Bendis-Speak Doctor Doom vs. Zagor!

In other words, Zagor, Doc Doom will be your Huckleberry.

WHO DO YOU TRUST?

Yes indeedy! It's a Zagor "Secret Invasion" tie-in (I presume)! THRILL as the inhabitants of Earth battle to keep from being pushed off of their own planet by a hoard of shifty, racist, disease-carrying, agreement-breaking alien interlopers!

(By the way, "Kara Bela" is my favorite Italian restaurant; their manicotti is to die for.)

The Hounds of Amadus (by Blockade Boy Revenge Squad Treasurer, Intern Alchemy)

Attend us, friends; we are undone!

Via as-yet-unknown means, the Hairy One himself has breached our defenses, and the Grand Ballroom has transmogrified into a realm of Chaos! It is only here, in our space-cheddah vault, that I am afforded security. I confess, readers, it is an imperfect sanctuary; Green Boy's haphazard sheetrocking work left appreciable gaps in the corners.

I am live-blogging this, in the hopes that my brethren in the Great and Secret Art of Alchemy will read it, and come to our aid! Alas, I fear this will not be the result, as we Alchemists are a solitary lot, more apt to fiddle with our beakers than to commune with the Material World. And yet, as a young princess abandons her rich clothes on her wedding night to show herself to her husband in her virginal and sumptuous nudity, so too must I abandon my scholarly robes and supplicate myself on the shimmering altar of the Intergalactic Intraweb.

'Twas no more than five minutes before the initiation of Calorie Queen's festivities, when a mighty knocking sounded upon the Inertron Portal that serves as our chief means of entrance. Polecat beheld the image on Security Monitor One, with a curious mixture of delight and apprehension. He motioned imperiously to Green Boy, and barked, "Let them in!"

At this, Calamity King grew petulant, and retorted, "I'm the leader, and I'll give the orders, here! ...Green Boy, let them in."

Our visitors proved to be a pair of men, both of great height and breadth, with trunk-like limbs. The one in the buckskin cloak and cowl held the second, who was bloodied, seemingly unconscious, and tightly bound with ropes. The former, none of us recognized. The latter was Blockade Boy.

Gossip Queen entered the room in a frantic, cane-tapping dash, exclaiming, "He's here! Blockade Boy is here! I can sense it!"

"Easy, fat-ass," hissed Calamity King. "He's trussed up."

"Screw U, CLOSET-CASE!!!!!!" sneered Gossip Queen.

In a deep, unmodulated whisper, the first man introduced himself as "Zagor", a "mountain man" from Earth, and a superior hunter and tracker.

He was armed with only a stone hammer and an antique projectile weapon, and yet, he had brought low our Nemesis. All of us gathered 'round, to gaze in wonderment at this prodigy. Calamity King smiled queerly. "Blockade Boy's blood," he murmured. "How delicious!" And with that, he swept his fingers along one of Blockade Boy's wounds, and licked them.

His expression altered to one of consternation. "The hell--?! Strawberry jam?!"

Two stout protuberances thrust upward from beneath "Blockade Boy's" wig, and belched an overpowering cloud of musk that enveloped the Squad. The admittedly-pleasant odor suffocated us, and caused our eyes to brim with tears. All of us, that is, except for Polecat, who just stood there, stewing with a quiet fury.

I glimpsed the following events through a veil of saltwater: "Blockade Boy's" ropes slipped away, and he hopped to his feet, triumphant. Likewise, he removed the wig (now askew) from his head, revealing a bald pate. "Za-Gor" plucked off his cowl (with attached hair!) with a flourish, as a sickeningly-familiar brown-and-white beard sprouted on his face. It was Blockade Boy.

"Good work, babe," he purred to his compatriot. He punctuated this sentiment with a genial slap to his confederate's ass. Then, he whistled, and his eight-legged super-cat, Cootie, emerged from a large pouch on his waist. Thus fortified, he addressed Polecat: "Jig's up, motherfucker. I know everything you've done, and once I present my proof to the U.P., they'll send all of your asses to Takron-Galtos, while they give me a full pardon. I mean, what's a little unintentional fraud and some aggravated makeovers, compared to illegal arms trading and attempted murder?"

Wordlessly, the false Blockade Boy removed a force-field gauntlet and handed it to the real one. As he slipped it onto his hand, Blockade Boy smirked, and said, "So do you want to come along peacefully, or do you want me to beat the holy bejeebus out of you, first? 'Cause I am spoiling for a fight."

My vision began to clear, and I pulled myself to my feet, as did the rest of the Squad. Calamity King spat, "I'm in charge, here! And I say we fight! There's seven of us, and only two of them, not counting that damn cat."

"Tater" began to interject, but he only had time to say "Ack'shully...!" before the Intertron Portal was forced open by a crazed mob!

They were a horrific sight: a hoard of strapping, hairy men, all of them dressed in amalgams of Blockade Boy's various costumes. This gaudy apparel mingled obscenely with hover-biker gear of shiny ebon leather. Most of the doppelgangers were smoking pipes. Among them, I spied several (former?) lawmen whom Blockade Boy had forcibly "made over", doubtless in more than appearance.

The interlopers numbered in the hundreds -- at least! -- and they surged forward, engulfing friend and foe alike in a raging, punching, kicking mass. In the confusion, I found one of the secret passages I'd installed in our Headquarters -- passages so secret, I alone know of their location. (I, and mayhap the insignificant buzzing insects I've so often heard there, of late.)

The passages now resound with the roar of battle, more fearful than the baying of the dragon Charcouroboros. From the general noise has emerged an ominous thumping, which grows e'er louder. Could it be... footsteps?

God, they are breaking through! They are breaking through! Smoke is pouring from the corners of the wall. Their tongues-- ahhh--

Lastikman's Checkered Past

According to the International Heroes website, one of the most popular heroes in the Phillipines is that stretchable sleuth, "Lastikman"! (Not to be confused with the Longatedman or Isterfantastik.) All kidding aside, I think he's kinda cool! Oh, not to worry, though. This isn't going to be one of those "mildly amusing" posts where I compliment something. Well, not just that, anyhow. Indulge me until about halfway through, when I get to the movie costumes! YEAHHH, BROTHER! *rubs hands together in anticipation*

Awright! This costume breaks several of my own rules for costume design, but it somehow still works. Normally, I'd hate that it...

1. Has "overpants", i.e. trunks worn over tights.
2. Exposes the hands.
3. Uses a strong color like red in seemingly just one location. (I can't find a color picture of the boots in the costume.)

What ties it all together, for me, is the black. There's just so danged much of it! Seriously. I'm all agog! But by using a strong neutral (like black or white) for the majority of your costume, you can get away with using primaries (unadulterated red, yellow, or blue) as your accent colors. Plus, the go-go chex of the top give this costume such a fun, Silver Age feel, I just can't stay mad at it! In fact, I wanna give Lastikman a big ol' bear hug! C'mere, you! ...Hang on. Whaddaya want, Gadfly Lad?

...Oh.

Gadfly Lad just informed me (with excruciating detail) that Lastikman's costume is "a part of him" and "he can't remove it." Which means there's zero chance of my ham-like hands snaking their way underneath it, to toy with his nipples. Hell, it means he has no nipples! ACK! Excuse me, I feel a tad queasy.

...That's better.

A bonus of the checkered pattern is that it looks great in black-and-white! Yes, even when escaping Playskool's My First Jail, Lastikman is the very picture of super-hero casual chic!

Recently, Lastikman appeared in a one-shot that gave him a fresh new look:

Holy cats! Did I design this? *racks brain, comes up with nothin'* Yeah, probably not. I LOVE THIS COSTUME. Kicky boots? Yup! Pants instead of tights? Damn skippy! Nifty belt? Hells yeah! Short-sleeved top with a strong geometric pattern! Sweet? Mussable, two-tone hair? Yes, please! A mask that-- okay, so I'm not really fond of the mask. I wanna put it in a terrarium and make it fight Kyle Rayner's mask. To the death. But I like the idea of it, and I get the sense that maybe it's mobile, and changes shape to match his expression. So I'll give it a pass.

Okay, enough fawning. Let's get to the part where I spray my contempt all over something.

Make way for... MOVIE COSTUMES! Oh, and I know this won't do a damn bit of good, but I'd like all the folks who are complaining about the "Watchmen" costumes to remember these crap-ass Lastikman outfits, so they can get a sense of GODDAMN PERSPECTIVE. I know, I know. Like I should give a shit about what other people think. And normally, that kind of purse-lipped fanboy aesthetic priggery makes me laugh, but the fact that folks are so up-in-arms over what seem to me like some very well-designed outfits... well, it just gets in my goat's craw. I have news for you, fanboys: no super-hero movie is ever going to meet your expectations. It's impossible. So don't watch them! Don't read articles about them. Don't write blog posts about them! Just accept that no studio or director is ever going to film your exact vision of what your favorite hero should be. Don't wallow in negative energy. Move on, get out of the house once in a while, and live! LIVE, DAMN YOU! I'm saying this to you because I care. You're like sons to me! *slaps your bottoms, playfully* Now get outta here, you lugs! Kidding. Come back! I have more things to say! I'll stop lecturing you. Honest. I feel better now. Just had to vent.

ONWARD!

Be honest. If you saw this picture with no context, you'd think it was from a menswear catalog. From 1964. Admit it. He looks like he's wearing a cardigan! And it was knitted by an aunt on his wife's side, and he actually hates the damn thing, but the wife is making him wear it because they're visiting the aunt today, in another town, and it's a five-hour drive, and it's like 72 degrees outside, and he's burning up, and the wool itches like crazy, but the wife insists he wear the sweater for the duration of the car ride, just in case one of her friends sees them, and he can't turn the a.c. on, because she's wearing shorts, and he tries to remember a time when she wasn't a controlling harpy, but he can't, and he starts to wonder if he was just so goddamn horny during their brief courtship that he didn't even notice, and suddenly he's seized by an impulse to drive the car off the side of a cliff.

...I've been told I may have "intimacy issues." BALDERDASH! *flop-sweats*

Saved by the Bell: the Filipino Years!

See what I mean about movie costumes? And this top doesn't even have as much patterning as the original! On a teeny comic panel, you can get away with go-go chex a-plenty, but on an actual human being, it makes the eyeballs burn. But my main problem is with his haircut. It's really pretty amazing, as it's both unflattering and makes him look like a douche. The Schrute-tastic styling of the bangs giganto-sizes his smooth forehead and says, "Let's hop in my Trans-Am!" while the mini-mullet in the back says, "Only we can't actually go anywhere 'cause it's up on blocks. In my front yard."

And finally, we have the best of a tragically bad lot:

Well, he's in better shape than the other two guys. I'll give him that.

I don't care that they made the checks blue, to tone down the contrast. There's still too damn many of 'em! But mainly, I hate the mask. It's too big! And the way it's designed, it makes his face look like it's all squished down on his head. *takes a good, long look at it* Oh, wait. His face is all squished down on his head! My bad. But still, that's why he should have gone with a smaller mask.

Golly, but that costume looks familiar.

Huh.

Featuring Angelina Jolie as the Abomination

Oh, and the other guy is the Chilean super-hero, "Capitan Jupiter." But who cares? I just can't stop looking at that monster's mouth! For some reason.

Capitan Jupiter is actually some dude named "Rex Vane." Which doesn't sound terribly Chilean to me. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've dated a Rex Vane. If it's the guy I'm thinking of, he told me he was a fashion model, but it turned out he was really an exotic dancer. I had to have a long talk with him, which ended with me asking him to move in with me. The whole thing ended in tragedy (after, like, four days) and I still can't look at a pair of leather chaps without getting all teary-eyed. Not that I've ever actually cried. I haven't! SHUT UP! *pounds on table for emphasis* But if "Rex Vane" doesn't sound like the name of a Chilean native, that's okay; he actually lives on Easter Island! ...Well, that's where his "secret headquarters" is located, anyhow.

Capitan Jupiter's origin is along the same lines as Green Lantern and Insect Queen, where space aliens dish out a powerful device to some dumb shmoe. In el Capitan's case, he was abducted by natives of Jupiter. After a thorough probing (I assume), they gave him a super-power belt, with six buttons on it:

1. Invisibility
2. Super-hearing
3. Professional-strength force-field. Saunter through a nuclear reactor with no noticeable side-effects!
4. Laser-beam eyeballs
5. Flight, up to light-speed, and he doesn't even get crushed down into a singularity or whatever the hell normally happens to something going that fast. Cool, huh?
6. Invulnerability to hostile environments, like outer space, the bottom of the sea, or a used-car lot

Okay, I'm going to be brutally frank, here: I REALLY WANT A BELT LIKE THAT. Storm Boy! Make me a belt like that! I need it by -- oh, let's say "Friday."

...Balls. He's not even looking up from his desk! Maybe he didn't hear me. HEY! STORM BOY! I said, make me -- aw, hells naw.

The husky li'l queen just flipped me the double space-bird! I'm going to have to cut this post short, now, to allow myself more time to slap the snot out of him.

See y'all tomorrow! *balls up fists and stomps away*

The Incredible Journal

*dashes into bedroom, giggling excitedly; then hops on fur-strewn granite slab (my bed) and lolls about with a big grin; then plucks from the floor a massive tome, bound in leather and edged in razor wire; flops on belly with legs kicking lazily; begins scribbling in blank pages of the book*

Dear Space-Diary,

You'll never believe this, but I've found a NEW (imaginary) boyfriend! Tee-hee! Deep booming laugh! His name is "Mihura" and he's from SPAIN. Look how sexy he is!

See? Ours is a true love that will last until the universe collapses in on itself, only he doesn't know I'm alive, but there's a PROBLEM, space-diary! Mihura lives in another dimension and ALSO a thousand years ago, which BITES. Pout! Brood! Oh, if ONLY I could steal borrow another time-bubble, like I did that ONE time, but my dumb JOB doesn't give me any time to get away! It's so STUPID! Maybe I can do it when I get my two weeks paid vacation this summer, but that's FOREVER from now! I want Mihura and his sexy sexy body RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND!

Mihura is JUST SO COOL! For ONE thing, he works at the CIRCUS! As a "strongman"! They call him "El Hombre Mas Fuerte Del Mundo", which means "the hardest man in the world"! Or so I'm told! I didn't think anybody could beat ME out for that title, but if Mihura did, I want a piece of THAT action! Giggle! Raspy chortle! I love Mihura's hair! Even the dumb Liefeld-esque braids! Maybe because the rest of his hair is so long, they don't stand out as much! I dunno! But mostly I love his beautiful beautiful bearded face and his big muscle-y body! He needs to stop waxing it, but I could take care of THAT. Mihura LOVES to drink V-8 vegetable juice from industrial-sized drums, and he even invented a special can-opener that he wears on his arm for just such occasions! He's like Sugyn minus the gut! (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Also, Mihura farts the souls of the damned, which is like the ULTIMATE in bad-assery.

SOMEDAY, space-diary, Mihura and I will bask in the light of a beautiful sun. Preferably a red one, since that highlights my complexion to best effect. MARK MY WORDS. The only obstacle I can see are THESE losers he hangs out with:

Especially the nun. At that Amadan monastery my folks sent me to that one summer ("Our Brother of the Immaculately-Trimmed Mustache") the monks would thump you on the head with their canes if they caught you jerking off in the mens' room to Omnicom porn. But they sure as hell didn't wield FLAMING SWORDS. What the HELL? Also, what happened to her EYEBALLS? She's CREEPY.

I want Mihura HERE in my BED RIGHT NOW. I WANT HIM! And he's so far away! It makes me want to cry punch something!

That's all for NOW, space-diary! I'm going to Tusker's now to play video games. He has Ocarina Hero 2, which sounds KICK-ASS! THEN we'll eat some cheesecake and do each other's hair!

BLOCKADE BOY OUT!

Wheatcake Headache

Hurts like a punch in the nads, don't it? Next time, go easy on the syrup.

I'm thinking of a number... one box-office hit that got ripped off by some jerkwad in the Phillipines, in 2004. And that rip-off was called "Gagamboy", which translates into "Spider-Boy." You connect the dots. According to my sources, Gagamboy "can exude an orange goo which he can transform into any form he chooses." Just like a spider can! If I were him, I'd mainly create Cheetos. But not circus peanuts. Because that would be evil.

He's kind of a dink, isn't he? Still, I have to admit that the costume doesn't look half-bad! In fact, I like Gagamboy's cowl a lot better than Spider-Man's. It has a nice Flash Gordon/Prince of Space feel to it. And the overall color scheme is nice. Check out that detail on the spandex! I wonder if they screen-printed it, like with the Spider-Man movie costume? Hmm. Let's get a better look at it!

BWAH! Fishnet? What's his mission? Going undercover on the set of the Duran Duran "Wild Boys" video? Feh. I take it all back. Screw you, "Gagamboy"! You're dead to me now.

Y'know, I think Storm Boy had a shirt like that. I say "had" because I made him throw it out.

...Okay, so I was the one who threw it out. And I would have gotten away with it, too, if he hadn't returned home earlier than I'd expected. I don't know what he was so angry about. After all, his new outfit* is quite the hit at the office and at a certain gay moopsball league he joined, and now he's getting dates out the ass! Er, so to speak. And that outfit was all me, baby! I even changed up his hairstyle! Why can't he see that it's just best if I design all his clothes for him...? If I design everybody's clothes for everybody? WHY IS THAT SO HARD FOR PEOPLE TO UNDERSTAND? *rubs beard in consternation*

*Which I swear you'll get to see very soon. Also, his date with Darzil Hek is this next weekend. So let's all wish him luck! I'm also working on a costume redesign for Zagor, and I promise to show you that "Tom of Finland"-type picture of me(only it'll be "safe for work") that Gustavo suggested, sometime this month.

Amp Collector

Here's the Indonesian super-hero, "Gundala", and as you can see, he's pretty goddamned kick-ass.

Sure, his origin is a bit goofy. But what super-hero's origin isn't, somehow? In brief, he was a scientist named "Sancaka", and he was working on an "anti-lightning strike serum." Whatever the hell that means. Did it heal folks who had been struck by lightning? Or did it make people immune to lightning strikes? And if that's the case, did it somehow neutralize electrical impulses within the body? 'Cause that would kill your brain! So probably not that. Anyway, he was in the lab when his girlfriend broke up with him. He lost his shit, and ran outside, smack into the middle of an electrical storm. (Ironic!) And then he was -- you guessed it -- struck by lightning. This had the surprising effect of transporting him to Lightning Land, which I'm pretty sure is a level in a Nintendo game. The king of Lightning Land, Kronz (or "the Kronz", as I like to call him) adopted Sancaka as his son and military commander, and renamed him "Gundala." Which seems awfully forward to me. Even I wouldn't do anything like that, and I'm so pushy, it borders on sociopathic! Admittedly, I've contemplated "adopting and renaming" Gadfly Lad. But his girlfriend probably wouldn't appreciate that.

"The Kronz" ordered Sancaka to attack "Cloud Land", a.k.a. Seattle, Washington. After that, Gundala had all kinds of adventures, both on an alien planet and back on Earth. Not a bad life, if you ask me.

The above image shows off Gundala to best effect, with some sweet giant wings on his cowl. He looked slightly less kick-ass in his own comic, circa 1969:

Dinky, timid wings. Is there anything more pathetic? Still, he's workin' the "bastard face", so that helps keep his kick-ass factor out of the toilet. And you know what? He was so popular, they made a movie about him! Let's take a look!

Ye gods. Kick-ass factor: negative 50 points! Remember those days, aging nerds? When you could get cast as a super-hero, even if you had the body shape of a super-hero fan? Those were dark times, my friends. Thank goodness for the advent of male body image disorders, huh?

Tie Me Angry Dude Down

The Australian hero, "Blackwing"...

• ...suffers from symbolic hallucinations that represent his illiteracy.
• ...didn't listen to his mum when she told him, "If you keep making that face, it'll freeze like that. (Now, finish your Tim Tams, dear.)"
• ...has an intravenous drip of illegal steroids next to his bed, for use during both sleep and sex.
• ...forgot to treat those papercuts earlier, and now they sting like a motherfucker.
• ...bought those fake-ass wings at Hop Topic, and he wears them everywhere. Even to funerals! It's upsetting to me.
• ...styles his hair with Crisco (butter-flavored, natch).
• ...has pyrotechnic farts.
• ...has thighs so big, they can wear belts made for fat guys.
• ...lives in an outback town with only one library. And it only has humongous prop books imported from Gotham City.
• ...likes to scream obscenities into that walkie-talkie he carries around on his waist... but here's the deal: there's never anybody on the other end of the line. The poor screwed-up bastard.
• ...once made out with an emu. He told his friends he was drunk at the time. But he wasn't. He totally wasn't.

Liar, Liar, Hat on Fire

Look, it's Captain Atom!

No, the first one. From Australia!

Wow, this is turning into a theme, isn't it? Another Australian hero, another flamboyant hat, another sad effort at hiding a boner with some prop -- in this case, a hyperbolic "blurb box". I know that Australian men are uber-butch and all, but what the hell?! Do they all have boners, 24-7? On second thought, don't answer that. On third thought, please do. And be sure to support your argument with photographs.

I don't know what Captain Atom's deal is. I presume he's atomic-powered. One thing I know for sure is that his hat is dopey-looking and on fire. That explains why all those teenage girls are taunting him, and why he's running around like a rabid dingo. Seriously, how do you piss off somebody so badly that they set fire to your hat? And the fact that the flames are blue indicates that the afflicted haberdashery is hotter than hell. What did they use as fuel? Phosphorus? That is some serious anger, folks. Is Captain Atom the victim of a really bad breakup? Or is he just a total rat-bastard summumabitch? If it's the latter, maybe this thing happens to him all the time. At any rate, he's certainly taking it well. Of course, if you're enough of a bad-ass to rivet your clothing to your body, a little flaming hat isn't going to make you lose your cool.

Final verdict: stupid costume, but it's worn by a hard-core Aussie manly-man. You tell him to take it off. ...On second thought, allow me. *winks lasciviously*

And By "Flame World", They Mean "Styling Salon"

The dude's name is "Silver Starr", and I don't know anything about him, other than the fact he's Australian, and he looks like a gay version of Travis Morgan. Okay, okay... make that "an even gayer version of Travis Morgan." Happy? Sheesh!

To be frank, I'm kind of digging on his outfit. Especially the winged sweatband or whatever that thing is. And his hair is prematurely silver...! Heavenly... just heavenly. The only thing I'd add is a beard. But as you can see, he already has one... and he's holding her right in front of his crotch. Subtle! I'm sure Tom Cruise would do that with Katie, if he had the upper body strength. It doesn't matter, though, does it? Silver Starr could charge into battle while dry-humping his comely sidekick, and it still wouldn't keep him from "descending into the Flame World."

...But His First Love is the Ballet.

The Australian super-hero, "Blueflyer"...

• ...can run at super-speed!
• ...is being haunted by the ghost of a giant manta ray. But SHH! Nobody say anything. He's kind of sensitive about it.
• ...has a sports bra to keep his man-boobs in check.
• ...wears that helmet because he's skunk-ass drunk on Fosters' twenty-four hours a day, and he crashes into shit a lot. A lot.
• ...has the ability to manifest a glowing blue energy-vagina through the intensity of his own horniness.
• ...wears both regular "tighty whiteys" and Doctor Manhattan's old Speedos over his super-suit! The layering does nothing to disguise the fact that he's hung like a mole rat.
• ...does a killer Mick Jagger impression.
• ...never got around to fixing that overbite.
• ...really has to use the bathroom, like right now.

NOT Nightwing. For Realsies. (UPDATED 2:06 PM, CST)

From the "International Hero" website and the paella-scented beaches of Spain comes "Gavilan", whose name means "sparrowhawk", and who looks nothing at all like Nightwing.

See, Gavilan's costume is red. Yeah. And his cape is longer and more festively-pointed. And, and, there's those little bird claw/animal tusk/crescent roll thingies on his wrists. So that's different. Plus! He carries around that big bo staff or stripper pole or what-have-you. Nightwing doesn't do that. Not all the time, anyway. Not to mention, he has that ponytail. Nightwing doesn't have one of those... er, anymore. And Gavilan's mask is birdlike in a completely different way from Nightwing's.

So I think you can see how Gavilan's costume is not at all a rip-off of Nightwing's. AND I'LL FIGHT ANYBODY WHO SAYS IT IS! *glances around menacingly, while stuffing invoice for designing Gavilan's costume into back pocket* (Shut up. I wasn't feeling well that day.)

UPDATE: So, I'm guessing you were having trouble swallowing the notion that Gavilan's hideous togs were designed by me. Yeah, I can relate. I didn't even remember doing it! All I had to go by was the fact that Gavilan contracted my services, some time back, and, of course, this invoice. I was baffled! Still, I have my pride. I wasn't about to admit a mistake.

And then, Storm Boy showed up on my doorstep.

I asked him what the occasion was for his visit. And he smirked at me, and said, "The occasion is, I'm here to get paid, BEYOTCH!" And so I punched him in the face.

"Sorry," I demured. "Reflex."

Choking back tears (and blood), Storm Boy whined, "What the hell?"

"No," I retorted, "That's what I should be asking you. I'm glad you've got your confidence back to the point where you can josh around with me, but I draw the line at 'beyotch.' Reel it back in a couple of meters; you're getting annoying."

He grinned, impishly. "Oh, fiddle-faddle! If the crowning of Christian Siriano last night (your readers' time) as 'Project Runway Fan Favorite' has taught me anything, it's that everybody loves a finger-snapping, trash-talking, in-your-face bitchy queen. I've got 'attitude' now! Deal with it."

Naturally, I punched him in the face again. "Oops. Looks like my fist has an 'in-your-face' attitude!"

"God! Uncle already, you freaked-out maniac! Just give me my cut from the 'Gavilan' costume design so I can get the hell out of here." He wiped the blood from his nose with his palm, and then he held out the crimson-stained paw, in expectation of payment.

"So that explains it," I said, with a massive sigh of relief. "I didn't think that looked like my work."

"That's because I did the whole thing," Storm Boy sniffled. "You were all feverish and shit from that depilatory the Blockade Boy Revenge Squad had slipped you, so I worked on it while you tried to shout directions at me from your sickbed. We had kind of a Mozart/Salieri thing goin' on. If Salieri had completely ignored Mozart's idiotic ravings, that is."

"Wait, so you want to be Salieri...?"

"I want to get paid," he shrugged. "Fork over the space-cheddah, shaggy man."

And so I did... gladly. I just didn't want to be held responsible for that costume!

Curse Yore Beautiful Hide

Thank God for his boner, or else the belt would just fall right off.

As memorialized by the nice folks at the International Hero website, this is "Zagor", a woodsy Phantom/Tarzan type who is popular in Italy and Brazil. Born Patrick Wilding, or maybe that's his porn star name, Zagor lost his folks to vengeful Native Americans at a pretty young age. He managed to raise himself and did a pretty darned fine job of it to, by the looks of him. He acquired the name, "Za-Gor-Te-Ney", which means "the Spirit with the Tomahawk."

Zagor headquartered himself in a forest near the Great Lakes, some time between 1820 and 1840. Which doesn't explain why one of his enemies was a Druid, but what the heck.

So, how do I like Zagor's looks? I... don't. He's too pretty. When I think "backwoodsman", I think of Howard Keel in "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers": tall, mighty, and scruffy as hell, not to mention, simply brimming with all kinds of intriguing musks. This glamorpuss is too smooth by half. Howard Keel or any of his brothers -- even Russ Tamblyn! -- would take this joker apart.

And they'd sing you a rousing tune while they did it!

The costume is unremarkable, especially in how it cleaves so predictably to four-color super-hero conformity: primary colors, insanely tight fit, the chest armor/symbol with the "which way is it pointing?" bird/thing on it... it all adds up to a big "yawn" from me. Yeah, so he's baring his muscled, sinewy arms. Big deal. There's nothin' on em! No hair. No tats. No cool bracelets or other adornments. Just a lot of smooth pink skin. Go away, Zagor. You're bothering me.

Go back to working as a bouncer at a gay squaredance, or whatever the hell it is you do.

Nipples, Italian Style

Well, of course, he'd dress like that. He's a hypnotist. (I remember when a traffic court ordered me to see an anger-management therapist. The doctor was dressed only in combat boots and a jockstrap... by the time I'd gotten done with him, anyway.)

From the extensive files of the International Hero website comes "Argoman"! This strapping (if disappointingly hairless) specimen of manhood is the star of an Italian film from the 1960's. But hey! Check out them nipples! Rrrowr! I'm guessing the actual costume worn by the actor was some sort of spandex deal, so you couldn't really see his nipples. A guy can dream, though. Can't he?

Alias "Sir Reginald Hoover", Argoman has super-strength, super-hearing, telekinetic powers, and a "These are not the cannoli you're looking for" type of hypnotic suggestion, which is to say it only works on really stupid people. Bonus: he loses all his powers for about six hours after having sex. Sound familiar, guys? Not to me, of course. I'm so dad-blamed virile, I wear dudes out in their efforts to satiate me. I often find myself in a "Prince of Space" scenario, where my weary partners will try to tire me out with some newfangled sex toy (or three), and I'll bellow, "Your weapons are useless against me!" Then I'll let fly with a deep, thundering chortle which terrifies/thrills them.

"So, other than the nipples -- and might I add, 'enough already!' -- how did you like the costume, Mister Blockade Boy?" Thank you for asking. And don't sass me! Once I tore my eyes off his nipples -- which took a while -- I saw that it was a pretty lame costume. Sort of a mash-up among the Black Condor, Hourman, and Cyclops. I hate it when capes are attached to the wrists. The belt is the most interesting thing about him. And it sucks. So no, I don't like the costume. But since it's Italian, I'm sure the tailoring is impeccable.

I Comb From A Land Down Under

Thank you, Anonymous Commenter, for tipping me off about my latest rival: Southern Cross. That'd be the guy with the 80's Metal hair flying behind Delta Burke. It just so happens Southern Cross is not only a superhero, but he's also a fashion designer. *waves arms furiously and stomps around* Man, everybody's tryin' to copy my deal! First Storm Boy and now this loser! Huh? What do you mean, "You're from the future so technically he was first?" Whose side are you on? What? No, the Wasp doesn't count, either. Phht. Whatever. I've time-travelled to the 1940's, y'know. That means I predated all of those guys.

So there.

Okay, now we've got that unpleasantness taken care of, let's dish!

Southern Cross -- real name: Bertram Davis, which automatically restricted his employment options to either "fashion design" or "tea room proprietor" -- first appeared in various Australian comics published by Cyclone back in the 80's. He's telekinetic and can fly super-fast. To quote the International Superheroes database, "He uses a power cane which amplifies his power; while he does not need it to employ his paranormal power, it boosts those abilities considerably." So, let's say we're tussling in a deserted warehouse and he's zooming around up near the rafters and I use one of my patented flying karate kicks to jump thirty feet straight up in the air (disclaimer: I can't actually do that) and I knock the cane from his hands. Suddenly he'd be restricted to flying about two feet off the ground at maybe five miles per hour. Bertie's outfit isn't bad, but it's terribly boring, and it's got those pointless armband thingies I hate. They don't add anything to the design; they're merely there. Anyway, the main point is that we've got white, bun-hugging spandex, sunglasses, a fluffy mane of hair and a big pimpin' cane. Therefore, Southern Cross = a crimefighting David Lee Roth.

Y'know, it's astounding what a good haircut and a dye job can do. Let's take another look at Southern Cross, this time drawn by one of my favorite artists, Jerry Ordway.



Why, Southern Cross, you're cute! Look at you! Sort of a late-model Jon Bon Jovi thing you've got going on there. Also, don't turn around but that one walrus is totally checking you out. Side note: I have no idea who the clown in the lifepreserver is back there or what it is he's so goddamned pleased about. Maybe it's because he knows he has a bigger stick than Southern Cross. Woo! Freudianism... that's an untapped well for comedy, huh?

Southern Cross belongs to a superteam called the Southern Squadron. My one question is, if Southern Cross is a fashion designer, why would he let his friends go out looking like this?



Yikes. Southern Cross' hair is in full Howard Stern mode here. It also reminds me of Valerie Bertinelli and Eddie Van Halen. I remember when that star couple married, and their hair became as one. It was beautiful. On a spiritual level, I mean. The anorexic Beast-wannabe -- or "wanna-Beast" for short -- is "Dingo," a Serbian werewolf. Wha-? But wolves aren't dingos... how can... feh! You lost me on that one, Southern Squadron. It's like having Ursa Major on your team and telling him, "You can turn into a brawny humanoid bear, right? So we've decided your codename will be Kangaroo." And he's wearing a unitard. Aha! No wonder he's so emaciated -- he's a ballerina! The guy in the boring Golden Age-style costume is named "Night Fighter" -- apparently he takes Ambien and then sleepwalks into biker bars and breaks pool cues over people's heads. And the woman with the stern black pantsuit and about twenty pounds of White Rain in her hair is "Lieutenant Smith." Really? So that's like a military regulation hairdo you got, honey? Do the men in your unit have to wear their hair like that as well? Or do they look more like Ted Danson circa "Cheers?" (I like how she's archly pointing at the reader, like "You! You drew me like this! And there shall come a reckoning!") Later, the hairstyles got even more egregious. For nearly all of them!



Finally, a sentiment I can get behind! Wow. I want to confiscate their styling mousse, tout de suite. And what happened to Dingo's face? Suddenly he's a Lhasa Apso! But at least he got some highlights. That plain dark brown was doing nothing for him. Lieutenant Smith is sporting a mullet, as designed by Jack Kirby. It's the mullet the Queen of the Norns or the Lighting Lady would have had! If they'd lived in Alabama! As for Southern Cross, it looks like he could serve drinks from atop his hairdo, it's so smooth and flat. And do my eyes deceive me, or has he added a couple of Grampa Munsterish white streaks to that mess? *shudder* That leaves Night Fighter, hiding his hair from us like always. I wonder what it looks like under that cowl. For some reason I'm picturing an elaborate comb-over. No idea who the Darkhawk clone is, but a mask that covers your entire face is a great way of saying, "I don't even know these people." Can't say as I blame him.