Emergency! Come Right Away!

Huh. Well, if he's anything like "Doctor Bombay", this should turn into one hell of a story! Bombay was always doing bad-ass shit like climbing Mount Everest and getting into shark fights, and he was the hardened veteran of many a tussle (with his own nurse, anyway). So if anybody could put Batman's stubborn tuckus in a bed and keep it there, it's him.

And I see that the mysterious extra arm is pitching in, by dialing the phone for him. Thank you, Thing!

(In the background, Batman removes his itchy woolen top, in preparation for giving Alfred the pimp-slapping of his life.)

D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: Anthony Lupus, Part One

In "Detective Comics" #505 (August, 1981) Batman is asked by a woman to track down her brother, as he is the only viable bone marrow donor for her sick daughter. The complication: the brother is Anthony Lupus. Who is a werewolf.

Lupus is (to my knowledge) the only monster on my list to have made the transition into television; he appeared on the Batman cartoon in 1992. The story was based on his first comics appearance. Except they changed his last name to "Romulus", since that's vaguely less stupid. Vaguely. Fun fact: his voice was provided by Harry Hamlin, who always looks like he's about two lap-dissolves away from completely turning into a werewolf, anyway.

But back in 1981, Lupus was just another dead one-shot villain.

Or was he? Commissioner Gordon just happens to have a newspaper clipping about a hunter named "Anthony Lupus" who is in hot water with the EPA for slaughtering "a rare species of Alaskan timber wolf." The species is especially rare, because the writer (Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway) just made it up!

Ah, the Wonderful World of Gerry Conway, where nobody does anything, until they absolutely have to. I'm picturing the scene now: "Has a bloodthirsty monster possibly resurfaced after being presumed dead?" Gordon pondered. As he puffed thoughtfully on his pipe, his gaze wandered down the page to the night's television listings. A-ha! KGC-TV was re-airing a "Fantasy Island" episode he'd missed once before. "And I'll miss it again if I have to sit on the roof with the Bat-Signal all night long, waiting for that long-eared galoot to show up." thought Gordon. "If he ever does. Supposedly he has "monitor duty" on the Justice League satellite on certain nights, but I'll be damned if I can ever get his schedule pinned down. 'Monitor duty--!' Batman and his super-pals probably just play poker or have wild sex parties up there, and I'm stuck down here like a jerk-off. All because of a "lead" -- which may or may not even be legit! The hell with it! Besides, it's all the way up in Alaska, for fuck's sake! Let the pipeline workers and the lesbians sort it all out."

"Of course, now it can't go on..." I mean, before, it was merely illegal and harmful to the environment. But now there's that damn kid and her leukemia in the mix. What a pain in the ass. That's motivation in a Seasoned Professional Gerry Conway story for you: imposed on the character by an outside source, and heartily resented.

The brown-suited guy all the way down there is not Batman's Biggest Fan Ever. Far from it, actually. It's mayoral candidate Arthur Reeves, and he's running on an anti-Batman platform (which is also how Jacques Chirac and Hugo Chavez got elected).

Reeves is a black belt in Taunt-Fu! Here he demonstrates the "praying mantis" style. It's a good thing Batman smacked him down, because Reeve's follow-up move is a wedgie. And since Batman's undies are on the outside of his tights, he's pretty much asking for it.

But the bitch, he is slapped, and so Batman must lam it out of town. He heads for Alaska -- not in the Batplane, but in a commercial liner... that looks suspiciously like my old living room.

Well, hello, Bruce Wayne! You're simply slathered in purple, and you're reading the Gotham Gazette's fashion section? I'm definitely intrigued! Just grow some kick-ass facial hair, and then we'll talk. Also, you might want to adjust your pose a tad. It's looking a mite prim. C'mon! Sprawl out a little bit. Spread those legs wide. Find something to scratch. And would it kill ya to grunt randomly?

Sorry. I seem to have gone off on a tangent. It's just that I can't stop thinking about how I'd "improve" Bruce Wayne, i.e. make him more like myself. Oh, well.

Tomorrow: Bruce and a handsome, rugged, bearded fellow make plans to spend the night alone in some other dude's cabin. You're getting there, Bruce! You're getting there!

But today, I'd like to close things out by showing you how the "cool kids" dressed in 1981:

...Well, of course, they had to wear baggy, voluminous clothing! How else do you expect them to cover up all the tattoos?

Rescue Me Bonus: Son of the Annihilator

I'd like to start out with a belated tip of the cap to Sleestak for suggesting yesterday's post! Thanks, pal! Now, let's get down to business.

The main story in "Action Comics" #356 (November 1967) starts out on a bizarre note, as the Annihilator, a doughy Eurotrash doofus in an absurd costume, orders Superman to leave the Earth within forty-eight hours... and Superman agrees! Because the Annihilator is a dangerous individual. And he's obviously, unpredictably bat-shit crazy... a man who would willingly dress like that is capable of anything!

But the proceedings take an even freakier turn when the Annihilator decides to do what any publicly-loathed celebrity does to improve his image: adopt a kid who can show up in a few newspaper photos before he's handed over to the nanny for the rest of his natural life! His new son? A smart-mouthed teenage delinquent. Because, really, isn't that the obvious choice? Let's take a look at the irrepressible little scamp, starting with the cover.

What's wrong with this picture? (And no, the Annihilator's "Nostril Libre" mask doesn't count.) Here's a hint: it was published in 19-freaking-67. And yet the Son of the Annihilator is dressed like Marlon Brando in "The Wild One" (a film from 1953!). It's yet more proof of how DC was getting thoroughly drubbed in the Coolness Wars by Marvel Comics. Sure, Stan Lee was a middle-aged crypto-fascist conservative, but at least he could pretend to get his grooviness on! DC wore their John Birchian squareness right on their covers where every hippie could see it. But wait! It gets worse! Thanks to the cover artist (I'm guessing Neal Adams?) the Son of the Annihilator appears to be a darkly handsome "bad boy" whom any teenage girl (and more than a few teenage boys) would swoon for. So far, not bad. But let's see how interior artist (Wayne Boring, I think) depicts him!

Yipes. Kinda homely. (And he stole all his insults from old "Dead End Kids" films.) Well, maybe he looks better when he smiles.

Gah! He's hideous! Who's his biological father? The Prankster? Criminy! I can forgive a lot in a guy (evidenced by my continuing relationship with Weight Wizard) but a deficient personality and an ugly mug? Good night male nurse!

All that aside, I must say that "Action Comics" #356 had an intriguing undercurrent. Leather-loving outsider "caught... with the meat in his mouth" approached by a brawny, elaborately-moustachioed older gentleman who wants to be called "Dad"? (Haw! Your father's mustache, Pocketbook Pete!) I dunno. It just really resonates with me for some unknown reason.

Anyway, like a lot of father-son relationships, Annihilator and Son hit a rocky patch when hijo ingests some contraband substances.

"All right, son! I'm glad to share my super-power with you." Which of course the Annihilator is going to say, since his own super-power has worn off, and the smirking little shit he calls "son" would punch his goofy noggin off his fat neck if he so much as looked at him funny. ("Daddy-o." Aw, for chrissakes, DC Comics of 1967--!) You know what I would have liked to have seen in "Infinite Crisis"? Son of the Annihilator and Superboy Prime going all "Rock'em Sock'em Robots" on each other. Just get rid of both of those annoying dillweeds at the same time.

So. The Son of the Annihilator is a lot of things, but one thing he's not is cool. He needs one of my patented Blockade Boy makeovers, pronto!

Ah, that's better. The Son of the Annihilator... wait, he needs a name that's not so clunky... I believe I'll dub him "Kid Annihilator" or KA for short... anyway, Kid Annihilator has a shagadelic rawk 'n' roll haircut now, complete with muttonchops. He doesn't bother to cover up his facial hair with a mask like the Annihilator does because he doesn't care about protecting a secret identity. He has the Annihilator's logo on his chest, but it's bordered by three orange shapes that hark back to the radioactivity symbol. That relates to the glow of his powerful fists. His boots are fringed because it's current and groovy and youthful (for 1967) and also because I like the contrast between supercostumes and street clothing. (When it's not overpowering or overdone, I should add. Like trenchcoats... ugh!) In my sketches he had a fringed vest to match, but I decided it covered up too much of my design. And the color scheme is all secondary colors because it compliments the Annihilator's primary scheme and it's more far-out, maaaannnn! Now this guy would look at home battling the Teen Titans... who are as hip, sadly, as 1967 DC ever would get. In my head I can see a dynamic Nick Cardy cover with Kid Annihilator smashing his way through the Titans in front of the words "Make War, Not Love!"

What else do I see in my head? Oh, you don't wanna know. You couldn't handle it! What? You're sure? Okay, I'll share one more thing: I can see Weight Wizard's face after I disrobed in the Conjugal Visit Pod at the addiction treatment center. I take it he'd never seen a robotic dingus before. And he'd especially never seen one with my self-designed Robot Hand with Pimp-Slapping Action attachment! Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sharing too much. Suffice it to say Weight Wizard learned his lesson. For now! And inbetween visits, he can think of me while he tries to scub off the huge motor oil stain I left on his back. Er, I'm sharing too much again, aren't I? See you next Monday!

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Four

June, 1982: Presaging the FEMA Superdome debacle, the Grandmaster crammed every available Marvel hero (and yours truly) into hideous, spacebound Facehugger Arena. The assembled ultra-tools didn't know how to react to a fabulous-yet-manly future hero with sweet-ass facial hair, so they pretty much left me alone. Fine by me. I went into purple-and-orange "stealth mode" and evesdropped the hell out of them!

Looks like Ben Grimm found himself a backup boy toy! (Note how Quasar cringes at the Thing's touch. Speaks volumes.) Ever wonder what the Thing's "rocks" look like beneath the blue Underoos? I overheard the Human Torch and Quasar gossiping not long after this panel. Turns out our Mister Grimm is normally smoother than a slab of peanut brittle. But beware! He's a "grower," not a "shower." Also, his member has its own voice box, and it sounds a lot like Godzilla. Ew. Fashion-wise? I've never been a fan of the Fantastic Four's costumes. *dodges various bits of debris* They're pretty boring (and if some fanboy tries to tell me "They're supposed to be boring!" I'm going to reach through the monitor and pimp-slap them). Attempts to change them have usually resulted in making them even more boring. A good rule of thumb is, the smaller the logo, the more boring the costume. I'm constantly surprised by how many wonderful artists forget that. Quasar over there has a more interesting costume but it also happens to be pretty ugly. Nice headband, jerk. It could definitely use some streamlining. To the front of the panel, the Hulk is entering menopause. About his pants... I think it's freaking ridiculous how he (almost) always managed to glom onto a pair of fresh purple pants -- in a stretch fabric, no less! -- during his vagabond period. Jeremy has an issue of the Hulk comic where Bruce Banner digs in a garbage can and finds a pair of purple slacks... that used to be owned by the 3-D Man! As if that flattopped, hornrimmed square would ever wear anything that interesting. Behind the Hulk is undersea underwear model, the Sub-Mariner. I gotta hand it to him: no dialog, but the body language immediately tells you everything you need to know about his personality. Crammed in the lower right-hand corner is Doctor Strange, Lounge Lizard Supreme. (I wish he'd brought his robe with him. So I could've swiped it.) Doc's costume is one of the few old costumes out there that really doesn't need improvement, in my opinion. It's quirky but it works. Individually, the parts are quite dodgy -- liverspotted orange gloves, blue footy pajamas, undoubtedly greasy pencil-line mustache, a cape that Liberace would have dismissed as "too gaudy" -- but I'll be darned if those disparate elements don't all harmonize like the Beach Boys. Something I just noticed about the cape, by the way? It's the source of the original Byrne Doodles! You know, the scribbly crap Byrne puts all over clothing because he's too damned lazy to draw an actual pattern? Byrne's Krypton was lousy... with Byrne Doodles. Or "Ditko Doodles" I suppose I should call them. Way in the back (where she belongs) is Patsy Walker, Hellcat. Funny, I don't think of a "hellcat" as being annoyingly perky or reeking of desperation or vaguely slutty in a "high school cheerleader" kind of way, and yet Patsy somehow manages to be all of those things. Her costume is one that almost works for me, but not quite. My main gripe is that it needs something more to break up all that yellow spandex besides the obligatory 70's sash. An interesting super-logo on the chest would be nice. C'mon, Patsy, there must be dozens of teenage girls across your great nation who would send you their ideas for a logo! ("Patsy's luscious logo designed by Roberta Fleugalblatt of Parsippany, New Jersey.")

Of all the weird categories that the Marvel Folk portioned themselves into, the weirdest -- and smallest -- was the Bald Telepath Contingent. As you can see, Moondragon is trying to bullshit her way into importance with a lucky guess as to the arena's locale. ("My mental scans have done no more that ascertain that this arena is somewhere in space, Professor Xavier! Also, there are a lot of windows and I can see through them!") I gotta ask -- was that emerald swimsuit deal she wore the idea of those Titanian monks who raised her? No, honestly. It's a legitimate question, because Marvel has a rich tradition of spiritual leaders making young women dress like prostitutes. Meanwhile, Professor X, dapper as always, is subtly influencing Moondragon to remove her bra. Next thing you know, he'll ask her to wear a red wig.

Still more Contest of Champions dish tomorrow!

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Two

Picture it: June, 1982, outer space. Pretty much every Marvel super hero in existence -- plus myself -- had been teleported by an unknown person (the Grandmaster) to an unknown place ("Exposition Arena," TM the brilliant Bully). Inexorably, the assembled Marvel super tools self-segregated according to body type (robot, manimal, godlike), powers or general geographic location. It was like a junior high cafeteria, minus the tater tots. In fact, I said that exact thing to the Texas Twister right before he excused himself and moseyed over to where Razorback was standing. Then the two of them did an awful lot of whispering and giggling, with the occasional gesturing in my direction. I caught up to Razorback later that year in a truck stop men's room. I didn't hear any laughter then.

So I was the "odd man out" in Exposition Arena. That's okay; I'm used to it. Plus, it gave me a chance to do some stealth-mingling and spy on everybody! Y'know, scope out what they were wearing and what they were talking about! And then gossip about it to all of you guys, now!

For someone so vehemently anti-American-culture, it's funny how much Vanguard's hair makes him look like the lost Duke of Hazzard. That shit was shagged out and feathered to the last molecule. Also, as you can see here? He'd just dug a huge booger out of his nose and was trying to hide it behind one of his massive thighs. I'm not a fan of Vanguard's costume, by the way. It's awfully busy, and the combination of a Victorian-modest collar and gigantoid arm holes (which threaten to expose some nipple if he turns just so) is insane. Maybe a full, military-style jacket would have worked in this situation. The Crimson Dynamo, with his teeny little Dubya mouth and his pointy metal hat, also looks like a big loser. And the fact that the whole shebang is painted bright red? It's harmful to my eyes and other living things. He needs to tone it down, pronto. Throw some black on that shit. I do admire how he took the opportunity to give Tony Stark a nice verbal pimp-slap. "Obviously a sporting arena, Iron Man!" (Iron Man: "I only asked because I thought your oppressive, underhanded government might have a hand in this, but if thinking I'm stupid helps you forget how your shitty little country is falling apart, be my guest. Dickweed.") Not in this issue: a panel showing an awestruck Iron Man, with the thought bubble "This place is immense... are we in my briefcase?!"

Shamrock and Captain Britain (Crip and Blood, respectively) combine international and religious tensions with sexual tension as Captain Britain ogles Shamrock's ass... suspiciously! I did some research on Shamrock to see if she'd appeared anywhere after this and I was surprised to learn she showed up in a whole lotta comics! She even got an origin and everything! But then she broke her left foot in a slip-and-fall accident and decided it meant that her good-luck powers had run out and that she should give up super heroing. (Cut to Barbara Gordon, saying "Whiner!") As an only-in-the-comics consolation prize, she showed up in Excalibur as "the most sought-after hair dresser in all of Europe!" Swell. Now, get your bitch ass in the kitchen and bake me a pie! Oh, and leave it to Claremont to make even a tertiary character "the most sought-after *blank* in all of *blank*" No "Joe Lunchpail" types for the 'Mont! See that janitor back there? He's the most sought-after janitor in all of South America! And he's a master of Capoeira, to boot! Costume-wise, Shamrock was just kind of meh. My big gripe is with the cowl. I don't think full-head cowls are flattering on women. I prefer the kinds where at least some hair is showing. Even the half-cowls, where the women kinda look like Stephen Wright (or for you comics nerds, Vulko) is preferable to the kind that makes them look bald. Captain Britain's original duds? I liked them okay, except for the covered mouth on the cowl. What's the point? Did he have a halitosis problem? Hmm. I've seen him really tear into the fish and chips, so maybe he did! Plus, he was, y'know... English.

Hey, Iceman, I like Darkstar's new costume, too! Her old one was just a puffy-sleeved gray blouse, some tight pants, and some boots. It was very "Rhoda goes to Safeway" but not very "superhero." Iceman's costume can't be seen under his thick layer of ice -- which makes it rather pointless -- but at this point in time it was a hideous powder blue-and-white affair. I guess it's just as well we can't see it. As for the dialog, I have one word for you all: Ewww! "Thank you, Iceman. I've thought of you often -- and fondly -- since then. Why, just the other day I took a freezey-pop and jammed it right up my..."

In the dankest, loneliest corner of Exposition Arena, the Vision and Machine Man enjoy a highly efficient pity party. ("The Vision: My wife does not understand me!") The Vision's costume is one I've always hated. It's way too gaudy, given his name and personality. That big stripey girdle of his is the absolute worst. What, does he have a hernia? Oh, and I think he at least should have ditched the goofy "widow's peak" cowl -- the one that attaches to his solar gem (or whatever the hell that bindhi doohickey on his forehead is supposed to be) and which conceals his handsome crimson skull. I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I preferred his pallid, yellow-white "dead skin" look from West Coast Avengers to his so-called classic costume. I didn't agree with the whole "deprogramming and marriage break-up" deal but I thought he at least looked better then. Machine Man? Boring! For starters, he needs some kind of interesting logo on his chest. If Ikaris is a case of Kirby trying too hard, then Machine Man is a case of him not trying hard enough. That's the Shroud in the background, by the way. Looks like somebody yanked his cowl down over his eyes again! That's always happening to him. (Shroud: You guys--! Quit it! Mo-o-o-o-mmm!") Poor dumb shmoe.

Tomorrow: Part Three! (This is going to go on for a while.)

Rescue Me: Turner D. Century

Yipes! I'm late with the post! But I still posted. Because I love you guys. For what it's worth, tonight the Rizza apartment was in quite the uproar. I had to spend hours calming Jeremy down after the vet told him his oldest, fattest cat had a yeast infection. And that he'd have to apply medicine to it every day for the next ten days. What Jeremy was too busy hysterically sobbing to understand is that the infection is in the cat's ears. Anyway, my method of calming him down involved a lot of pimp-slapping and screaming "stop it" but I think I finally got through to him. I'm typing this while he tries to get the swelling in his cheeks to go down.

Okay, let's get this party started.

Many years ago, Marvel's editors -- er, I mean "Scourge" -- killed off a whole slew of their lamer villains. I think these bad guys would have been more popular and therefore still alive if only they'd dressed better. So starting with this post and continuing sporadically in the future I'm personally redesigning the outfits of every villain Scourge ever killed! Even if it was revealed later that the villain survived, which undoubtedly happened in a case or two, this being comics. Just because I'm so gosh-darned thorough. Now, if I was Bizarro Blockade Boy (who turns into a solid steel welcome mat) I'd use my time bubble and actually give these new costumes to the villains themselves, causing the fanboys to adore them and sparing them from Scourge's wrath. But I'm not that guy so I'll just settle for theorizing.



Say, here's one of Scourge's victims, right now! Isn't that handy? Say hello to one of comic blogdom's favorite whipping boys: Turner D. Century! I have an irrational fondness for Turner. It's probably the handlebar mustache. And the name, with its lip-smackingly delicious pun. But in all other respects he sucks hickory-smoked donkey balls. The suit, the flying bicycle, the rip-off Penguin umbrella, and above all his personality, which makes him essentially Super Bill O'Reilly minus the dirty phone calls. Turner needs a makeover, like, yesterday. Because he's dead!

My idea? Ditch the barbershop quartet outfit and get him something like you'd see on the cover of a circa-1900 science fiction dime novel (ex. "Pluck & Luck").



Here's Turner, in my idea of a Victorian idea of a space suit. Which would look something like a diving suit. Rugged, huh? Slung over his back is his gold-plated Electric Blunderbuss, which packs quite the whallop! His helmet (on the ground next to him) I designed to give him an eerie, inhuman appearance. So the lenses are on the sides, like Black Manta. How does he see out of it? By a series of mirrors, like a periscope. (Of course.) I think Turner would have worked well as a Jules Verne type of villain, raiding the outside world in some sort of strange, majestic airship, and taking his plunder to a high-tech Victorian Utopia on an uncharted island. And of course he'd have henchmen. (Another job for Lenny!) With these enhancements, he'd be a fine villain for Iron Man or Captain America. Just for starters!

I won't be redesigning Scourge's victims in any particular order, so if you have any favorites just let me know and I'll work on those first.