! See, many years ago Plant Lad and I were brunching at that Tartarus-style breakfast joint, the Infernal House of Pancakes. (Try ordering a "Devil's Dozen" donuts there. They'll give you four donuts, every time. Tartarusians, they're not so good with the math.) I believe I'd ordered the sulfur-roasted ham slab-wich, while Plant Lad was enjoying a nitrogen smoothie. Well, you'd never guess who tottered in, blitzed off her royal ass after a long night of partying, with her platinum hair mussed, one white opera glove missing, her magenta collar askew, and a tell-tale vomit stain down the front of her purple bustier. Yeah. Her.

So Plant Lad, bless 'im, was perpetually agog over celebrities back then -- he must have subscribed to twenty different holomags on the subject... People, Pod People, Pod People en Español, Popular Mechanics (featuring page after page of various mechanics who are popular), The Bismollywood Reporter, you name it! And before I could warn him about what a massive skank she was, Plant Lad rushed over to her and started gushing, and she was having none of it, and the words were just pouring out of his mouth at lightspeed and part of me wanted to grab him and drag him away from her before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. But another part of me wanted to grab my Omnicom, sit back, and record their conversation for posterity.

Their talk went exactly like this:

Plant Lad: --just an incredible inspiration for me, I mean I watch all your holotapes and I buy all your biographical supplements as soon as they come out and I even bought your limited edition line of shoes, like in every color and every size, of course they're not for me, I mean I don't wear them or anything, I mean I'm not a freak, ha, ha, heh, but I have them on this wall of shoes I made, because it's just a really interesting design element for my apartment, they're all like on little floating platforms, I mean "platforms" as in places to put shoes on not "platforms" as in platform shoes, heh, I guess it would be pretty silly of me to put shoes on top of more shoes, ha, uh, I mean how ridiculous would that look, although if anybody could pull it off it'd be you, you're just so elegant and regal and stylish and I think you give the Legion a lot of class which I think is so important, don't you, and by the way I'm a superhero myself, my name is Plant Lad which I guess I should have said before, heh, ha, ha, oh, er. and I can turn into all kinds of plants, and I know that sounds kind of useless, heh, um, but it's really not, I swear, like for instance there are actually a lot of plants that can move around, and they can grab things and they're like really strong and CAN I TRY OUT FOR THE LEGION?!!

Princess Projectra (bored): Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Plant Lad: Heh, ha, no, see, that was--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, I'm pretty sure you died. Who are you?! Do you work here?

Plant Lad: No, heh, what happened is I faked my own death, ha, I guess that's where you're confused, but--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, so I'd like to order the Satan Scramble with Faust Fries...

Plant Lad: I don't work here, ha, ha, but anyway I think I'd be a really valuable addition to your team, um...

Princess Projectra: ... and could you get me one of those cardboard Prince Evillo crowns? I'm gonna make my boyfriend wear one the next time we do it.

Plant Lad: Oh, heh, ha, I said I don't work here, I'm a superhero, er, oh, um...

Princess Projectra: So you're out of crowns?

Plant Lad: Heh, oh, er, huh?

Princess Projectra: Forget the food. Your service sucks. I'm going to tell my daddy to buy your restaurant and atomize it.

Then she left. Plant Lad stood there gaping for a moment, and then he s-l-o-w-l-y ambled back over to our booth. He slumped down in his seat. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" I asked.

He just stared down at his placemat for about a minute. Finally, without looking up, he mumbled, "She smelled like drain cleaner."

Poor dope. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have made it into the Legion anyway. Y'see, Plant Lad's people go through "active" cycles and "dormant" cycles. The "dormant" cycle, which lasts about four months out of every Earth year, begins with them getting kind of logy and dull-witted, and then they just stop moving altogether and become as stiff as boards. (But not in the good way.) So he's basically useless 1/3 of the time. Unless you're me, and you're clever enough to put him to work as a figurehead on your pirate ship!

But I dunno. Maybe he could have impressed certain skank-like royals (who then would have sponsored him for membership) if he'd dressed flashier. Like he does now! I convinced Plant Lad that his tall, lanky frame can pull off any look, and especially the look of a rock star! Check him out!

Oh, Plant Lad! Orange is definitely your color! It speaks of exotic orchids, clay flowerpots, and... er, pesticides. The woven midriff is based on a trellis, and I echoed that pattern with the hood and with the cut-outs on his boots. To visually round out his alarmingly equine face, I gave him oversized mirrored shades. The shades also send the subtle message, "I'm too important to make eye contact with you; inquiries can be made through my publicist." His knobby chin is adorned by a scalloped, leafy goatee of my own design, and of course the logo I created for him is proudly displayed on his left breast. Now, that's the look of a winner!

And the rest of the known universe evidently agrees with me! I'm happy to report that Plant Lad now enjoys thriving careers as an intergalactic New New Wave musician and two-time Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League champion... when he's awake, anyway. For the present, though, he's securely strapped to the prow of the H.M.S. Exquisite, scaring the holy bejeebus out of enemy ships.

Not a bad life, if you ask me.

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.

Pretension Around The Collar

Now that's what I call a bathrobe! It's a beaut. A real "Sunday-go-ta-meetin'" kind of bathrobe. You wouldn't take that thing into the john with you, no sir! And you couldn't go to sleep in it, either, 'cause you might roll over onto your side, and then the collar would shatter and the pieces would cut the holy bejeebus out of your face. And I'm pretty sure they're made of asbestos.

This delightful garment was worn by Karate Kid in "Legion of Super-Heroes" #288, (June 1982). Artwork by Keith Giffen, back in the brief, glorious time before all his characters looked like chainsaw sculptures. And yeah, the implication in that story is it's a ceremonial robe or somethin' along those lines, since his girlfriend Princess Projectra was about to be crowned Queen of the Entire Freaking Planet of Orando. But I think it was just a bathrobe, and that Karate Kid (the Keven Federline in this situation) told the higher-ups there, "Hey, I'm the future queen's boyfriend, assholes, so I'm gonna wear whatever shit I want to wear, and you are gonna suck it!" Hell, the robe probably has "PIMP" spelled out on the back. In rhinestones.

Now, maybe you think I'm being silly about this. "How can this fancy, uncomfortable thing be a bathrobe?" you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching with impatience for my shenanigans. And I would say, yes, it doesn't look comfortable! Yes, it does look like it's about to eat him alive! But check out what folks on Orando call an "easy chair."



I rest my case.

The Sweatsuit Competition: Miss America

What's her deal:
In 1943, Madeline Joyce's uncle sponsored a research scientist who kept a laboratory in an old lighthouse. A lightning bolt struck the tower while Madeline was inside it. Instead of electrocuting the intrepid lass, the massive voltage sent her into a coma. The scientist was consumed with guilt. He destroyed all of his machinery and himself along with it. A week later, Madeline recovered. Awesome timing, doc.

The accident, as it happened, had endowed Madeline with a veritable cornucopia of superpowers, such as flight, super-strength, super-intelligence (which one presumes would prevent her from doing any more snooping about in tall structures during electrical storms), x-ray vision and invulnerability. She designed a baggy, figure-concealing but mightily patriotic costume. Her alias: Miss America. Madeline at one point joined a super-team calling itself "The All-Winners Squad" -- a supremely ironic moniker considering the number of losers on the roster. Later she married one of those losers, Bob Frank, a.k.a. "The Whizzer." (He had super-speed. Why, what did you think it meant?) After the war, she lost most of her powers, due mainly to the fact she was being written by sexist male dickweeds. Her firstborn child was a radioactive supervillain named "Nuklo." Madeline died giving birth to a second child, who was stillborn. The end! Cheery, huh? First appearance: Marvel Mystery Comics #49 (Timely, October 1943).


Crimes against fashion:
Nearly the entire outfit. It looked like a track suit more than anything else, and it shouldn't have surprised me to learn it was made of terrycloth. The superhero emblem on her bosom looks like it should say "Phillips 66." And the teeny red cap! That misshapen yarmulke crept steadily forward over the years until it was practically over her eyes. Like most superheroes in her dimension, she had a secret identity but no mask. (Jeebus! C'MON!) She occasionally added harlequin glasses, which made her look less like a superhero and more like a really flamboyant librarian. Her hair ranged from blonde to black to brown, finally settling on brown. I think.

Our meeting:
It's a long, complicated story, so kindly bear with me. I was in the Timely/Marvel dimension circa 1944 when I approached Captain America with some great ideas for improving his dorky costume. Cappy barely let me get a word out before turning me down flat (and calling me "son" in the process, which really ticked me off). His parting shot? Telling me to shave off my sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops, which he termed "ridiculous." It was on. Not in the physical sense, mind you, because Captain America could clean my clock nine ways to Sunday. No, my plan was to hightail it to California and the studios of Republic Pictures so I could surreptitiously redesign the costume for the Captain America serial they were planning to shoot. Then he'd see how right I was! Mwuh-hah-hah-hah!

Well, yes, it's a terribly passive kind of revenge. What's your point?

I donned one of my superhero outfits. Then I snuck onto the lot, posing as an extra in a science fiction film. I quickly located the costume department, seized the Captain America designs, and set to work. I had only got as far as erasing those goofy wings from his cowl and penciling in a handgun when I heard a mob of people hollering about something or other. The huddled masses helpfully exposited that...
1. A director who craved realism had wrangled a genuine mummy for his latest picture.
2. Some sort of chemical mishap had brought the mummy to horrifying life!
3. The mummy had slung starlet Vera Hruba Ralston over its shoulder like a shapely sack of potatoes and taken off running, and...
4. It was headed this way!

With a loud sigh, I dropped everything and ran outside to face the menace head-on. I planted myself firmly in the path of the bandaged bandito and shouted my catchphrase, "Stop, in the name of Blockade Boy!" And then I turned into a steel wall. And then, as per usual, my foe ran around me and kept right on going. Have I mentioned that I don't turn into a very big steel wall?

To her credit, Miss Ralston was a champion ice skater and quite strong; at that point she had pounded on the mummy so hard that a good-sized hole had appeared in its lower back. Suddenly, a crimson meteor smashed down upon the mummy, reducing it to smithereens, and sweeping Miss Ralston away to safety. The red blur resolved itself into a dowdy lady in a stupid hat. It was Miss America! Seeing that I was a fellow super-powered adventurer, Miss America took me into her confidence. From there it was a simple matter to convice her to let me redesign her costume.

My presentation:
For your first option, I've merely tweaked your original outfit into something that's actually flattering.

Red is a strong color. It can be overwhelming when used in large quantities. So, I've eliminated your leggings. To compensate, I've lengthened the tunic into a short, pleated dress, just like ice skaters wear. It's practical yet feminine. To match your blue cape, I've added blue boots and blue gloves. You may have noticed that the boots are not high-heeled. That's because high-heeled boots are an absurd thing for a superheroine to wear. I remember getting into an argument with Princess Projectra about why she shouldn't wear heels, and she was all, "But my power is illusion-casting, I don't have to move around when I fight, and anyway I look really sexy in heels, blah blah blah, I'm a princess!" And then while we were just standing there talking, one of her ankles snapped in two. Heh! Um, anyway, I've trimmed the dress and the gloves in gold. I've also altered the symbol on your chest somewhat. The heart shape is more becoming to the female bosom. Plus, it represents how you love America, and this way it no longer resembles a highway marker. Finally, I've added a mask, because believe it or not, you need to conceal at least part of your face if you want to maintain a secret identity. No, really. No, REALLY. I'm not kidding. Well, I don't care what the Whizzer told you. Or the Thin Man. Or Red Raven. Or Dynamic Man OR the Human Top. Or-- look, these people are idiots, okay? Just trust me on this! Jeez! Okay then. Next!


Your second option is so fashion-forward it doesn't even exist yet! Or something like that. I wanted to give you the look a fighter plane, since your fabulous powers allow you to rain death upon all who oppose you. I've even borrowed the star from a Navy fighter for your new symbol! Well, yeah, I know they changed it last year. Well, it looks better this way. Moving on... in lieu of a mask, I thought we could put a bold, blue stripe of makeup right across your eyes, the way the Aztecs did! It matches your blue lipstick. It's all very intimidating! For the costume itself, we have a silver body suit with red-and-blue body armor on the shoulders, calves, and hips -- not that you need armor, being indestructible and all, but it's important for the look. Your waist is so thick it makes this outfit something of a gamble, but I think we can get away with it provided you lay off the fatty foods. Now, I'd like to draw your attention to the thick red lines over the crotch and across the thighs, which subtly frame your "lady business" -- OW! Hey, knock it off!

Miss America's response:
... was to slap me, which fractured my jaw and caused a couple of teeth to fly out of my mouth. "You are the rudest, most vulgar young man I have ever met in all my life!" she fumed. She stomped out the door, but before she disappeared from my life forever, she spun around and snapped, "And lose the sideburns and the nanny goat beard. You look like an idiot."

Oh, it's on NOW, honey.