Belly Shirt State Penitentiary

Let's go-go to prison!

Here's the Dazzler, from issue number 13 of her own comic (March, 1982), bralessly fighting for her very life against the Grapplers! Not to be confused with the Gropers, whom I'm pretty sure are Chuck Austen characters. And this titanic tussle takes place in Ryker's Island! ("I've read about that place", Dazzler exclaims to her permed-and-mustachioed lawyer. "It's a JUNGLE!" No, dear. It's a prison.)

Now, you might assume from the tomato-red hue of Dazzler's top (with matching clam-diggers, and I apologize for how dirty that sounds) that she's wearing an actual prison uniform, and maybe she found the time to alter it into something trashier, and also she removed the numeric I.D. patch, and really that's an awful bunch of assuming, and I have to wonder at this elaborate dream-world you've created for yourself.

But NO.

In fact, HELL NO, because these are the Dazzler's own clothes. See, the Dazzler apparently decided that this flimsy get-up -- sans bra! -- would be just the thing to wear to a rough 'n' tumble prison! Criminy. And yet, it's far from the most salacious ensemble worn by a female prisoner there! Let's flash back to a few pages earlier, when the Dazzler is unceremoniously dragged onto what appears to be the set of a Jim McMahon courtroom drama:

Yes, in 20th-century American prisons, the inmates just saunter around in their undergarments. ...DAMN IT! How come I never was told this? I could have volunteered to teach some brawny, nearly-nude he-hoodlums how to read, or some shit. And then somebody would have made an inspirational movie about me. For Colt Studios. ...Wow, my whole life could have been different. Holy BALLS!

J'onn J'onzz, Playa From Mars

The Martian Manhunter's "bachelor capsule" is in a geosynchronous orbit, and is equipped with all the latest alien-babe-snagging devices. There's the Living Loveseat, which contracts into a tulip shape when triggered by certain pheremones; the chlorine-fog machine (an aphrodisiac for many species; pure poison for others, so choose wisely); and, of course, the vibrating pillow with blinking hypno-light button.

The belly-baring gal hopes to get J'onn to play "policeman" with her, since she wants him to yell "Hands up!" and she's not wearing a bra. (Also note how the arrow on her belt buckle subtly points to the location of her unearthly genitalia.)

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.)

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!

Captain Comet's Very Fashionable Day

In "Strange Adventures" #22 (July 1952) Adam "Captain Comet" Blake attempts to enliven his dull civilian job as an information clerk by dishing out wholly spurious information to gullible young nerds. And if that doesn't work, there's always the completely edible suit he's wearing. The jacket and trousers? A delicate black truffle mousse. The shirt? Stitched together from only the finest cuts of veal. And the tie? A salmon. Blocked by Captain Comet's knee (um, that is a knee, right? I know he's a mutant and all, but GODDAMN!): the salmon's head, which still has the skin on it, and which gazes balefully out at the knickers-wearing preteen loser before it, knowing full-well that the moment the kid sets foot outside the library, a bottlecap beanie-wearing ruffian will punch him in the gut and steal his milk money.

Despite his best efforts, Captain Comet allows his futuristic mind to drift away from the situation at hand, and reminisce about the exciting events of the previous day, when he was summoned by a bunch of wizened old extraterrestrial men in floor-length blue robes.



Screw jeans and Hawaiian shirts! This is a what I call "Casual Fridays", my friend! Plus, they've installed a small roller derby rink in the middle of the room. Too cool! And do those desk chairs look comfy or what? I bet they recline.

I understand they've already instituted the robe policy at the headquarters of American Express. Floor-length robes for everybody! Whoo-hoo! The only downside? If a guy chooses to "go commando," it leaves a funny smell on the chair. Check out the orange guy's hat. Nope, he's not wearing a backwards baseball cap. Although I admit that would be kind of awesome. Let's look at another one of those charming chapeaus, in more detail.



Remember that hip-hop trend of wearing a sun visor backwards and upside-down? This is kind of like that. (Side note: is this still a trend in your time period? I can't always keep the fashion trends straight, what with me being a time traveler and all. Say, have, tall, pointy wizard hats become popular for men yet, in your era? No? Oh, right, that's next year. Something for you to look forward to!)



On the icy world of Lukan, the only natives we ever see are fully grown, male, and shirtless. Yay! And they're all made out of some crystalline substance. Boo! In a grand old sci-fi tradition, there seems to be a planet-wide uniform, and it's black underpants. The guards wear the tighty-blackie numbers you see here, while the leaders wear longer, baggier versions. I guess instead of asking for your rank, a Lukanian crystal man might demand, "Boxers or briefs?!"

Side note: I can understand that if you were a crystal man and you saw a fleshy pink alien creature rushing towards you, that you'd feel a mite anxious. But really, dude, did you have to pee your pants like that? I mean, that puddle is freaking huge! How many cups of coffee did you drink this morning?



Belly shirt sighting! In 1952, yet! Okay, so it's not quite the same thing, but still. This is a little closer to the get-up Lana Turner wore in "The Postman Always Rings Twice." Check out the high-water panties. Don't want to expose the belly button, now do we? That would be utterly pornographic. Just imagine if Jim Balent had designed this outfit. It would look like about three strands of mint-flavored dental floss.

In the exciting climax of the story, Captain Comet takes one look at the metal circlet on Radea's head and says, "Oh, honey... no. Just... no. You look like a Renaissance disco nightmare in that thing. Here, allow me...!"



See, there's bad jewelry, and then there's really bad jewelry. But you scoff. Who ever heard of a piece of jewelry that could control someone's behavior? *rolls eyes* Such a thing exists in your own time! It's called a wedding ring, people! Gah! (Not that it's foolproof, I'll admit.) Okay, now that Captain Comet got that circlet off Radea's head, I really want to do something about her hair. Oh, well.



Back at the library, Captain Comet has to deal with an antagonistic blonde. Lucy Lane's cousin, perhaps? As you can see, the haughty hottie has been engaging in the ancient Chinese practice of hand binding. Her right paw is now utterly useless, but I'll be darned if it isn't a tantalizingly delicate little thing. Do you think these two might secretly have a thing for each other? I mean, they did decide to coordinate their wardrobes that day. (Just like Weight Wizard and I used to do. *bittersweet sigh*) On the other hand, check out Captain Comet's expression. His words may be casual, Hugh Grant-style dithering, but his face says, "I don't care how many flowers you stick in that bleached-blonde rats' nest you call your hair, it still ain't gonna distract people from the mustache, bitch."

The Mighty Fugly Thor

First of all, I'd like to second the "?!" the off-panel lady used in her word balloon, and I'd like to add, if I may, "??!!!?!???!!?!?!!" There, that should cover how I feel. Which is hurt. I feel like somebody took my eyes and gave them an Indian burn, a swirlie, and about twenty power sit-ups.

This is from "Avengers: The Crossing" #1 (September 1995). Those were dark days for superhero costumes, my friend. I really don't like Thor's original outfit (now there's somebody I could help, if he didn't kill me first) but this thing is a mess. Let's break it down:

1. The straps, MY GOD, the straps! What is their purpose? And why are there so many of them? He strapped his boots, for Pete's sake. Why, was there some danger of them falling off of his feet? Plus, he strapped his gloves! Also, there appears to be a fan belt on his thigh. Of special note is the Barney Rubble lace-up action between the spikes.

2. The spikes. And on his thighs, yet. Were there a lot of people attacking the sides of your thighs, Thor? Is that why you put the spikes there? On the shoulderpads I can kind of understand but even so, the spikes are so fat and far apart from one another (more obvious in other panels, I admit) that they lose all effectiveness. To illustrate that fact, I'd like to present a little one act play I've written, called "Triumph Of The Troll King!"

(Curtain rises on a bleak Asgardian plain. Standing amidst scores of dead, two final opponents face off. They are Geirrodur, King of the Trolls, and Thor the Thuder God. Geirrodur is heavily armored and weilds two axes. Thor holds his legendary hammer and is dressed in a ridiculously convoluted outfit.)

Thor (waves his hammer menacingly): Thou dost hesitate, Troll King! Know, then, that the Mighty Thor shall show thee mine godly mercy, provided thou dost drop thy weapon and surrender to Asgard!

Geirrodur: Naw, see, I was just looking at your armor and my first thought was "Oh shit, spikes" but then I got a better look at those puppies and I thought, "Well, hell, not only are they kinda chunky and non-threatening looking but really, I could probably fit my whole hand between 'em. Like this! (With alarming speed, Geirrodur's axes sever both Thor's arms at the shoulder.)

Thor: Not cool, dude.

(Curtain falls)

3. Belly shirt! Mind you, I did something similar with my Black Condor redesign, but with the preponderance of spikes, the exposed abdomen seems more like a gaping flaw in Thor's battle armor than a "design element." As a side note, I'd just like to point out that this was in 1985 when the whole idea of a belly shirt actually seemed fresh and fashionable. Which makes the current Supergirl's costume seem even more dated and whore-ish.

4. Introducing: chastity belts for men! How uncomfortable does that thing look, huh? And what happens if he has to pee? (Aw, who am I kidding? He's a god! He can hold it in. For eons.)

5. The hammer now has a big fat chain on it. Not for any practical purpose, but because it looks kewl. Not "cool," mind you. "Kewl." Which is considerably less cool than "cool."

6. Get a haircut, hippie! Yes, our Thor went out and got himself some hair extensions. The hair is even longer, fuller, more lustrous, and gravity-defying in other panels and on the wraparound cover of this comic, especially. While he's obviously spending a lot of time taking care of those extensions, they just seem like they'd get in the way during a fight. And imagine what he looks like when it gets wet. That's right. He looks like Janice from "The Muppet Show."

If I remember right, Thor had this look in about four issues of his own comic before it was finally cancelled. Turns out their target audience was only going to purchase books with ugly, strappy costumes and sketchy anatomy if they had a big "i" on the cover.

Nation's Capitol Unprepared For Latest Outbreak Of Bird Floozy

'Cause she lives in Washington DC, y'see, and she's dressed like... well, hell YES, it was a long, convoluted set-up for a lame pun. So? You wanna fight about it?

I think we just found the Black Condor a girlfriend! Not that he's into that. But let's move on. In your time period, when sexless nerds want to gape at statuesque, lingerie-clad females with feathers on their backs, they just Google images from the Victoria's Secret "Angel" collection. In 1982, they had to read "Wonder Woman" #288. The gal with the loquacious brain and the vivacious everything else is the Pre-Crisis Silver Swan, or as I like to think of her, "the good one." Whereas the two Post-Crisis versions were, respectively, a victim of domestic abuse with zero personality, and a mindless assassin (with bad hair), this Silver Swan knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it. What she wanted was to stay beautiful forever. And to get it, all she had to do was fulfill her deal with the god Mars and kill Wonder Woman. Like Poison Ivy, she was irresistible to men, and like Killer Frost, she was a vicious man-hater. And she had a great costume. The paradox is that individually, none of the parts really work -- the Scarlet Witch-style headdress, the puffy sleeves with attached cape, the lacy collar -- but dad-blast it if it doesn't look swell all put together! Well played, Swan. Well played.

Shawl That Heaven Allows: The Black Condor

What's his deal:
Viva la plot contrivance! When Richard Grey Jr. was a baby, his parents took him with them on an archeological dig in one of the numerous remote locations in Mongolia. (Fun fact: remote locations account for 93% of that enchanting land!) Marauding bandits wiped out the entire expedition, save for Baby Richard. The infant was left alone in the desert and would have died of starvation and/or exposure, had he not been adopted by a flock of giant birds. You heard me. These mysterious black condors -- which may be related to the genuinely Mongolian "black vulture" or "steppe condor" or perhaps the author just yanked them out of his ass -- somehow managed to raise Richard to adulthood without killing him. In fact, Richard taught himself to fly just by watching the condors do it. You heard me. Later accounts of Richard's story threw in a radioactive meteorite to make this part of the story more plausible. No, seriously.

Richard didn't encounter another human being until he was a full-grown man. Did I mention he was in a remote part of Mongolia? This fellow, a hermit (remote!) taught Richard to talk and act like an actual person. The hermit pointed out that most people don't possess the power of flight. He suggested that Richard could use this ability to help Mankind. Upon the hermit's death, Richard returned to America. His timing was perfect! It just so happened that Richard was an exact double of a freshly murdered senator named Thomas Wright. Senator Wright's death was so recent, in fact, that Richard was easily able to steal the man's identity without anybody noticing -- not even Wright's fiancee! Ew.

During the few hours of the day that Richard wasn't practicing politics in an office to which nobody had elected him, and when he wasn't busy macking on a dead man's unsuspecting girlfriend, he found time to slip on a ridiculous costume and fight crime. He armed himself with a "black ray" gun that could both stun his enemies and make that Iron Maiden poster in your bedroom look totally groovy, man. Oh, and he didn't wear a mask. I think you all know my opinion on superheroes with secret identities and no masks, so let's just move along, shall we? (Grinds teeth furiously)

Richard/Thomas/The Black Condor battled evil during the 1940's, mainly, and then in the 70's he wound up on "Earth-X" where the Nazis had won WW2. Good one, jerk. A second Black Condor got his own comic in the 1990's and Richard guest-starred as a ghost, sort of watching over the new guy. And now the new guy's dead, too. Stick to your day job, Richard.

First appearance: Crack Comics #1 (May, 1940).


Crimes against fashion:
Hot pants! The sash with the meaningless diamond symbol on it! But mostly the goofy shawl-cape-thing with the attached cuffs. Criminals don't see you as a threat when you're dressed like a Ziegfeld Girl.

Our meeting:
I had just finished infiltrating a committee meeting on Capitol Hill, where I'd slipped a rider onto a tax bill, declaring that the first Tuesday of every other month should henceforth be known as "Blockade Boy Day." (It has the same frequency as my blog entries! Ha ha! Heh... sigh. Things will get better soon, I promise.) I spied a man atop the Senate steps holding the corners of his trench coat in each hand. He sprinted down the steps, causing the fabric to billow outward like a cape, and making flapping motions with his arms. I knew it could only be Richard "Thomas (The Black Condor) Wright" Grey Jr. I chased him down and confronted him. He was surprised I knew his real identity but I explained I was from the future, plus how he didn't wear a mask and also the whole trench coat deal. "What trench coat deal?" he sputtered, looking genuinely confused. His fingers nervously played with the ends of his coat. "Flap... flap, flap," he whispered, avoiding my gaze. I asked him to stop doing that but he repeated that he didn't understand my meaning. Luckily, he was interested in seeing some costume designs, so we met again that night at a very nice French restaurant. Richard requested a table "wherever there are curtains." While we talked, Richard constantly toyed with the draperies, and I constantly slapped his hands away from them.

My presentation:

For the first design, I made your costume more bird-like than what you've got now, because what you've got now is frankly horrible. I didn't want to make it look exactly like a bird costume, because that would have been goofy instead of weird and intimidating. Still, I wanted to suggest a bird. So there are big yellow lenses on the cowl, layered feather shapes on the torso and shoulders, ribbing on the cape and legs that gives the impression of feathers and scales, respectively. Hey, quit that. Okay. There's a cutout on the stomach to show off your killer abs, and that shape is repeated on the backs of the gloves. And I think this look works better with shorter, spikier hair. Stop it, I said! Okay, next design...


When I think of the name "Black Condor," I don't just think of birds. I think of a highwayman or a pirate... brigands, outlaws, high adventure on land and sea! I'd love to see you take your superhero act in this direction. So, this is an 18th Century style pirate's costume made of various dark fabrics, with a bright crimson sash around the waist for a spot of color. The mask is-- hey, quit it! The mask is a kerchief that ties in the back. You could top it with a three-sided hat, if you want. For the wings, I figure I could swipe a pair from a guy named Hawkman. He lives in another dimension, so he'd never think to look for them here. I'll paint 'em black and they'll be perfect. HEY! What did I just tell you about the drapes? Now, the facial hair... I suppose I could rig up some kind of crepe hair and spirit gum deal for the beard, but the whole effect would be ruined if a bad guy yanked it off you in the middle of a fight. You'd be a laughing stock! So, I think it would be best if you'd just grow an actual beard. The bonus is you'd look all professorial and smart in your civilian life, so it'd be doing double duty. And people would never connect the bearded Black Condor and the bearded Senator Wright because of the Condor's long hair. Now, that part would be fake -- a wig, basically, that's built into the kerchief. In the future, this same technology will be used in baseball caps that folks order from novelty catalogs. Yes, it's a startling new world in 1993. For the "black ray" gun, you just duplicate the mechanism and put in two flintlock pistols. It's too cool, am I right? I mean, just imagine this badass motherfucker swooping down at you in the middle of the -- STOP PLAYING WITH THE CURTAINS, GOD DAMN IT!

Richard's response:
Try as I might, I couldn't convince him to wear the pirate costume. (Barnacles!) But he liked the first idea I had, so we scheduled a fitting at his hotel suite.

Well, the minute he had the cape on, he started playing with the damned thing. Once again, I had to slap his hands away. "What if you sew the ends of the cape to the gloves?" he suggested, innocently.

"No," I explained, "because that would look stupid. As I've told you about a dozen times before."

"Oh." He stared at the floor for a while, biting his lips. His head jerked back up, his eyes alight with a new hope. "It's okay if I hold onto the cape while I'm flying, though, right? After all, it is my costume!"

I dismissed that idea, Richard pouted some more, and I continued to work on the outfit. "Flap, flap," Richard whispered to himself. "Flap." I kept shushing him and slapping his hands away from the cape for another ten minutes or so.

Finally I had to put my foot down. "Richard," I said sternly, "you are not going to wear this costume unless you first accompany me to a notary public and sign a legal and binding document promising you won't hold the cape like that or by any method attach it to any part of your hands or wrists. In fact, I may even require you to get a post-hypnotic suggestion to that effect."

"But why?" he demanded. "Why can't I attach my cape to my wrists?"

I was ready to scream. "Because, you fucking crackpot, YOU ARE NOT A GOD DAMN BIRD!"

He flew at me -- literally -- and we brawled, pounding the everloving shit out of each other and destroying most of the hotel suite. The bout ended when he located his "black ray" gun and fired it at me, point blank. I turned into a nice, shiny steel wall and reflected the beam back at him, rendering him unconscious. Bruised and bloodied, I stripped the incomplete costume off him and slipped out the window before the hotel detective could get to me.

The upshot: the Black Condor wore his dopey old costume for the rest of his natural life, and I can't visit his dimension again without him tracking me down and pooping on my car.