Spidey Don't Surf

Preteens drawn by John Byrne = creepy, adult-faced dwarves. But I take it the human growth hormone finally kicked in.

What's wrong What else is wrong with this picture? Well, how's about the way Cassie appears to be dropping from the ceiling onto Scott, like a monster in a horror movie? But the main thing that bugs me is that Spider-Man t-shirt. In his own universe, the general public regards Spider-Man as a dangerous vigilante at best, and a creepy villain at worst. So this is kind of like giving her a jacket with Bernie Goetz's face embroidered on the back.

Deborah Whitman, This Will Be Your Life

I guess boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses! They just invite them as "dates" to Broadway shows. Wise up, Deborah! Pete doesn't have any exam to study for! He's making a bee-line straight for the nearest leather bar... where he will be "tested" by a guy named "Bone-Breaker."

(Meanwhile, an unemployed Dan Didio is forced to peddle his comic book ideas on the streets.)

Poor Deborah is so busy marinating in her own self-pity that she doesn't even notice who's sitting just across the aisle from her. No, it's not Estelle Parsons of "Roseanne" fame. It's the Spirit of Future Deborah Whitman! Oh, if only Deborah would take heed of this crocheted-hatted omen before it's too late! Check it out, Deborah... this is you in twenty years: your hair prematurely gray and styled in the classic "I don't give a shit anymore" tomboy cut favored by nihilistic grannies, your "signature" white scarf tattered and mended so many times it's barely long enough to qualify as a choker, your Harvest Gold wardrobe darkened by age and windblown grave soil into a dull orange, a teeny flowered hat and a scruffy fur collar the only signifiers of your gender, and riding a bus for all eternity. Sure, you won't need glasses anymore, but that's only because you'll be blind from reading Harlequin romances all day long. Get off the bus, Deborah! Get off and live!

Barefoot in the Dark

Last time, we learned that although a theater-destroying blaze was imminent, Peter Parker just couldn't change into his Spider-Man costume! But why? WHY?!

Now that Peter's got his trusty spring-loaded coke spoon at the ready, he can take care of bidness! (Hey, it was 1980. They gave those things out when you opened a new checking account.)

Fortunately for Peter, it would still be many years before the premieres of "Phantom of the Opera" and "Miss Saigon", so he doesn't have to worry about an audience filled with people anxiously scanning the ceiling, waiting for something to drop on top of them. Nobody will see him swing into action!

And mysteriously, Peter teased his nerdball "subway barber" haircut into a perfectly awesome pompadour, and even grew his sideburns a couple of inches longer through sheer force of will. (Meh. I can do that.) Hell, who needs a costume when you can instantly "trade up" in the facial hair department? So long, plain Peter Parker and hello, Spider-Elvis! He's got rhinestone-studded web-shooters and he's on the prowl for some peanut butter 'n' banana wheatcakes!

Below, the audience collectively faints from the smells of toenail fungus and Gold Bond powder.

Spider-Man: Never Nude

He can't change to his Spidey suit--? Is he kiddin'? He wears those obnoxiously-colored footie pajamas under everything, all day, every day! How else is he going to get into some tired "secret identity" jam that continuously destroys his pathetic attempts at a social life? For example...

Setting: Manhattan, the late 1970's, in a line outside a disco

Mary Jane: I still can't believe we're getting into the trendiest night-spot in town!

Glory: It's all a matter of who you know! The proper connections are so very important in life... like my new fella, Josh!

Josh: She means it helps if you have a boyfriend who won them in a radio contest.

Mary Jane: Either way, I just can't wait to get my Tiger out on the dance floor! It's been simply ages since we've gone anywhere, and I'm going to make him Hustle 'til it hurts! Right, Peter?

Peter: Anything for you, M.J.!

Peter [thinks]:That bouncer... he's frisking all the patrons before he lets them inside! What if he feels my web-shooters... or somehow gets a glimpse of my Spider-Man costume? It'll be "Goodbye, Web-Slinger!" I've got to think of something... and fast!

Peter: M.J., I just remembered... it's Aunt May's birthday, and I still haven't gotten her a card! I've got to run! Oh, and I'll be also be busy the entire rest of this evening. Seeya! [sprints away at spider-speed]

Mary Jane: But--!

Josh: Wow. Your boyfriend's kind of a douche.

Aaaand SCENE. So why wouldn't Peter be wearing it now? Unless... ye gads, he thinks he's gonna score tonight! With Deborah Whitman! Because nothing primes a gal for hot bedroom action like watching a green man hypnotize people into acting like chickens.

Journey to the Center of Deborah Whitman

Ah, Deborah Whitman...! You know Peter spent the entire date computing how long it would take him to remove Deborah's intricately-layered outer- and undergarments. If we break Deborah's ensemble down into its various strata, starting from the "crust", if you will, we'll find she's wearing:

• glasses (trifocals, natch)
• contact lenses (never can be too careful)
• a wig and a fall, over a hair net, protecting her extensions
• two layers of press-on nails
• an ascot, over a scarf, over a choker, over her neck brace
• boots over galoshes over sensible pumps over thick woolen socks over support hose
• a trench coat over a poncho over a parka over a windbreaker over a baggy sweater over a shapeless blouse with a ruffled collar over a long-sleeved jersey over a t-shirt over a 3-button henley shirt over an undershirt over a sports bra over pasties
• a maxi-skirt over culottes over bell-bottoms over capri pants over stirrup pants over boxer shorts over "granny panties" over a chastity belt over a lacy, crotchless number but good luck getting to it (and enjoy jerking off in your shower tonight). Loser!

Deborah and Peter, the "It" couple of the nerd community, are secretly watched by Mary Jane Watson, sitting one row back. Mary Jane has cleverly disguised herself by parting her bangs in the middle. Well played, Mary Jane! And why is Peter suddenly having to leave? Because he's hopelessly intoxicated by the sight of that mustachioed man-stallion sitting two seats down from him, and he has to go "release some web fluid" if you know what I mean. (And I think you do.)

All Glory to the Hypno-Toad

From "The Amazing Spider-Man" #207 (August, 1980) comes this panel, with a caption box featuring what will surely be a quote in some theater critic's review of Julie Taymor's upcoming (and currently venue-free) production of the Spider-Man rock 'n' roll musical:

Yes, here's Mesmero, described by scripter Denny O'Neil as "formerly a well-regarded X-Men nemesis", reduced to working as a performer in a cheap theater. I did about five seconds of research on Mesmero, thoroughly expecting to find out he'd been exterminated in some gruesome manner in a Civil War crossover. I was surprised to learn he lost his powers on M-Day and has since reformed. Really, Joe Quesada? REALLY? You ruthlessly wipe out minority heroes left and right, but this doofus in a combination bowler/Holly Hobby bonnet is still alive and kicking? C'mon! He was a shoo-in for a quick-yet-spectacular death! Old-school villain nobody was using anymore, with a stupid costume and a stupid name? And he was a hypnotist? What were you waiting for? Remember the Bug-Eyed Bandit!* Remember the Miracle Man!**

Now, I'm not saying I personally want Mesmero dead. Remember, my motto is that there are no bad characters; just bad writers... like for instance, Denny O'Neil. And I love it when criminals actually reform, and I hate it when some writer comes along and undoes a reformation. *ahemGEOFFJOHNSahem* It's just that letting Mesmero "off the hook" seems out-of-character for Quesada's Marvel, and that disturbs me. My world, it is turned upside-down! Oh well, I'm sure Quesada will get around to kacking him eventually.

*Iced by a Shadow Demon in "Crisis on Infinite Earths"
**One of a couple dozen D-list villains offed by Scourge operatives

So Who Thinks They Want to Be a Superhero Who Can Dance With the Stars?

This panel has zero to do with fashion, but it's so resplendently awesome that there was no way I could live with myself if I didn't post it.

"The Spectacular Seamstress I'm Not!"

In "Spectacular Spider-Man" #66 (May 1982) Spider-Man takes Cyclops' "body condom" idea to an entirely new level. Watch out! Here comes Spider-Gimp!

Spider-Man wishes he knew how to quit that old rubber air-mattress. But whenever he gets anxious or blue, he pulls it out of storage and gnaws and gnaws...! The rubber tastes so good in his mouth! He knows he should just throw the old thing away. But he couldn't bear the thought of someone else taking it and doing God only knows what to it. They might even sleep on it, which is just disgusting. Spider-Man tries hiding the rubber air-mattress around his apartment, and then to forget where he put it he hits his durable skull with a hammer or he drinks tequila or paint thinner. But the memories always return. They have a special bond, Spider-Man and the rubber air-mattress. If ony there was some way the two of them could be together always. And if by some chance it could help him fight Electro, well, that'd be a bonus. And that's when he gets the idea.

One masturbatory fugue state later, the suit is almost complete! But reality presses its sandpapery elbow into his windpipe with a phone call...

...from Aunt May. Spider-Man softly swears to himself. He can hear her skeevy retirement home "boyfriend" Nathan barking at her from a distance. As the old woman blathers on, Spider-Man's hands toy with one of the rubber suit's sleeves. He presses it against his cheek for a moment. Then pulls it slowly downward, shuddering as it rolls over the hard, knotted muscles in his neck, over his collar bones and his painfully stiff nipples. The rubber sleeve skitters down the corrugated surface of his rigidly-defined abs, and then...! He offers his aunt a hasty agreement to whatever the hell she was asking of him and hangs up the phone.

(At the retirement home, May glances over at Nathan, slumped defeatedly in his chair. A smile plays at the corner of her wizened mouth. The old "hard-of-hearing" routine worked again! She remembers the night she'd first needed to use it. "Sock your weiner?! If that's what you wish, dearest!" And then she'd pummelled his crotch, mercilessly. If only it wasn't such a bother to keep up the pretense! And Nathan is beginning to bore her, what with his depressing stories about serving in "Easy Company" and his constant exclamations of "Jehosephat!" and his farting. She makes a mental note to serve him a cup of the "special tea" that would have felled her husband Ben -- had a criminal's bullet not taken care of the old man first.)

Spider-Man looks at the various rubber pieces piled in front of him and realizes he needs a way to assemble them. Electro would burn right through any thread he has on hand. A wave of panic passes through him. He ruined his beloved rubber air-mattress for nothing! His hand falls upon a tube of airplane glue. Of course! That always helps him to calm down. He takes a good strong whiff and, dizzy from the fumes, collapses to the floor. The tube falls from his hand and bounces onto one of the rubber gloves. "Aw, hellllll..." Spider-Man slurs. He stares at it for nearly five minutes before rousing himself. He picks up the tube. The glove comes with it. Spider-Man wonders what it could mean.

After another hour (spent mostly in watching TV) he puzzles it out. He could glue the suit together! In no time at all, he has the costume assembled. It's not quite the same as his old one, and he's sorely tempted to doodle some webs on it with a magic marker, but he's already sick of making it so he just slips it on. The epoxy fumes roil off the rubber suit. Spider-Man blinks. The rippling air currents make his tiny apartment look insubstantial. He wonders if he should have worn a filter mask. He wonders if he owns a filter mask. And yet, the epoxy tube said it was "quick-drying." Or did it? He didn't speak German. He scavenges through the mess in his closet and locates the filter mask he'd worn when he'd refinished Aunt May's hope chest. He slips it on. The flowers on his couch wither, then bloat, monstrously, as though infected. A knot hole in the floor purses shut in disapproval. Spider-Man tries to ignore the trembling in his hands as he holds the mask overhead. "I just have to slip in my one-way eye lenses and I'm ready for action!" he tells himself. He lowers the glue-soaked cowl over his head, and the world dissolves.

In the Daily Bugle offices, the typically gloomy atmosphere is darkened not a whit by the blackout.

The crossword puzzle editor squeezes the shoulder of the paste-up artist. "How ya holdin' up, O'Donnell?" he offers.

The paste-up artist moans. "Jameson had me make up another 'Spider-Man Dies' front page. From scratch. I try an' tell him, we only need to make it up once. Nobody knows jack about Spider-Man now and when he dies I don't see how it's gonna be no different. But he never listens."

The crossword puzzle editor shakes his head. He watches Jameson on the other side of the room, ranting about something-or-other to a copy boy who looks about ready to pee his pants. "Crazy old bastard," he chuckles. He pats the paste-up man's shoulder. "You get used to it," he says.

At a nearby desk, the obituaries editor mutters into his telephone, "I'll tell 'em." He hangs up the phone, clumsily and loudly. He repeats to nobody in particular, "I'll tell 'em."

Jameson's raspy baritone rattles through the assembled staff. "Parker! Where the FUCK is Parker?!"

The obituaries editor swallows, hard. "He's dead, Jonah."

Jameson's everpresent cigar falls from his lips. "DEAD?!" he shouts, as though challenging the editor's assertation. The hairs of his mustache bristle threateningly.

The obituaries editor nods. "Turns out he was a huffer! Can you beat that shit? And the hell of it is, when his landlady found the body, he was dressed in a rubber Spider-Man costume."

Jameson grins. His eyes fix on the paste-up artist. "O'Donnell!"

The crossword puzzle editor gently shoves the paste-up man forward. "Go get 'im, tiger!"

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!

Does Whatever a Buckle Can

In "The Spectacular Spider-Man" #32 (July 1979) the hero probes the "House of Darkness" with a light mounted just above his crotch.

Yes, who doesn't enjoy projecting an image of their own face from their belt buckle? (I also have one of those Phantom-style rings that permanently imprints a goggles-wearing skull on a guy's ass cheek -- er, I mean, "forehead." 'Cause I'm two-fisted! Um. Well, you know what I mean.)

Wow, fifteen feet away and the image is still crisp. I wonder how he controls that thing. If it's like mine, then his right ball works the brightness level, his left ball operates the focus, and his dick is the zoom. (The dick is always the zoom.)

Fun fact: I have this idea for a "spotlight dance" belt buckle that combines the spider-signal with a "dance ray" utilizing the rare element Tarantellium. Just train the light on a bad guy and shout out a dance style (like the Hustle or the Shurg) and they have to do it. It would be a great gizmo for a hero with a name like "Captain American Bandstand" or "The Soul Trainer" or maybe a super-group called "The Party Machine with Nia People." I've got a prototype model but so far all it does is cause dangerous epileptic seizures and severe retinal damage. (Again, Jeremy, I apologize.)

Hey, bonus!

Extreme Makeover: Hovel Edition! Okay, how is this not a shambles? For reals. It's a rusted tricycle and two commemorative spoons away from qualifying as a flea market.

Some People--!

Me: Spider-Man of 1986, if you had a nightclub act about your black costume, how would it go?

[in the distance, a piano vamp begins -- softly at first, but steadily growing louder]

Spider-Man: Well, y'see, I'd pretend I was home getting dressed for patrol. I'd take some mousse and mousse my hair. I'd take some web fluid, smell it, and put it in my web shooters. And then I'd spot the audience!

[a full orchestra kicks in as he sings, to the tune of "All I Need Is The Girl" from "Gypsy"]

Once, my look was garish.
That shit? Fanboys* cherish.
Reds so bright they glow,
Blues that shock you more than Electro.

So I had to update,
Maybe yellow -- but wait!
Spider-Woman 2
Has class up the wazoo.

Goodbye red!
So long blue!
Black and white's the thing to do!

Now I'm stylin'.
Chicks are smilin'.
I'm a 5'10 dream-come-true!
And the Black Cat
Says I'm "all that."
Sure, the first try turned out to be a symbiote;
That's been my luck since I was a zygote.

Spandex:
What I used next.
If you ask me, it's a beaut!
And fanboys*
Often lack basic hygiene, style and poise

Which makes all of their insults moot.
All I really need's my black suit!

This isn't a popular opinion, I know, but I really hate Spider-Man's red-and-blue suit. It's just too busy. All those webs? It's an ugly mess. That's why I prefer his old black-and-white number from the pre-Venom 80's. It has the most important costume elements of the original -- Mexican wrestling mask eyeballs and the spider logo -- and scraps all the extraneous detail. (Why the hell would a spider have webs on its own body? That'd be like Hawkman covering his costume with little nests.) And the bright colors didn't help support a recurring plot-point in the book: that many New Yorkers describe Spider-Man as "creepy" or "inhuman-looking." Really? The muscular wisecracking guy in the bright red-and-blue costume is "creepy?" (I hope the Silver Age Atom isn't reading this; he's already feeling bad enough about himself.) Whatever, people. At least the black-and-white suit looks a bit more grown-up and intimidating. (Cue up clip of Spider-Man emerging from behind a changing screen, wearing his black-and-white number for the first time, mask in hand, and catching his reflection in a full-length mirror. His lips curl in a tentative smile, and then joyful tears begin to stream down his face. "I'm handsome--!" he gasps. "I'm a handsome superhero, Marvel...!")

By the time "Web Of Spider-Man" #17 (August, 1986) appeared in stores, Spider-Man had gotten rid of the alien symbiote and had taken to alteranating between a fabric reproduction of the alien suit and his hideous old duds. I'd hoped he'd finally decide to stick with the black-and-whites. But then David Michelinie put an end to the costume controversy with the "nuclear option" of plotlines: creating a supervillain who wore the alien version of the costume, and then having him assault Mary Jane. So much for Peter Parker ever wearing black again, huh? (Jeebus. It's like a candidate in a Presidential debate using a shotgun on his opponent.)

Of course, the Spider-Man franchise has had myriad problems since the late 80's *coughCloneSagacough* so an ugly (yet inexplicably popular) costume really is small potatoes when compared to all the rest of it. Still, I really miss that costume.

*Not you guys! You guys are great!

The Tragic Decision Of Betty Brant!

A one-act play by Blockade Boy, adapting a scene from "Amazing Spider-Man" #195 (August, 1979) by Marv Wolfman and Keith Pollard.

Curtain rises on the exterior of Empire State University's cafeteria building. Ned Leeds leans pensively near the door. He checks his watch.

Ned: Where on earth can my wife be? It's not like her to be late!

Betty Brant Leeds enters from off-stage, walking briskly, a smile on her face. As she nears her husband, she pats and smooths her hair to make sure no follicles have slipped out of place.

Ned: There you are! What in blazes took you so long? You know I told you to meet me here at exactly twelve o'clock!

Betty: Oh, dearest, I feared my tardiness would anger you, but I did it for us! I just came from the beauty parlor! Don't you just adore what I've done with my hair?

Ned: To be frank, Betty, I don't adore it! It makes you look like Prince Valiant's nancy-boy cousin! And you know very well that any and all decisions about your personal appearance are to approved by me beforehand!

Betty (tearing up): I-- I only wanted to make you happy, Ned!

Ned: And you failed miserably. Oh, don't start sniveling now. I want us to practice one last time what we're going to say to that loser, Peter Parker. It is vital that we present a united front! Why, the poor fool thinks you're still in love with him!

Spectacularly, the set rotates, to the vigorous applause and orgasmic sighs of the audience. A massive chandelier descends upon the crowd, then rises again while a helicopter swoops overhead. Weirdly-costumed dancers swarm over the audience, fondling them, then vanish in a cloud of noxious vapor. When the gas clears, we can now see the interior of the cafeteria. Peter Parker kneels awkwardly over a dropped tray in front of the cashier. Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson point and jeer.

Harry: Hey, Flash -- it's Mr. Grouch of 1979! (giggles)

Flash: Christ, Harry, it's not that funny. And quit laughin' like that. That squeaky, nasal titter of yours always creeps me out!

Peter: Knock it off, Harry... I already apologized for missing your party!

Harry: I know what you said, Peter. It's just that I had ice-cream cake and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and everything.

Ned and Betty enter the cafeteria.

Ned: There you are, Parker! Your landlady said you'd be here.

Betty: Remember what I said, Ned -- don't get angry!

Peter: Ned Leeds?

Betty: Peter! What happened to your arm?

Peter: I broke it avoiding a cat!

The lights dim and a spot appears center stage. Peter emerges from the darkness and takes his place in the spotlight.

Peter: Oh, if only I wasn't leading this accursed yet wholly necessary double-life! If only I didn't have to spin this spider's web of lies! If only I could tell Betty that I was the swashbuckling-yet-sensitive hero Spider-Man and that I broke my arm chasing after a sexy cat-burglar with a great rack plus she totally has the hots for me.

Peter returns to his place in the scene. The lights go up.

Ned: All right, Parker-- we're going to end this game right now. Tell my wife you'll never see her again!

Betty: You don't have to, Peter... tell him you care about me...

Peter: Hunh?

Flash: Hey, Betty! Don't look now but your hair-do is eating your head!

Harry: Yeah, Betty, what's with the bouffant? Are you auditioning for the Shirelles? (giggles)

Flash: Once again, Harry, it wasn't that amusing. And teach yourself a new way to laugh. You sound like a freaking child molester.

Ned: C'mon, Parker-- I'm getting sick waiting for your answer! Are you going to stand between Betty and me? Are you going to break up our marriage!?? (He grabs Peter's busted arm)

Betty: Ned! For goodness' sakes-- stop it!

Peter (wincing): No! He's grabbed my bad arm! The pain!

Peter swings at Ned with his good arm. Ned lurches back, out of harm's way.

Peter: That tears it, Mister-- get your hands off me-- now! You want an answer. I'll give you one! I don't wanna see either of you loonies again!

Betty: What do you mean, Peter? We... we care for each other!

Peter (in another aside to the audience): Now's my chance... if I'm a heel, Betty will go back to Ned. I can never be the kind of husband Betty needs. Besides, that new hair-do of hers makes her look like a crazy person. Like a brunette Suzanne Sommers on coke! It's like she's wearing a snood made out of hair! No, she's better off without me and with a rage-filled, possessive lout who could get brainwashed into becoming a supervillain.

Peter takes his place once more.

Peter: Care? Don't make me laugh, Betty... even though that "Bettie Page meets Moe Howard" hairstyle of yours is a real rib-tickler... no, you were just convenient... You showed up when Mary Jane jilted me. Besides, I can tell your first love is a limp-wristed hair burner who's sucking your wallet dry while he gives you the ugliest hair-dos in all creation!

Betty (sobbing): No! You can't mean that!

Peter: Don't bet on it, lady!

Betty stares at Peter in disbelief for a moment. Then she slaps his face.

Betty: How could I have been so wrong about you? How could you say what you did?

Peter: Take a good look in the mirror, honey. That is, if you can see past the three pounds of mascara you have on right now. (to himself) Oh, now I'm overdoing it.

Betty: I-- I came to you as a friend... oh, what a fool I've been...!

Betty storms out the door.

Flash: Well, there goes another girl Parker's wiped his ass with and flushed down the toilet.

Harry: A journey through the New York sewer lines can only improve that mess she calls a hair-do! Am I right? High-five! (giggles)

Flash: Don't talk to me anymore.

The curtain falls.

Letters From A Henchman, Part Two: Evil On Parade

Dear Gladys,

I ben in prison again for two hole months now and you never come seen me or wrote me or nothing so I am writing you a new letter to say how come. Maybe you never got the last letter I sent you so to sum up, since I got outta prison I racked up some pretty heavvy gambeling debts but then I gotta job to pay them off only the job was for this supervillain named "Meeraj" and he was gonna kidnap the Thing from a hospitle but it turns out Meeraj ain't that good a supervillain and long story short we got caught and I'm in prison again. Also I asked you to send some mackaroons for me and my cell mate Fabian cause it turns out we both like mackaroons. But in case you DID get my last letter then you remmember how I said I would tell you what happenned when I was in that big supervillain army that was in all the papers so here goes.

Like I told you before Daredevil was beating the holy hell outta us henchmen but then Meeraj decides he is gonna take him on singlehanded and he uses his illuzhun deal to make dooplickets of himself so I elbow this other guy Charlie and I say "This hole jobs gone south so whaddaya say we make a break for it" and Charlie says "Thats a pretty good idea." So we take off those dumb head gear things Meeraj made us wear and we just stroll around the corner easy as you please trying to disguise our limps and trying to make sure none a the bloody teeth Daredevil knocked loose fall outta our mouths and also we pass a supply closet so Charlie and me slip in there real quick and put on some operating pajamas over our bad guy outfits and next thing you know we are near the front door. Oh and meanwhile a bunch a other crap is going on like Thor fighting the Mole Man so its not like people are paying any attenshun to us anyway. But right outside the front doors is four cops with guns and me and Charlie deside to double-back but then this guy in a black catfish mask or something knocks them all out with a gas grenade and we figger he's gonna walk right in thru the doors but instead he blasts a hole in the wall NEAR the doors and walks thru THAT which is just stupid. And then he gets punched in the kisser by Ant Man and then ants attack and he runs away. And then Ant Man flies off so we finally can make it outside and I am thinking we are home free but then we run smack dab into this guy named "The Melter" who right away can tell we are henchmen so he pretty much orders us to join his supervillain army. And I know what you say Gladys about how I shud stand up for myself more but I was really stuck there, I mean I don't got no super powers and the other guy was named "The Melter" which told me right then and there that if I did'nt do what he said he was gonna melt something offa me like maybe an arm or even my head. So the Melter marches us thru a alley to a old department store that nobody was using and it is filled to the gills with bad guys. I see a lotta guys I seen on teevee before like the Constrickter and the Rhino and the Beatle and Blacklash plus that one guy with the big giant head and the Pete Rose haircut, M.U.R.D.O.C.K. or whatever. And also my cell mate Fabian was there! Only I did'nt know it at the time since we had'nt met yet and also he was in a suit of armer and he called hisself the Meckano Marawder. Anyway some a them had already got their tails kicked in the hospitle but they figgered strenth in numbers so why not just head back down there in a mob? So we did.

Well I wish I could say we were a scary site but to tell the truth a lotta the guys were kinda chubby and out a shape espeshully the Constrickter and even the ones who were halfway fit were dressed like freaking circus clowns like Blacklash and that dumb green Judy Jetson ponytail of his or the Melter and his two-tone stripey pants and teeny helmet or even my pal Fabian who had a suit that made him look like a robot version of our nations capital. And then the women were'nt even hot or nothing they were wresslers I guess so they had man sholders and these huge fat asses and I swear that one lady Poundcakes even had what looked to me like a shlong. Oh and the only skinny one was Screaming Mimi but she was even dressed EXACKTLY like a clown with the face paint and the ruffly skirt like Cyndi Lauper and you know how much I valew our merrage Gladys so let me confess right here and now that yes I was thinking about putting the moves on her but then it ockurred to me how much I love you and also she came off as kinda twitchy and crazy and like a real ball cutter if you know what I mean so I left well enuff alone. So anyway we are marching down the street and me and Charlie are stuck in the back with the Mole Man's guys plus I have to walk right behind the Rhino who smells like our Naugahyde couch after that one time when your brother Freddie got drunk and peed hisself so already I can tell this whole mess is not going to turn out good. And alla the people on the sidewalks are pointing at us and gabbing and they look real ecksited but they do'nt look scared or nothing cause like I said we ressemballed a parade more than a army. That one guy M.U.R.D.O.C.K. even FLOATS like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. If I remmember it rite I think one kid even yelled at us and wanted to know why we were'nt throwing any candy. And then we don't even make it back inside the hospitle cause there is a ekwally big army of superheros waiting for us right outside the doors and then we all throw down.

There were some good guys I reckognized like Captin America and the Fantastick Four but also a bunch I never seen before or at least if I did I do'nt remmember which cud be from all the times they knocked me in the head. Like there was this metal guy in red hip-waders and this furry blue guy with a devil tail and also the HULK was there if you can belive it even tho I still ca'nt cause I did'nt even know the Hulk WAS a good guy since he mainly just runs around destroying shit and also is'nt the US GOVERMENT looking for him rite now? I mean it'd be like if the cops in London were shooting at some bank robbers and then the Irish Republickan Army shows up and says to the cops "Hey can we help?"

So in the fight a couple a our guys get taken out right away like Meeraj OF COURSE and also the Melter which is just sad since the whole clusterfuck was HIS IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE but by then we are in the middle of it so we ca'nt just turn tail and run. Me and Charlie are just doing our best to stay out a the way, ducking and dodging and shit and then Thor nails Fabian right in the belly but he manages to get a few shots off which is cool but the only fighters he took out with them are the Mole Man's guys so that's like minus points for our team. Now I am not one hunderd percent positiv this next part happened like I saw it so bear with me but I coulda sworn Spider-Man shot a web outta his CROTCH and rode the Rhino around like a bull at a rodeo, anyways thats what it looked like from my angle. Also this short hairy-armed guy in a ugly orange and brown outfit is fighting Blacklash using KNIVES on his hands so I guess he's another villain who got confused like Fabian did. I bet his face is read now! The last thing I remmember this orange Bigfoot guy I never seen before lifts some robot guy I never seen before over his head and then M.U.R.D.O.C.K. shoots a squiggly laser outta his noggin and lifts the Bigfoot guy offa the ground and tosses him like twenty feet thru the air and guess who he lands on? Yours truly. Not to menshun the Bigfoot guy got knocked out so I'm trapped underneath him with his knee-length pubes in my mouth until the cops show up.

So now I'm in jail again. Gladys I know we had our problems but I miss you and to tell you the truth what scares me most is how much I DO'NT MIND seeing no women around here. Fabian is great and we can talk for hours and hours or sometimes we just look at each other which is nice too since he has these really good looking eyes and a nice smile and his back massahges are the BEST but you are my wife and we will always have that. So please come and see me here real soon okay? I love you.

Your faithfull husband,
Lenny

P.S. Don't forget the mackaroons.