This Can't Possibly End Well

Especially when Junior realizes he's not getting those cha-cha heels he'd asked for.

(Nice matching robes, by the way. I wonder if all of Pop's wives and kids have to wear those, over at the compound? I hope not, 'cause it'll sure make it hard for the FBI to sort through all the bodies!)

...And Cinemax is Born!

In the days before "naughty web-cams", people had to work with whatever technology they had on hand.

(Even creepier: Cookie and his girlfriend appear to be ambulatory ventriloquists' dummies.)

Mackinaw the Knife

DUDE. Go easy on the starch next time! I'm pretty sure you could use your lapel to slice a potato.

Now, That's a Tall Drink of Lawyer

"Attorney Thomas Troy was disbarred today, on the grounds that he is actually four eight-year-olds stacked up on top of one another, and disguised by a cartoonishly voluminous trenchcoat. Troy's coworkers first grew suspicious when they noticed the 16'3" Troy in the mens' room, urinating out of a hole in the knee of his trousers..."

Beloved Local Stripper-Gram Service Falls On Hard Times

Excerpted from the article in "Invisible, Inc.: The Business Journal of the Gotham Underworld", Vol. 29, Issue 7 (July 1978):

...sliced from the man's groin, and turned into a coin purse.

Marconi's remaining employees have fled for greener pastures. With the current vogue for sexy henchmen, many of them now work for high-profile entrepreneurs, including Oswald Cobblepot, Edward Nigma, and Selina Kyle. The rest have assumed new identities, in hopes of escaping the Caraldo Family's wrath. (See sidebar for an identity conversion chart -- including the names of their spouses, children, and pets -- and a complete list of their new addresses.) Marconi's Old-Fashioned Stripper-Grams is now a one-man operation.

"Time ta go ta woik," sighs Marconi. With trademark Marconi shamelessness, the 72-year-old yanks his polyester trousers and adult diaper off, right in front of me. He does this in a single movement. Despite his palsied hands and arthritic arms, the movement is flowing, explosive, with the grace of a toreador. He fetches a black-sequined ensemble (with matching diaper) from the wall. On a rack, next to his famous mink, is a rain slicker. He pulls the modest coat over his bent, spangled frame, camouflaging his showy ensemble. He ducks into his prop room, and emerges with a large, flat box, made of cardboard. He offers the box to me. With a wink, he asks, "Who ordered da pizza?"

Jilt-A-Whirl

Sorry the post is late, everybody. I'm on surveillance! But shh! Don't tell. Also, I had an uncomfortable run-in with Phantom Lad earlier today. I'll post about it tomorrow morning. Frigid Queen is in the alley right across from mine, so I have to wait until she turns her head before I can work on my drawing of her boyfriend. So it's taking a real long time. (Jon, you'll get that new picture of you tonight.)

Y'know what? It kind of sucks working for somebody else after being my own boss! But at least I'm not cooling my hairy heels in the space-pokey -- a.k.a. Takron-Galtos, not the other Space-Pokey, which is a bar in West Lallorwood.

Balls. Where was I? Oh yeah! "Amazing Spider-Man" #207. After ditching Deborah Whitman outside a run-down theater -- and thus cheating her out of the "dinner" part of "dinner and a show" -- Peter Parker maximizes his Jilting Potential by not even showing up for their second date!

Before Giuliani cleaned up NYC, there were Limburger vendors on every street corner! Or perhaps this is a young Thomas Kinkade.

In any case, jerkwad-on-the-go Peter missed a real opportunity that night. Because a chastened Deborah has dared to "tramp it up" and expose her calves! Granted, they're sticking out of a voluminous maternity raincoat, but they're still mighty tempting. Well, maybe that extra from a maritime tavern fight scene in a "Power Man and Iron Fist" comic in the first panel will give her a ride home. With a brief detour for... intrigue! (That'd be my first step in a company-wide crossover designed to promote a new comic called "Power Man and Iron Fist and Deborah Whitman.")

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.)

Did She Move Into an Apartment or a Cow's Stomach?

It's the Swamp Thing's city place! In fact, he might still be there, disguised as the drapes or... Good Lord! *choke* Your purse! Drop your purse! Drop it! And run! Run! Don't look back! I'll stay here and fend him off! Don't look--!

(Are they gone?)

Heh.

Suckers. *rifles through credit cards*

There's exactly one appealing item in this room and it's the door. And I love how the mom's outfit is only barely frumpier than her daughter's. They're both huge fans of voluminous, tent-like coats. Because after all, what's sexier than looking like your legs have been amputated and jammed up inside a church bell?

When You're a Valet, You're a Valet All the Way

Nobody can press a velour jogging suit like the gentlemen's gentlemen of the New Jersey mob!

And what's under those coats? I'm guessing it's a spare wifebeater, some pinky ring polish, and a little jar of cement shoe remover.

(Sorry about the delay. When I called my internet provider OF EVIL! last night about my connection problems, they told me it was a neighborhood-wide service blackout. When I called them tonight about the same problem, it was just me and had nothing to do with that localized outage at all. I'm guessing "neighborhood-wide service blackout" is internet tech guy code for "Your phone call is keeping me from enjoying my caramel latte and I really don't feel like dealing with you right now." Feh!)

Tomorrow: a "Rescue Me" design for the Wrench!

Magenta Beach Towels Are The New Black

In "Eternals" #5 (December 2006) Ikaris and Thena are so dynamically wonderful that they can barely be bothered with disguises. Ikaris chose a brown trenchcoat, which is the best thing to wear when you want to send the subtle message "HEY LOOK AT ME I'M INCOGNITO!!!" (These garments are normally accessorized with a humongous "Spy Vs. Spy" sun hat, itself a great attention-getter since nobody in their right mind ever wears one.) Better yet, Ikaris didn't even bother buttoning the coat. Naw, he's rockin' it Gambit-style. But Thena has one-upped the levitating Lothario by simply draping a beach towel over her head!

Here are some other disguises Thena considered:
1. Groucho glasses
2. A sauce pan with two eyeholes drilled into it
3. Rainbow wig
4. Dr. Who scarf
5. Indian chief headdress
6. Hammer pants
7. Big foam cowboy hat
8. Hula skirt and coconut bra
9. Exact same suit of armor, only in bronze
10. Admiral's hat, made out of a strategically-folded newspaper
11. Oversized papier-mache version of her own head, like they wear at Carnival time
12. Romper Stompers
13. Rubber Frankenstein mask
14. Lee press-on nails
15. Those headband deals with the antennae on them, usually they end in big plastic stars or something and they kind of bobble around because they're on springs, you might see them at a little girl's birthday party, I don't know what they're called
16. Hotpants
17. Top hat and cane
18. Milk mustache
19. The front half of a pantomime horse costume (and Ikaris gets the back half)
20. "Frankie Say Relax" t-shirt

I'm A Bad, Bad Man

Because I'm late again! I was waylaid by one of your primitive 21st century sinus infections. Honestly, I don't know how you people can even bring yourselves to get out of bed in the morning. In my day, your planet has signed a peace treaty with all viruses, bacteria, mold spores and pollen: they were given their own country (The Post-Nasalia And Drippe Republics, formerly Switzerland) in exchange for their not killing all that many people every year. Of course, that was before Infectious Lass, a.k.a. "Patient Zero" showed up. But I digress. I'll make up for my lax behavior by posting again later on today. Then I'll be all caught up! We'll start with these two knobs from "Star-Lord: The Special Edition" #1 (Marvel, February, 1982).

Three days earlier, in the "Banana Quadrant" clothing store on the fourth moon of Phobos 19...

Gareth (scrutinizing himself in the three-way mirror): ...I'm not sure.

Clerk: Oh, trust me, the asymmetrical look is totally hot this year. And see? (zips left boot up so it looks the same as the right boot) With our patented "freebooter," you can switch from "pirate" to "privateer" in one easy movement. Two looks in one! But most men prefer to go both ways, if you know what I mean.

Rruothk'ar (glancing up from his USA Today): He does.

Clerk: I just adore them. I have two pair of these at home!

Gareth: Oh, you mean like one in each color?

Clerk (mystified): No.

Gareth: Huh. Well, I still don't know if this is me.

Clerk: That's because you haven't seen it with the sash yet! (hurriedly wraps a swath of fabric around Gareth's waist)

Gareth: A sash--! I'm sorry, but that's completely impractical. Where would I put my rapier?

Clerk: It goes on the sash, silly! We sell the spaghetti-strap rapier sheath accessory for only five credits more! They're so great. I have four of them at home!

Gareth: Oh, you're into fencing?

Clerk (uncomprehending): Why would you say that?

Gareth (looks back at his companion): Rruothk'ar, honey? What do you think?

Rruothk'ar (not looking up): Leave me out of it.

Gareth (scoffs): This is partly for your benefit, you know. Don't you want me to look sexy?

Rruothk'ar: All I care about is how fast I can get all that mess off of you. And to be honest, we appear to be nearing my libido's cut-off point.

Clerk: It's really very easy to remove! Check out the blouse. Don't you just love the sleeves? You can shimmy it off in five seconds flat! I think they're great. Why, I have twelve of these at home!

Gareth: But... it only comes in three colors.

Clerk (baffled): And your point is...?

(Gareth and the clerk stare blankly at each other for a full minute.)

Clerk: Okay, never mind all that. You have to see it with the cape.

Rruothk'ar: Jesus. A cape, too? Why don't we just nail you into a crate and send you off to Planet Not Gettin' Any?

Clerk (bustling): Ignore him. (drapes the high-collared cloak over Gareth's shoulders)

Gareth: Oh my! (turns too and fro, admiring himself) Woo! Check me out! I totally have a "Dr. Strange" thing going on.

Rruothk'ar: And you don't mind that it makes the entire upper right quarter of your body look like a melted candle?

Gareth (to Clerk): He always gets cranky when it's Molting Season.

Rruothk'ar (peeling a long section of skin from his neck): That's a damn lie!

Clerk: Did I mention the cloak is on sale? Ten for the price of one!

Gareth (to himself): At last, the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.

Clerk: Pardon me?

Gareth: Nothing. (turns to Rruothk'ar) Please, honey? For your snugglebear? (his fingers play along the ridges on Rruothk'ar's snout)

Rruothk'ar: Aw, Christ. You guys take Visa?

Or at least, that's what I figure happened. Whaddaya say, Gareth? Did I guess right?

Yeah, that's what I thought.