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 Three

So there I was, kidnapped to floating, space-bound "Exposition Arena", and none of those stuck-up Marvel super-bitches would give me the time of day. Eh, screw 'em. I'm perfectly happy just wandering around and eavesdropping. Perfectly happy! And I'll fight any man who says otherwise! *fists clench anxiously*

Even a youngster like Kitty Pride can detect the smoldering sexual undercurrents in the conversation between Colossus and... whoever the hell that other guy is. I'm thinking it might be Major Ursus, a.k.a. Ursa Major, the Russian guy who turns into a big bear-monster. (Dang it, I forgot to ask for his number.) "Perhaps I feel I can best serve the Motherland by serving the world... as an X-Man!" Oh, kind of like how American freedom is somehow protected by bombing the holy bejeezus out of a foreign land. When I was younger, I really liked Colossus' original costume, but later on I decided it was too busy. Especially with those three random triangle-things on the knees. I liked the John Romita, Jr. red-and-white redesign better -- although it could definitely use less buckles. But it was the 80's. All new super-hero costumes were required to have a minimum of eight buckles. It was in the Comics Code! Kitty is wearing the old, boring original X-Men uniform, which I kind of hate, but I see she's tried to spice things up by flat-ironing her hair. Not that it worked too well. It's about a half-percent change in humidity away from sproinging back into its normal shape. In the background, Texas Twister (sweet handlebar!) lights a celebratory cigar after giving Razorback a thorough, blood-spattered rogering behind the refreshment stand (Razorback's ass gets so much action he might as well give it a velvet rope and a couple of bouncers). Texas Twister's costume is flashy but I think it works for him. It's hard to go wrong with an Old West theme. Ursa Major (or is it?) is wearing the Marvel version of a standard Soviet military uniform so it doesn't count as a costume. So I shan't speak of it.

Hey, Captain America! Do you interrupt all foreign monarchs, or just the African ones? If you read my "Miss America" post way back when, you'll recall that I utterly loathe Captain America (mock my whiskers, will ya! Grrr...!) so I'm not going to talk about his costume, either. I've always liked the Black Panther's duds -- simple, but classic. It's got a good silhouette, too, which is important. In the background, there's muy macho Gorgon, whose costume I like just fine, although I'm mystified by the horned chrome goggle things on his forehead. Can he see though those? And if so, does that make Gorgon one of those tools who walks around with their sunglasses pushed up on their foreheads, even when it's overcast? Well, that would explain the sweater tied around his neck. I think that's the Torpedo in the back, between Black Panther and Cap. The Torpedo had a cool helmet but that was about it. Plain blue super-suit, no logo or styling of any kind on the chestal region, and the goofiest jet-gloves I've ever seen -- and I've seen a lot of jet-gloves. (I'm from the future!) And in the far right corner of the panel... the Silver Banshee?! But she's from DC! And she wasn't even created yet! And why is she wearing a Saturn hat? Hang on, Jeremy is tapping me on one of my brawny, muscular shoulders. What's that, child? Hmm? ...Oh. He says it's actually the Night Rider. Yeah, I never heard of him.

Why, here's Spider-Woman, who has one of the best super-hero costumes ever designed, and Spider-Man, who has one of the worst (although many would disagree, right, Steven?) As you can see, Spider-Woman's glider-wings (which have the magic power to appear and disappear from one panel to the next) have chosen to remain invisible. They're quite fickle, those glider-wings. Oh, and on a more vulgar note: that's not a web line.

The Son of Satan and Doctor Druid are swapping eyebrow-shaping tips! They should have asked Sasquatch. He's considered an expert by those "in the know." Actually, Daimon Hellstrom's eyebrows are naturally Satanic -- he gets them from his dad! Doctor Druid resorted to a mystical bargain to achieve those awesome Spock-brows. The price? The rest of his hair. There's a shadowy demi-god out there right now with a thick, wavy pompadour. It was totally worth it, though. I mean, who's going to hire a magician who has eyebrows like Whoopi Goldberg?

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.)

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part One

Did you know that I was part of the "Marvel Super Hero Contest of Champions?" (Above panels from issue #1, June, 1982.) That's the time the Grandmaster kidnapped what appeared to be every single super hero alive on Earth-Marvel and forced a mere handful of them into Olympic -- er, scratch that! I meant to say -- "gladiatorial" combat. (Yup, it's that super-sized special originally intended to coincide with the 1980 Olympic Games, chopped up and redone as a limited series.) I was just in the wrong dimension at the wrong time. What do you mean you don't see me anywhere? I'm that one guy in that one panel in that one crowd scene, way in the back... in silhouette.

I'll admit, the situation was giving me some nasty "Super-Stalag of Space" flashbacks but I managed to keep myself together. Before we heroes found out why we were there, we mainly just milled around and made awkward smalltalk. ("Aren't these vast, windowless rooms phony?") Sadly, there was no alcohol available to make them seem funny or interesting to me. So, I just kept my mouth shut and made notes on what everybody was saying... and wearing!

Ikaris is wearing more than the minimum amount of "flair", which is sure to please his manager, Zuras. By the way, is he wearing pantaloons? I haven't seen "overpants" that baggy since Lightning Lad's day-glo orange depends! This has to be one of Kirby's worst costume designs, which is saying something. Orion's costume may be plain and ugly, but that's better than complicated and ugly. You already know how I feel about Thor's costume, so we'll skip him -- other than saying that's got to be one of the queeniest "landing poses" I've come across in quite some time. In the background, meanwhile, Rom: Spaceknight puts the moves on Jocasta ("Oh, I'm not all robot, baby! Wanna feel?") Christ, I hope Starshine and Ultron don't run into each other at Cinnabon and put two-and-two together. By the way, I always liked Jocasta's look and I thought it was a shame when she got blown to pieces. But Rom's supposedly high-tech cyborg armor is one step removed from being a Halloween costume.

"Uh-oh! Alpha Flight!" Subtext: "I hope these losers aren't going to latch onto my awesomeness and follow me around the whole time we're here. Let's see, how can I ditch them...?" I really liked the original Alpha Flight costumes -- okay, maybe not Shaman's, which had the hideous color combo of orange and green -- but for the most part they were a good example of how to carry a design theme throughout a super-team while still keeping them looking like individuals. Behind Guardian you can see the taut buttocks of Northstar, who was totally checking me out. Sorry, pal, I don't date prettyboys.

In the final panel today, the Beast and Sasquatch argue about which one is going to be the top, before going on to share grooming trips. Sasquatch swears by "Mane N Tail" horse shampoo, and uses "Clubman" mustache wax for those tricky handlebar eyebrows. The Beast was considering changing his hairstyle. But then A Flock Of Seagulls released "And I Ran" that summer, so that delayed things quite a bit. In the background you can see Iron Fist (love his costume -- LOVE IT) standing next to... a mummy? Nope, that's just Janet "Fashion Skank" Pym, who was getting a seaweed wrap at the spa the moment she got zapped over there. Aw, now she'll never tone up those flabby arms.

Handi-CAPE-able

How do you know your supervillain costume is over-the-top?

When even your midget henchman is laughing at you. (Why do you think Doctor Doom prefers to employ robots?)

The tool in the metal underpants is named Kogar (from "Master of Kung Fu" #68, September 1978). Kogar has his own army and his own city and he doubtless fancies himself master of all he surveys. But he dresses more like a "Masters of the Universe" action figure. That goofy prosthesis even has different interchangeable bits he sticks on the end. I wonder if it has an electric toothbrush attachment. That'd be kinda cool.

Let's break this shit down into its component parts:

1. Eyepatch, which only partially conceals a long, curving scar with clumsy Frankensteinian stitching. Feh. I would have at least gone with a Phantom Of The Opera mask. Or if I had Kogar's ugly mug? A cloth sack thingie with one eyehole -- the Elephant Man made that thing rock.
2. Off-the-shoulder Captain Marvel cape. How very Viennese operetta of him. Hell, why not go with a lovely knitted shawl, or a gauzy chiffon wrap, or a stylish mink stole? Seriously, I would have just scrapped the damn thing entirely. Kogar's got a great body (aside from the head part... and the "missing one hand" part) so he might as well show it off.
3. Big honkin' orange harness with conspicuous rivets. What's the point of this? Is he going to pull a locomotive on ESPN2?
4. Segmented crotch armor. Look, Kogar, if you want your midget henchman to stop punching you in the nads, all you have to do is ask.
5. Clunky toy-like prosthesis. I know it has James Bond appeal, since it's motorized and you have a drill-bit attachment which you can hold against the temples of brawny, handlebar-moustachioed sailors, forcing two martial artists to fight to the death. But honestly... how practical can it be? All that machinery is resting against a busted stump of an arm. Isn't it kind of sensitive? How much force can you really apply with it? My guess is "not very much before you start wincing and screaming for Mommy."
6. The boots are unremarkable. But at least they match, Gareth.

And of course, there's the little matter of his hair. Let's take a gander at it from the back, shall we?

Hairstyle by Krispy Kreme! Say, what if it really is a donut? That damn midget henchman! Can't you just see Kogar stomping around at the daily Motivational Morning Meeting Of Evil, demanding to know who took the last chocolate-covered donut, and meanwhile the other henchpersons are laughing their asses off because Sklar the wiley midget henchman had just stuck it to the back of Kogar's bald pate?

About Sklar: okay, so he's not really a midget. But he is rather petite. And in this issue he has an inexplicably prolonged giggle fit, which only ends when a brawny, handlebar-moustachioed sailor nails him in the face with a beer bottle. Ouch. Nice hat, though.

Shoot-Out At The "I Can't Believe It's Yogurt" Corral

In "DC Challenge" #2 (December, 1985) Jonah Hex discovers three would-be bankrobbers trying to make off with a mysterious slab of rock. He stops them -- by shooting them stone-cold dead, natch. Oh, relax. They'd drawn their guns and it was Ye Olde Weste so that makes it completely acceptable on a moral level. Thinking the rock to be valuable, Hex tucks it in his shirt. That turns out to be a mistake. Let's go to the expositoritastic word balloons for the play-by-play! Jonah, in your own words, tell yourself what's happening.

"This chunk'a rock they wuz stealin' -- alluvasudden, it's glowin! An' it's got some kind'a writin' carved all over it -- lahk one'a them museum pieces--! Think mebbe ah'll jest hold on tuh this fer a while -- till ah can find out who owns it--! Might be an extra ree-ward in it fer me if'n ah-- ah -- ah ain't feelin' so good--! Startin' tuh get cold-- dizzy--!"

Really, couldn't all that wordy mess have been conveyed in thought bubbles or in caption boxes? Okay, scratch the caption boxes. When they're busy vomiting bombastic, hackneyed dreck like "Welcome to your nightmare!" they're obviously not up to the task.

So, we have a western character soliliquizing, but it sure doesn't sound like David Milch. But it does sound like Len "Remember how much you enjoyed Swamp Thing?" Wein! Wein is at his Weiniest in this comic: overbaked prose, "humor" that never rises above the level of a "Three's Company" episode and an overall cloying, elbow-jabbing, infuriatingly smug tone. So it's like Peter David, only stupider. Much, much stupider.

But of course, you come here for the fashion talk. My reservations about Wein's writing aside, I have to agree with him that the year 1985 is indeed a nightmare for time travellers. It was a time of Quantum Fashion, in which the old rules no longer applied. Women's necklines plunged, but only over one of their shoulders. Vast herds of mullets roamed the earth. Fluorescent pink was the new black. Everything was way too baggy -- except, for some reason, at the ankles. And you couldn't even get into a fancy restaurant unless you were moussed, gelled, or scrunchied to within an inch of your life. Those were dark days. So you know how I feel about 1985. And the caption box just told you how Jonah Hex feels about 1985.

But how does 1985 feel about Jonah Hex?



Christ, another Vibe wannabe? America was simply crawling with those guys in 1985. Worse than the pseudo-Madonna girls. Oh, and "nice threads?" He's a gun-toting redneck running stark-screaming bonkers through New York while dressed in a Confederate Army uniform. Sure, Len Wein, who wouldn't love that?

"That horse -- mah only chance --!"

Oh, Jonah--! Sodomizing a horse won't help you forget your troubles! Believe me. And anyway, if that perspective is to be believed, the animal is about twenty-five feet long and it's guarded by a seventeen-foot tall policeman. I know you're the baddest hombre in Ye Olde Weste but I have the feeling those two could seriously eff you up.

MacGyver, He's Not

Dirt in his hair? Ah, he's disguised himself as Jude Law.

Accidentally sent to the future by Superman's backwash (of air! What were you thinking?) Jimmy finds himself a hated fugitive thanks to a historical misunderstanding. ("The Boy Who Killed Superman," the above panels scanned from the reprint in "Jimmy Olsen" #113, August-September 1968.) Jimmy's complete disguise consists of the aforementioned dirty hair, a referee's uniform, hotpants (but of course), bright blue boots (not shown) and a Members Only jacket. My mind is boggling right now, trying to imagine the previous owner's lifestyle.

Unluckily for our Jimmy, he's captured in the very next panel by a "human magnet... tuned to killer Olsen's personal wave-length!" I guess he needed more dirt. But then he manages to escape and has a series of wacky misadventures until he's finally caught "for reals" this time and placed in a line-up with three other hotpants-wearing gentlemen -- some of whom don't really have the figures for hotpants. I'm specifically referring to you, circus strongman-looking guy on the far left. Jimmy's fingered by Brainiac (ew) -- no, not that one, just a generic thinking machine -- and the future folk punish him by sending him back to his own time. Phht. I think cyanide tablets would have been far more effective.

On a more personal note, I wouldn't say this to just anyone... but I like to think of myself as a "human magnet." And I'm tuned to your personal wave-length. *cue mellow jazz music as the lights in your room dim romantically*

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.

Some People--!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Not you guys! You guys are great!

I, Robed

*sigh* Late again, but I have a good excuse. I'm recharging the batteries on my time bubble, which takes forever. So, for want of anything better to do, I drove down to Arkansas with Jeremy, his brother Steve, his sister-in-law Sarah, and his 3-year-old niece Olivia to visit Jeremy's folks. They have internet access, but one mustn't be rude... so I couldn't do any blogging until almost midnight, when everyone had fallen asleep... at which point I needed a little shut-eye myself. Fun fact: on the car ride down there, we learned that Midnight Oil's "Beds Are Burning" is Olivia's new favorite song. So, spurred on by Steve and Sarah, Jeremy busted out a spot-on impression of the lead singer (multi-talented, that boy). Olivia's reaction: eyes squinched shut, lips pursed like she'd just eaten a lemon, and her hands over her ears. Everybody's a critic! Okay, that's enough chit-chat. Let's blog!



Remember that bathrobe of Doctor Strange's that I thought was just the bee's knees, as the kids in the ghetto say nowadays? Well, my feelings for this one are quite the reverse. Those unlucky dopes (like Jeremy) who bought "Web Of Spider-Man" #6 (September, 1985) got the above image as the splash-page: hot telephony action starring the squeezably corrupt Kingpin, who has inexplicably decided to highlight his major figure flaw by wearing something even more padded than himself. While I simply adore the color combo, something about this robe just gives me the creeps. Because it's being worn by the Kingpin. I have the feeling all that magenta silk is covering a rigid, intricate framework of suspenders and corsets. And it's probably bulletproof. And reeks of cigar smoke and bratwurst. And the color-coordinated sandals are a bit much, huh? Hell, why not some fluffy bunnyslippers? He's the Kingpin, for fuck's sake; who would dare to make fun of him? To his face, I mean. I think the Kingpin should wear the bunnyslippers and an old-timey floorlength nightgown with a floppy, pointed cap. Like Ebenezer Scrooge. All the time. Because he's a dick, and it would therefore be hilarious.

I guess all the excitement on this splash page comes from wondering what this important telephone call could be (and whether or not the Kingpin is cinching that belt or -- *gag* -- disrobing). Here were some of my guesses:

1. Custom pizza order made directly to the C.E.O. of Little Caesar's.
2. Prank call to Silvermane.
3. Request to local radio station that they play Starship's "We Built This City" -- or else.
4. Colecovision technical support.
5. Conference-call phone sex with the Enforcers.

Your turn!

Dead Wood

The American West: a rugged, unforgiving environment fit only for gaunt, sophisticated, slim-ankled fifty-something bachelors. Or at least, that's the order of things according to this Lee Riders jeans ad from"Adventure Comics" #390 (March-April 1970). I agree; nothing says "roughing it" quite like sitting in a faux wood-paneled basement, reading aloud from "Us Magazine" and making catty remarks about Lindsay Lohan.

Man. It's like they want to role-play but they just can't muster the enthusiasm for it. "You look like a real cowboy, Lee." "And you look like Noel Coward, 'Uncle Frank.' No, 'Uncle Frank,' I really don't feel like wrestling with you right now. Maybe after I finish this crossword puzzle. And probably not even then. But I still get to keep the five hundred bucks... right, 'Uncle Frank?'"

And now, a worrisome juxtaposition of images from the end of the advertisement:



It's like an instruction manual for illiterate serial killers.

The Unpalatable X-Men

Yup... I put Jeremy's copy of "The X-Men" #3 (January, 1963) on a flatbed scanner. It was a lot easier to work with once I folded the spine backwards. ...What?! Oh, p'shaw. It says right on the cover it only costs twelve cents.

In this issue, the X-Men (no "Uncanny" in the title... yet!) meet the monstrous Blob... who nowadays looks more svelte than your average Wal-Mart customer. But do you know what I found truly horrifying in this comic? The clothes.



The Angel's pants are cut quite generously in the ass region, aren't they? What's his cover story when some curvacious debutante asks him why his butt looks so big? Bee sting? Unfinished liposuction? Adult diaper? But of course he never gets in that kind of jam. Through the Magic Of Comics, as soon as those voluminous trousers are belted, a good third of that lumpen mass vanishes and he looks like he has no wings at all! As for the Beast, I know what I'm buying him for Christmas 1963: an iron. Also a 9x12 "glamour shot" of myself but that's a whole 'nother story. (There's a panel in this issue showing him wearing only pajama pants, and he's shirtless and furry-chested and he's holding a calculus textbook... with his feet. Heaven. Pure heaven.)



Quick! Choose the most disturbing aspect of this panel:

1. Middle-aged Professor X confessing to the reader via thought-balloon that he's deeply infatuated with the teenage Marvel Girl, a.k.a. his pupil.
2. Professor X's belief that the only things standing between himself and Marvel Girl's hymen are his job (night manager at Taco Bell) and his handicap. (Apparently it's not just the legs that are paralyzed.)
3. Cyclop's suit.

The correct answer is #3, of course. Purple plaid, with pants to match, and a narrow little tie to go with his narrow little pursed-up mouth. You wouldn't think purple plaid could look dowdy but Cyclops manages to pull that off. Kudos, tightass! (I would have rocked that purple plaid suit back when I dyed my hair red, but then I'm just cool that way.)

Gah! I never thought I'd say this about the Blob, but he needs to strip back down to his underwear, pronto! Maybe the problem here is his color combination. He looks like an ambulatory Virginia ham... that does magic tricks. And the scoop neckline of the shirt paired with the high collar on the cape... it elongates his neck in such a weird way, like we're not even seeing his real head. Like it's one of those fakey Mardi Gras papier mache heads, and his own head is even more itty-bitty and hidden inside... like you could peer up one of his nostrils and see a teensy eyeball glaring back at you. The whole thing just gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Hey, bonus scarrage!

In the 30th century we call this position "the asteroid swarm." It's illegal on three planets! I've never seen it done fully-clothed before. (Kinky!) It's tricky for beginners, but I've found it helps if you place a trampoline on both sides.

Hammer Pants: The Mighty Thor

Greetings, gentle readers. It saddens thine most favored costumer, aye, with grievous groans and rendings of his brightly-hued garments, that his post should be late. Know only this: mine trip to Asgard was of long duration, owing to differences in the passage of time 'twixt that fabled land and lowly Midgard. Mayhap thou hath noted also that my speech be wondrous strange. Mine sincerest apologies be thine, but I was compelled to enter Asgard 'neath a false identity and the shedding of certain aspects of that masquerade hath proven to be most difficult indeed. Still, 'twas in the service of that noblest of goals: to redesign the costume of the Odinson himself, the Mighty Thor!

What Doth Be His Deal:
Doth thou jest? I speak of the Mighty Thor! All who breathe sing of the glorious form of the Thunder God. And those unfortunates who live in miserable ignorance of the Odinson need but consult the font of all knowledge, the Wikipedia.

Foul Deeds 'Gainst Fashion Itself:
Some superhero costumes withstand the changing tastes of the inexorably passing decades because they be true classics, without need of improvement. Thor's raiments belong not in that category. Like most costumes, Thor's hast limped along with either minor or temporary alterations because of a sickly nostalgia among the Odinson's fans. The changing of the merest stitch be enow to set the pasty, unwashed horde to howling like nigh unto terrible Fenris. Their gibbering electronic protestations to the contrary, Thor's costume sucks donkey balls.

I take umbrage firstly with the boots, with their ace of spades/cow-catcher tops and their strappy/stripey middles. Thor's pre-Christian muscle shirt also sticks in mine craw. 'Twould look most appropriate on a body builder from Long Island circa 1988 -- but it be not worthy of the Thunder God. Thor's winged helm finds disapproval in mine eyes, as the shape of it flatters his divine features not a whit, and resembles not so much as a silver-plated stocking cap... with wings glued on. His overly-starched cape, attached without fanfare to his muscle shirt, is likewise a point of contention. But of all the many abominable qualities of Thor's garments, the six yellow discs 'pon his midsection vex me the most. What, pray tell, are they meant to be? Frisbees? Pancakes? I knoweth not -- and if thou claimeth to have the answer, I call thee a filthy liar, good sir. Truly, Thor be in need of mine artistic talents.

When Titans Meet!
Having attained the most divine fur and leather raiments from a Renaissance Faire booth (whilst the propriator's back was turned) I reinvented mineself as an Asgardian costume maker with the noble appelation of "Bloga the Impeding." Then, 'twas a simple matter to distract Heimdall ("Hey, but look yonder!') and sneak past him over Bifrost into gleaming Asgard.

The Odinson I found in brooding reverie (i.e. trying to get the tiniest synapse in his brain to fire) in the back of a tavern. I ordered two steins of mead and then took the foamy beverages to Thor's table. I announced mineself with mine deepest, most booming voice: "Thor, great friend! Oh, Bloga the Impeding hast found thee at last!" Mine eyes detected in Thor's visage the strenuous calculating of his feeble brain as he attempted to recognize the handsome figure before him. I pressed on. "Surely thou must know thine old compatriot, Bloga the Impeding, most fashionable of the gods! Mayhap thou hath seen mine needlework in the stylish garments of your friend, Fandral the Flaming."

"Fandral the Flashing," Thor mumbled, his speech slurred by many tankards of ale.

"Precisely," said I, and hurriedly sat beside him.

Behold: Mine Presentation!
"Thor, mine brother-in-arms, very much should I like to regale thee with mine many blood-curdling adventures whilst away from Asgard's comforts -- but it shall suffice to say thine friend hath learned even greater skill in his chosen trade of fashion design. And thou, should it please thee, are to be mine next client!"

The dimmest of lights gleamed in Thor's drowsy eyes. "Art thou,' he queried, "as skillful as mine Midgardian friend, the Wasp?"

The untalented harlot's name caused mine anger to rise with startling swiftness but I restricted mine comments to this: "That mine talents surpass the Wasp's there can be no doubt, as mine many successes can attest! Why, only recall how I hath arrayed thine good friend, Fandral the Fabulous!"

"Flashing," said Thor with a hint of annoyance in his low, gurgling voice. He seized the stein and drained it in one gulp, regarding me with great suspicion.

"But of course," I stammered. "Mine absence from this great land hast been of, um, such a duration... er, certain names escape mine, um... MORE MEAD HERE!"

A buxom Asgardian barmaid speedily presented us with an entire pitcher, which the Odinson drained forthwith. With a casual gesture of his tree-like forearm, he swept every item from the table: the pitcher, the steins, a half-eaten turkey leg, several cocktail napkins emblazoned with amusing runes, and an inebriated pixie. I laid mine drawings before him.



"Regard!" I exclaimed. "This sassy, streamlined little number takes thine image boldly into the twenty-first century! Thine perplexing yellow discs hath been mightily reimagined as a series of large, gold studs on a navy-and-red leather costume. Thine most kind and considerate friend hath also taken it upon himself to simplify thine boots, and to give thee gloves to match. So as not to overpower thine handsome new costume, 'twould be wise to trim thine golden hair a smidge. A Donegal beard wouldst be just the thing to frame thine strong jawline and add a touch of the warrior spirit.

"But if this ensemble catches not thine lordly fancy, feast thine eyes on this!



"Here thee may behold a costume steeped in tradition -- half leather, half chainmail and all kick-ass! In this ensemble, thine long-lost friend Bloga the Impeding hast replaced the blinding blue-black of thine current raiment with somber tones, the better to highlight the gleaming gold detailing and the bold crimson cape. With a stylized helm and a thick blonde beard, thou wilt be a potent vision of Norse masculinity! What say thee, Odinson?"

All Shall Tremble At The Words Of The Mighty Thor:
Thor grasped both drawings in his mighty hands and peered at them for quite some time, holding them at various distances from his red-rimmed eyes, as though unable to focus properly upon them. At length he flung them back on the table and slurred, "Thou hath confounded the Odinson, Bloga the Impeding. I thought thou said thou had more talent than the Wasp...?"

T'was at this juncture, gentle readers, that thine fashionable friend totally lost it. "Now see thee here, Miss Thang, Bloga the Impeding suffers not the mead-soaked insinuations of--!" But mine protestations were interrupted by a lengthy belch from Thor's beautiful lips as he forthwith lost all consciousness. He slumped to the floor, his divine noggin rebounding off the oaken table with a terrible noise. For mine own part, I managed to get out of the tavern without paying mine tab ("Hey, but look yonder!") and high-tailed it back to lowly Midgard and Jeremy's lowly apartment.

Enjoy thine stupid yellow pancakes, thou jerk.

Time-Travel Challenge: Grunge To Rockabilly

Welcome to the third of my time-travel design challenges, in which I select a comic character who is mired in his or her decade's trends and imagine how they'd look if they had been created in another era. This time around I selected Grunge, whose name doesn't even have anything to do with his powers. He may as well have been called "Polka" or "Viennese Waltz." From his original "Kurt Cobain by way of Fantastic Sams" haircut to the overabundance of leather straps to that stupid winged skull tattoo on his chest, Grunge was a transparent attempt to lure readers by lumping together a bunch of fads.

But comic book writers have pulled that crap for decades... as you'll see when I pluck Grunge from the depressing 90's and drop him down in the paranoid-yet-peppy late 50's. Behold... Rockabilly!



From "Sunshine Superman: Popular Music Trends In The American Comic Book" by Professor Nicolas Kim Coppola, published on Earth-4/4:

"In December of 1957, Elvis Presley received his draft notice. He entered the Army on March 24, 1958. That same week, in 'Blackhawk' #122, editor Jack Schiff introduced a pompadoured, super-powered guitar player named Percival Chang. His superhero codename: Rockabilly.

In that original story, Rockabilly is introduced in civilian garb as the American nephew of the book's repulsively stereotypical Asian character, 'Chop-Chop.' (The interaction of Rockabilly and Chop-Chop was visually jarring -- Rockabilly was depicted with a reasonable amount of realism, 'Archie Comics' eyeballs aside, while Chop-Chop was afflicted with a lemon-yellow hue, a massive overbite, and what can only be described as a 'Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey' penoir. ) In the midst of Rockabilly's visit to Blackhawk Island, the villainous Killer Shark attacks. After Rockabilly and Chop-Chop scurry for cover, the Blackhawks are mystified by the appearance of a mute 'Metal Man' who helps them to vanquish their foe. Near the end of the story, the Metal Man reverts to human form, revealing himself as Rockabilly. On the last page, he explains the origin of his powers. It turns out he had been practicing his guitar in a jalopy in the middle of a desert, not realizing until the last minute that it was the site of an A-bomb test. He found a foxhole but its sole inhabitant -- a spindly, bespectacle scientist -- panicked and pushed him back out of it just as the bomb exploded. Instead of killing him, the radiation gave him the ability to take on the property of any inanimate substance he touched. To this end, he had taken to carrying about various minerals in his pockets.

Rockabilly proved popular enough that in 1959 he was granted his own series, 'Romp With Rockabilly.' It was here he first donned his memorable, gem-bedecked belt, gloves, and boots. Alas, he wasn't so popular that he could survive the seeming demise of rock 'n' roll music that occurred prior to the advent of the Beatles, and a mere fourteen issues later, the book was cancelled.

Rockabilly's appearances were few and far between after that. In the 70's, Denny O'Neil used him for an issue of 'Black Canary/Black Orchid' (under the moniker 'Rocker') and Bob Rozakis included him as a member of 'Titans West' in two issues of the fading 'Teen Titans' comic. In the 80's, he played at Donna Troy's wedding in 'The New Teen Titans.' Also that decade, Phil Foglio starred him (under his original codename of 'Rockabilly') in a four-issue miniseries that revealed his third cousin to be the Wonder Woman villain, Egg-Fu. His last appearance -- and certainly his least illustrious one -- was in the background of a single panel in the "Kingdom Come" miniseries. There, literal-minded painter Alex Ross, never one to resist an obvious joke, depicted him in his old age as resembling the 70's Elvis: paunchy, bloated and stone-cold dead... on a toilet."

I liked the general idea of doing a 50's version of Grunge but Jeremy has barely any comics with him in them, none of which are "Gen13." So my fictional backstory for him has zip to do with his real-world ficitional backstory. Sorry.

Anyway, I gave him a nice wide belt for his fancy rocks, plus Western-style flared gloves and cowboy boots. Note the very 50's collared cape. And I translated that dopey tattoo into a logo combining wings, a guitar, and just for the hell of it, a heart. I think it works okay.

I'm not a big fan of trendy characters. I wonder how Grunge will fare in the coming years. At the very least, a name change is in order. I don't think even Dazzler would have lasted this long if her named had been "Disco Belle."

Rescue Me: Steeplejack II

Hey there, everybody! It's me, Blocked Boy... er, I mean, "Blockade Boy." Sorry this took so long. I was worried I was starting to repeat myself with my costume designs, and it took forever to push through my creative block. So this will be a catch-up weekend for me. I'll post my Grunge-to-Rockabilly design either tonight or tomorrow. My big Thor post will be Monday. They're already designed, so all I have to do is draw them. After that I might back off the artwork posts a tad -- say, only once or twice a week, with my old wise-ass commentary on the other days.

So, by the special request of commenter Simon, I tackled Steeplejack 2. How could I have guessed he'd be my biggest design challenge ever? I knew right away I wanted to get him out of that stupid green bodysuit. And the Golden Age Flash rip-off helmet was a goner (just like Steeplejack 2, heh-heh) along with the meaningless pocket-tastic harness doohickey. But beyond that? My first instinct was to armor the bejeezus out of him but I've done that way too much lately. And I liked the bearish vibe of the meaty, slablike original, but I didn't want to just copy that look, either. I was stuck.

And then I remembered how much I liked the Wrecking Crew. Particularly Bulldozer. And I decided to put him in more of a regular supervillain costume, but with my trademark Blockade Boy twist.



I love to combine old-fashioned super-costume elements with street clothes -- as you can see from my current costume. Steeplejack 2 was a perfect candidate for that look. So I dressed him in a leather outfit that simulates the look of rusting, riveted steel. The trousers have that plunging waistline I like so much. (I just can't seem to help myself on that score.) Then I gave him a genny-ine hardhat and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, to give him the flavor of a regular "Joe Lunchpail" type.

But I see some of you have raised your hands. To answer your unspoken protests, yes, I know this Maxwell Plumm person is a sleazy businessman and about the furthest thing away from a working stiff, like, ever. Relax. I got you covered. I've an idea that would have reinvigorated the Steeplejack concept and given it some longevity. Howsabout... he "gets religion" and becomes a hardcore, radical socialist? And his modus operandi becomes violent "home invasions" of sky-high penthouses, wherein he takes small valuables like jewelry and then trashes the place before he leaves? He could put the loot in a lunchbox with a magnetized base so it stays stuck to the girder. And then he uses the money to fund various radical causes. Voila. Instant Captain America villain. Think of the havoc he could wreak at a WTO protest! Oh, and howsabout... he travels around on a flying girder? (pauses, waits for delighted applause to die down) He could use the girder to smash through windows and to batter his foes. How would that work, precisely? It could be controlled with hidden foot-pedals, or maybe he has a psychic link to it or it's just magic (paging the Enchantress!) or sumpin'. Y'know, if he was in the DC universe it would be a snap -- the girder would just be constructed of Nth Metal or whatever the hell Braniac 5 made those flight rings out of. For Marvel? I dunno. I just think it would be an incredible visual -- plus it would be quirky and interesting enough that your typical idea-starved Marvel editor would think twice before deciding to off the guy.

But I guess it's too late for that, huh?

Because It Made Me Look Like A Goddamn Leprechaun, That's Why

Do-over!

Sorry, no Steeplejack 2 post yet. I just haven't figured out an interesting redesign for the guy yet. My best effort so far wound up looking a lot like my Shellshock design. I don't want to fall into a body armor rut. But I'm gonna keep trying. If I can't come up with something I absolutely love for him tomorrow, I'll go ahead with my Time Travel post.

In the meantime I've redesigned my costume again. Because I decided to cut my hair. Because as much as I love my new Donegal, when seen in concert with my youthful Shoney's Big Boy haircut I look like I'm an extra in a gay porno version of "The Shoemaker And The Elves." So I razored my hair super-short and sewed myself a vaguely more badass costume. (It's as badass as pro wrestling, anyhow. Hey, that means new duds for Boris "The Steel Wall" Arkady! Whee! Oh, badasses don't say "whee." I meant to say "HELL YEAH!")



I redyed and slightly altered my boots from my last costume (frugal!) and I combined them with some tights, a wrestling belt and a spankin' new hoodie I sewed up to create a sort of hip-hop/Tekken 2 look. And although it caused me deep, spiritual pain to do so, I shaved my chest. The costume just looks better this way. I take my one consolation in the fact that my arms still look like an ape's, praise be to God. I love the goggles. They add some 21st century superheroic flair, since they're a bit like a mask, and they also give some needed color to my "head shot" now that I've foregone hair dye. And the bubble shapes on the hoodie were inspired by comic book thought balloons, since assisting other comic book folk is my stock in trade. Also, they soften the look and help keep it from looking all grim 'n' gritty.

This costume is based on one I'd designed in case the "Wolverine" look had won the poll. I did three costume designs for the poll choices -- one for the two mustaches, one for the muttonchops and one for the Donegal. Here they are:



That's right, my initial costume sketches are little cartoony guys, about two inches tall! Sweet Jesus, but I'm fascinating.

The original Donegal costume was going to have black tights and shoulder patches with side-by-side orange and purple on the top and boots. Once I drew it full size, though, I realized it looked like something Duo Damsel would have worn for cardio boxing. That darned bustier shape on the top...! I might as well have worn a sports bra, too. So I decided to switch to my muttonchop design. Which was just okay. It didn't seem to go that well with my ultra-dramatic Donegal though. And the more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to have to see it on my blog page every day. I'm pretty happy with this new one, though!

(For now.)

All Glory To The Highfather!

Dig my sweet-ass Donegal!

When I closed the polls -- nominally at 10 PM last night, although it turned out to be barely 10:01, with somebody getting in one last vote at that time, the "Highfather" vaulted into a decisive lead over the second-place finisher, the "Doctor Strange." Here's the voting breakdown:

• 1st: The "Highfather," 75 votes, 38% total
• 2nd: The "Doctor Strange," 55 votes, 28% total
• 3rd: The "Wolverine," 36 votes, 18% total
• 4th: The "Dum Dum Dugan," 31 votes, 16% total

So that's 197 votes in all. (Coming from probably five people... heh, heh!) Now, I love all these looks -- or else I never would have offered to grow them -- but I will admit that y'all surprised me. I had a feeling that the "Dum Dum Dugan" would be a front-runner, after all my gushing about it in my earlier posts. But somebody out there was hell-bent on my growing the "Highfather." And I'm more than happy to oblige. It's a splendid beard, if I do say so myself: luxuriously long and thick, yet beautifully trimmed and shaped, and it looks boss as hell. I have a real "circus strongman" thing going now. I only hope Brother Bicep doesn't get too jealous.

I sketched various costumes to go with the different facial hair configurations. For the "Highfather" -- which is actually a Donegal, and here's a page showing a rather handsome young man wearing one -- I went with a low, square neckline and short sleeves. With such a gloriously leonine beard on display, I thought it would be best to show a little skin. It goes with the strongman/tough guy/fantasy barbarian feel of the beard. (I've taken to monopolizing Jeremy's churchwarden pipe, since I look so much better smoking it than he does.) And the costume is purple and orange. But of course.

Thank you, everyone who voted. Have a terrific day!

Rescue Me: Bird-Man 2

Quite some time ago, the vigilante Scourge embarked upon a mission to rid the world of super-villains -- provided they were kind of lame and didn't have terribly illustrious careers. Oh, and it helped if their costumes sucked. That's the kind of villain Scourge really enjoyed shooting... in the back.

I'm no fan of Scourge, or of his editorial purpose. Personally, I think a good story can be written with any character. It's just takes enough imagination and effort. And in the case of Scourge's victims, I'd start by giving them better costumes.

Bird-Man 2 was one of the Ani-Men. And that's about all I could find about this guy on the web. I couldn't even find an image of him. I know he succeeded the first Bird-Man, a.k.a. Henry Hawk. Not to be confused with Tony Hawk. Whose nickname is "Birdman." (My head; it is spinning.)

Okay, so I did find out that at least one of the Bird-Men got his powers from his costume. And Count Nefaria had his scientists mutate the Ani-Men into naturally super-powered people. And there were antennae on the sides of the Bird-Man helmet for some reason. I hope that The Thing That Walks Like A Man, who seems to be really into Bird-Man, can explain it all to me.

As you can see from the link, the Bird-Man costume is kind of stupid. Not a big surprise to me, since I hate bird costumes. I can only think of a few that I like: Frank Quitely's Owlman design, the G-Force teens, Hawkman (natch... hairy chest time! Woo!), er... the Blue Falcon and Dynomutt... okay, I'm done. Anyway, it's hard to design a bird costume for a super-character and keep him from looking like a college football mascot. Or some drama major cavorting in front of a fast-food joint. So this was a helluva challenge for me just by its very nature. As an added challenge, I promised myself I'd include the antennae, and I'd keep them on the helmet. So here goes:



Yes, everyone's beautiful at the ballet. But seriously, I was trying to think how I could make the antennae look like a natural part of the helmet design instead of just jamming the damn things on the sides of it, like whoever did that with the old costume. And yes, I understand that the antennae were a unifying visual element for the Ani-Men but we're not talking about all of the Ani-Men now. We're talking Bird-Man, solo. At first I tried a "great horned owl" theme but it looked way too much like Quitely's Owlman. And then I came up with the peacock idea, with the antennae as the feathers in his crest. So we have the peacock helmet, the cloak that looks like a peacock's tail, gorgeous iridescent blue on the gloves and trousers, some purplish-silver metallic boots, and because I just can't help myself sometimes, a bare chest. (I know, I know. Sue me.) The cloak isn't attached to the wrists, because that would be stupid. But I'm sure it billows like a mofo when he's flying. That would look kinda cool.

Now, if I only knew the first thing about him--!

Blockade Boy Needs You!

I'm sure many of you are wondering -- although none of you have asked -- how I can get away with my sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops when I'm travelling in an era that frowns on such follicular extravagance. It's really quite simple. I just make sure my civilian identity comes from whichever walk of life justifies big, bold facial hair. Here are some of the aliases I've used, along with the time period in which I've used them:

• The Vicomte Bloque-DuBoise, a nobleman (1937-1949). Accessories: monocle, top hat, enormous medal-bedecked sash. Accent: French.
• Bucky Attaboy, 4-F character actor specializing in cowboy sidekick roles (1941-1945, 1950-1953). Accessories: plaid shirt, boots, cowboy hat with the front of the brim bent straight upward. Accent: nearly unintelligible.
• Doctor Blake Boyd, high-priced psychoanalyst (1948-1982). Accessories: tweed jacket with patches on the elbows, straight-stemmed bulldog pipe, thoughtful expression. Accent: Connecticut.
• Blockade Doggie, tormented beat poet and occasional surfer (1959-1967). Accessories: sweatshirt, bongos. Accent: mumbled Southern Californian.
• "Bulky" Boynton, motorcycle enthusiast and professional bouncer (1968-present). Accessories: leather jacket, sunglasses, WWI German army helmet, sneer. Accent: Midwestern whiskey-throated growl.
• Bob Kane-Hoyt III, trustfund radical (1969-1973, 1988-present). Accessories: pants woven by Central American Marxists, copy of Das Kapital, platinum American Express card. Accent: never really settled on one, since I spent most of my time sighing and making disgruntled clucking noises.
• Boris "The Steel Wall" Arkady, professional wrestler (1976-1989). Accessories: leopard-skin tights, satin cape, bullhorn. Accent: Russian.
• Bill K. Poindexter, Nasa engineer (1977-1985). Accessories: hornrimmed glasses, short-sleeved white dress shirt, clipboard, bad posture. Accent: nasal Floridian.
• Blox-Boi, struggling Nu-Metal keyboardist and cube-gleaming sk8er (1995-2002). Accessories: baggy pants, tuke, the stench of failure. Accent: whiny Brookline.
• Bollocks Kapow, snooty techno DJ (1993-present). Accessories: hoodie, mirrored shades, busted glow stick. Accent: really bad faux-Swedish.

I hope that clears things up. And now for the matter at hand: It's been just over a year since I took over Jeremy's blog, and I think it's time for a makeover. (For myself; not for the blog.) For starters, I'm going back to my natural hair color. I know that sounds like no big deal to you folks, but my hair has been dyed some color or other pretty much continuously since I was six years old -- not counting that unfortunate business with the Super-Stalag of Space. And now I have to do something about my facial hair. Since it was dyed to match my hair I'll have to shave it off and regrow it. Which is fine by me, since I feel like switching to a new style. And that's where you, my charming and handsome and/or beautiful friends come in! You see, I can't make up my mind! I've narrowed it down to four styles:

A. The "Doctor Strange"

B. The "Dum Dum Dugan"

C. The "Wolverine" and...

D. The "Highfather."

I need you guys to vote for which style you'd like to see me adopt. Use the handy mini-poll box located over the links section. (You can vote as many times as you want; it's cool by me.) Whichever look gets the most votes by 10 PM Central Standard Time on Monday, that's how I'll wear it for the forseeable future. Through the magic of time travel, I'll be able to show you my new look, along with a brand new costume, on Tuesday's post!

Full schedule for next week:

• Monday: Rescue Me: Bird-Man
• Tuesday: My new costume and facial hair!
• Wednesday: Rescue Me: Steeplejack
• Thursday: Time-Travel Challenge: Grunge to Rockabilly
• Friday: I present two costume redesigns to the Mighty Thor.

Have a great weekend!

Rescue Me: The Miracle Man

When the Scourge of the Underworld set out to rid the world of its criminal element, he sure picked some easy targets. Low-level bad guys like the Miracle Man were trotted out after years -- sometimes even decades -- of disuse, for the sole purpose of getting whacked before an audience of drooling fanboys. They were cannon fodder, like the stars of an Irwin Allen film. ("Look, honey! Jennifer Jones! My lands, I haven't seen her up on the big screen in -- oh, she's dead.")

Was the Miracle Man lame? I don't think he had to be. He made for a heck of a menace in "Fantastic Four" #3. Unfortunately, the big twist ending of the story required him to be a fraud. He didn't really have astounding reality-bending powers. He was just a remarkably talented mass-hypnotist. And when a story pits the Fantastic Freaking Four against a hypnotist, who do you think will win? I think that kind of ruined him for a lot of comic writers.

If you ask me, he just needed a change of venue -- from comics where the heroes save the entire planet on a monthly basis to one where they're more prone to punching out gangsters. The Miracle Man could have had a field day in that setting. With his power of instant hypnosis, which you have to admit is still damned impressive, he could have set himself up as a crime boss or a cult leader or something. He could send anybody who crossed him into a nightmare world of self-destruction ("A free corndog? For me? Thanks!" *blam!*) It worked for Doctor Psycho. And Spellbinder, on the "Batman Beyond" cartoon. I don't see why the Miracle Man couldn't have made a go of things.

And he could definitely have used a new look. That old-timey vaudeville magician get-up was looking cheesy even back in the early sixties. Here's an idea for styling the old guy:



I call this look "The Archbishop Desmond Nosferatu."

The Miracle Man was already kind of old, with a thin frame and prominent cheekbones. I figure I could have put him on a strict, Moby-esque diet, shaved him completely bald (all over), made him look even more skeletal and startling with the judicious application of makeup, and slipped him into some clerical robes. That way attention is drawn to his eyes, but he's still dressed in something mysterious and memorable -- but not so much that it takes attention away from his eyes! That's why I went with all-white. At first I thought about just putting him in a nice three-piece suit, maybe accessorize it with a cape and a sword-cane or sumpin' but it just seemed too mundane. Plus the churchy garb goes nicely with his name.

Tomorrow: a desperate plea from Blockade Boy!

Rescue Me: Lionfang

Scourge killed a lot of Marvel bad guys, probably because their costumes sucked so badly. I think I can do better.

The circumstances of Lionfang's death are pretty sketchy. He seemed to have died at the end of "Luke Cage, Power Man" #13 (September, 1973) when Power Man caused him to fall from a trapeze. Eighteen years later, in Captain America #394, Scourge claimed to have killed him. (He also got rid of that pesky John Wilkes Booth!) So if, in fact, Scourge did kill him, poor ol' Lionfang didn't even get to die on panel.

And I think that's a shame, because Lionfang had hella potential as a villain. A scientist with a helmet that allowed him to transfer the strength, agility, and ferocity of jungle cats into his own body, and to transfer human intelligence and the ability to speak into jungle cats? I'm sorry, but that's kind of awesome. Throw in the fact he was hiding out in a circus, working as a lion tamer, and you've got four-color magic. A vengeful scientist masquerading under the big top? Pure Lon Chaney. (As in "He Who Gets Slapped.") Okay, so giving him the ability to shoot lightning out of his hands was watering down the concept slightly. But on the whole, the crazy fucker could have rocked. All he needed was a little love.



I know, I promised a beard and I didn't deliver. But dig the helmet! I thought it looked better with the chin covered. There could still be a beard behind there; it's just you can't see it right now. I pared the nutty color scheme from his original outfit down to red and black. The pointy deals on the shoulderpads are antennae for sending and receiving various powers to and from his jungle cats. I put them there because they had no place on the lion-head helmet. The helmet itself? It's a little Hawkman-like. But mainly I was thinking of that one guy with the tigers from "Gladiator." Rawr! The big difference between Lionfang's helmet and Hawkman's helmet is that Lionfang is wearing a black mask under his. That way he can enjoy the "shadowed eyes" look all the time without breaking the laws of physics. The black mane on the back is attached to the helmet. I can just see Lionfang all alone in his circus wagon, late at night, fine-tuning the controls on his helmet and grooming his wig...

Next: Rescue Me: The Miracle Man!

No Super For You!

I gave Membros the day off so he could attend Antron's funeral (got burned to death by some kid with a magnifying glass). So I have to tell you myself that my "Lionfang" post will be delayed until late, late tonight. I'm still stuck in the design stage. I've been sketching and sketching. Jeremy asked me why I looked so frustrated, and I told him I couldn't come up with a costume worthy of Lionfang, and then he guffawed and said "If you can't even design a costume for a fourth-rate loser like Lionfang I think you need to just give the fuck up and get a job at McDonalds or that nine-planet ice cream shoppe you're always talking about" and I didn't like his tone at all so I grabbed his nose between my index and middle fingers and twisted it real hard until a little blood came out and that was the end of that.

So I'm gonna shoot for sometime tonight or worse-case scenario early tomorrow morning, like around one-ish. I know, I know. Sorry.

One thing I know for sure is Lionfang's gonna have a cool Abe Lincoln type beard because it's leonine. And speaking of interesting facial hair, look for something fun along those lines at the end of the week!

Rescue Me: The Cheetah

In the "Rescue Me" challenge, I pluck one of Scourge's villainous victims from the mists of obscurity and give them a hypothetical makeover. I mean, even more hypothetical than my usual makeovers, in the sense that I have a policy against helping supervillains. In this case there's no harm, since they're dead!

This time I'm making over the old Captain Marvel villain, the Cheetah. This guy had a couple of aesthetic strikes against him. Starting with the fact his name doesn't even come close to matching his appearance. Since when do cheetahs have brown fur? The guy needs a full-body dye job, but I suppose that's impractical. (And speaking of dye jobs... look for an exciting personal announcement at the end of the week!) But I'll at least give him a new villain get-up. The one he had, with the Doctor Strange-size collar? And the chest-belt, whatever the hell that thing was for? It blew. Chunks. So here's how I would have dressed him.



Since he got his powers from a Kree robot(!) I gave him a Kree-style costume to match! It's the whole "hero's opposite" thing, like Black Adam and the Reverse Flash. In this case, it means a cheetah head symbol based on Captain Marvel's star logo, a partial cowl like on one of my favorite costumes, and bikini "overwear" -- the only type of overwear I'd ever endorse. Muy macho!

Tomorrow: I continue the cat theme with Rescue Me: Lionfang!

Time-Travel Challenge: Dazzler To Flapper

With the Time-Travel Challenge, I take a comic book character who typified the trends of a particular decade, and relocate them to another era... with appropriate alterations.

Chawunky suggested I do this with 70's disco queen Dazzler; Scipio suggested I move her to the 20's and call her Flapper. Well, they really didn't have proper comic books in the 20's. But they sure as hell had comic strips!

From the book "Pioneering Women In Comic Strips" by Robbie Jerrison, published on Earth-36-24-36:

According to her friends and family, Claire Chrismont was a woman of few words. Despite -- or perhaps because of that -- her comic strip "Flapper" was a masterpiece of energy and pacing, with lean, snappy dialogue that only intruded upon the lovingly-delineated artwork when absolutely necessary.

The title character, Alison Blaire, was a shapely, roller-skating madcap with aspirations to a singing career. She was also fond of wearing spangles and sequins, which gave Chrismont the opportunity to decorate panels with dozens of "glitter lines" -- tiny starbursts which surrounded the character like a halo.

In 1926, the year of Flapper's debut, the newspapers were already filled with similar strips, such as Winnie Winkle the Breadwinner, Tillie the Toiler, Fritzi Ritz, and Mazie the Model. Where Chrismont's strip excelled, however, was in its supporting characters. While other comic strip flappers dealt with antagonists who were EITHER comic OR villainous, Alison Blaire was confronted on a daily basis by powerful oddballs who were a combination of both. And although they looked relatively normal, on an emotional level they gave the misfits of Dick Tracy's rogues gallery a run for their money.

Three of these were introduced in the strip's very first year, and they would be fixtures in "Flapper" for decades. There was Victor Von Doom, an eastern European playboy more in love with his own dueling scar than he would ever be with Alison. There was Bruce Banner, a meek, spindly radio show director with a non-verbal "split personality" that granted him the strength to overturn cars and bend lamp posts in half. And most memorably, there was the career-devouring gossip columnist Gail Atticus, whose inexplicable hatred for Alison was equalled only by her fondness for gigantic hats.

Beginning in the 30's, "Flapper" was handed off to a succession of female cartoonists, including Dee Falco, Fanny Dingeroth, and Midge Shooter, By 1958, its popularity had waned, and syndicate editors merged it with "Longshot," a dying strip about a three-fingered jockey. The new strip, Mex-Babies, found the two disparate characters running an orphanage in Tiajuana. It folded after three months.

Jeremy has the entire run of Dazzler in his collection. I'll pause here while you finish laughing. Done? Great. Anyhow, it made research a snap! As for the look, I just put her in a sparkly frock and changed the face paint to a mask-on-a-stick.

Whaddaya think?

Rescue Me: The Fly

Or "The Human Fly" as he was sometimes called. Which must have been confusing for that 70's stuntman guy with the same name and his own Marvel comic. His costume was kind of boring, that's for damn sure. But I don't agree with Marvel's decision to mutate him and make him even more insect-like, and give him a preference for eating garbage. (Like Tostitos and Ding Dongs.) I guess Marvel finally realized he was more disgusting and pathetic than menacing. And so down came the swatter.

Well, I call shenanigans. He was a powerful guy in his prime, with some pretty cool powers, like the ability to generate explosive force by "buzzing" his wings at a certain frequency. And he was strong, fast, and could stick to walls. I think he would have made a great enforcer-type character -- y'know, badass muscle hired by crime bosses to rub out their enemies. And I would have dressed him like so:



Forget the traditional costume -- with those big bug eyes and wings, he doesn't need anything else that could make him look campy. So we have green leather pants and boots and some tattoos that are based on the shape of flies' legs. I shaved his head and gave him a fu-manchu. Which is dyed black, since his natural haircolor is a strawberry blonde. It's more of a down-to-earth, rough-and-tumble look for the guy. He fought Moon Knight at one point; I think he would have been a good villain for other street-level heroes, like Daredevil or Power Man.

What do you guys think?

Rescue Me: The Hijacker

The first time I saw the Hijacker in a comic, it was in that supervillain clusterfuck from "Marvel Two-In-One" #96. I had no idea who he was. Apparently I wasn't alone, since Marvel's editors had no problem with offing his padded, gas-spewing ass. In a crowd scene, yet. At least the Bug-Eyed Bandit only had to share his last panel with Clayface II.

So what, precisely, is wrong with the Hijacker's outfit? Easy. It's boring. It's gray and boring with a stupid gasmask that makes him look like the lovechild of Roy Orbison and a baleen whale. Let's pep that shit up! At least he'll have something nice for his funeral. Assuming it's open-casket.



I knew I didn't want to keep his costume gray, but I puzzled over what color to make it. I wanted something kind of industrial or toxic, so I settled on an acid yellow. The lines and dots are circuitry built into the suit that allows him to hack into computer systems. And he has a nice big backpack - lightweight, natch - to hold his knockout gas. The logo on his chest is supposed to be a combination of an "H" and a "J" with the "J" resembling a fishhook. Although I have a feeling I didn't draw the barb on the correct side. Oh well.

Tomorrow: Rescue Me: The Human Fly!

Rescue Me: Cyclone

Booyah! Another post this morning! I now consider myself officially caught up. And if you disagree you can suck it. Oh, I'm being hostile for no good reason again. I apologize. Anyway, I've got my Hijacker design all figured out so it'll be a snap to finish it up in time for tomorrow morning. Whee!

Here's the original Cyclone costume. Try tearing your eyes away from that gigantoid symbol on his back. You are getting very sleepy... because the look is quite boring! Let's give this poor dead dope a makeover, shall we?



I like the concentric rings but not when they make a huge target shape on the back of the costume. (Honestly, he was kind of asking for it, wasn't he? What, a "Kick me" sign was too literal?) So I relocated them to the shoulders and I designed a logo with the rings nestled within a "C." And I changed the color scheme to something more interesting. Fun fact: I was sorely tempted to make the white shape on the chest and neck a skin-revealing cut-out instead but I realized I shouldn't draw every guy with a bare chest, no matter how much I want to. I have to change it up now and again. So what do y'all think?

Rescue Me: The Melter

Sorry... no "Snowbeast" post today. Or ever, probably. I realized it was too easy. So instead we have the Melter! I can't seem to find a decent image of the Melter on the web right now, so I guess we'll have to settle with me linking myself. Look in the second panel. He's the majorette of the loser parade!

So here's what I'd do:



I reduced the green and orange to spot colors and gave him a mask that covers his whole face. I figure the orange lights on the harness around the melting weapon would light up in succession from the outside in, as it powers up. As for the green lights on the arms and legs... well, I just put those in there because I thought they'd look cool and they'd be a call-back to his green pinstripe trousers. If you want a practical reason? They contain coolant. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Tonight: Rescue Me: Cyclone.
Tomorrow (morning, I hope): Rescue Me: The Hijacker!

I swear to God I'm going to get caught up on this thing.

Gender Reassignment Challenge: Phantom Lady To Phantom Lord

Welcome to another installment of the Gender Reassignment Challenge, where I take the creme de la girliest of superheroine costumes and redesign them for a male hero.

Before Teen Whore Supergirl, before Witchblade, before Power Girl's cleavage porthole, long before any of these desperate, sweaty attempts to attract male readers, there was the Phantom Lady. Her costume was flimsy enough to land her in "Seduction of the Innocent" and to be brutally honest, it made her look as though she'd been forcibly giftwrapped. So how could I interpret this ensemble for a guy? Well, here goes!



I replaced the silky "nipple tarps" (foreplay called on account of rain!) with complicated suspenders. I tried to keep the diamond shaped negative space from the old top but I added a cross-piece and brought it across the tops of his arms to emphasize his shoulders. And I gave him pants. Because he has "Lord" in his name and I can't see somebody like that gadding about in their underpants. It's the same reason I gave him the sweet-ass VanDyke. It conveys authority. And yet the spiky hair says "I'm youthful and I'm ready for adventure!" I think he has a nice Mediterranean flavor. Very Antonio Banderas.

Next: another Gender Reassignment challenge: Snowbird to Snowbeast!