Really, Any Day Now, Something is Going to Occur

They're working for Kevin Kline?!

Naw, can't be that. As villain names go, though, "Mister Kline" doesn't have much oomph. Sounds more like a bitchy fashion critic than a would-be world conqueror. I'm picturing a spindly, aging man in a navy blazer with an ascot and a jaunty captain's hat. One hour earlier he sent Slasher and Demitrius on their way: "Into the moist Washington afternoon, my harlequins of righteousness! Soon the city -- nay, the very world will know what I think of that gown Angie Dickinson wore to the Emmy's!" (Aaannd cue nasal yet maniacal tittering.)

Welcome to Carmine Infantino Memorial Airport

Holy balls, what a racket! Did a howler monkey get lodged in the wheel well? Are Tony and Marianne finally gettin' it on? Is the runway constructed of squeaky styrofoam? Is there a Pussycat Doll just off-panel? I can't take it! As Slasher would say, I must use my HANDS... to cover my EARS! Stand back, Demitrius! ('Cause I move my arms in a broad, sweeping manner...)

Gentle Pressure

Try saying this -- with Slasher's dramatic inflection -- the next time somebody at work hands you a memo. Guaranteed laughs! (Or a swift termination.)

Okay, let me see if I understand this. Slasher spent several panels hunkered down in an alleyway, assembling a device that could have easily fit in a nondescript cardboard box and just transported to that location without anybody giving him a second look. And he did this while wearing a bright orange aviator's helmet with attached goggles and green coveralls with gigantoid black polka-dots. So there goes the argument that that he didn't want to attract attention. So what was the point of all this? Oh yeah: DRAMA!!!

Next: Something happens! Possibly!

Jack of All Blogs, Master of None

Check it out! I've got a mega-post over at "Next Top Hero."

Love Me, Love Me, I Say That I Love Me

Oh, just flip the goddamn switch or whatever you freakin' drama queen!

Sorry. Only a few pages in and already I want to kick nearly every character in the 'nads. Hard. Especially Slasher, who appears to be enjoying a steamy romance with the sound of his own voice! Can you imagine what it must be like for Demitrius back at their crummy little hotel room? The sensitive l'il terrorist has to clamp his pillow over his ears while Slasher has loud, wet phone sex with himself (using two tin cans and a length of twine).

At Long Last, Spoken Dialog

So... what, precisely, do they really hope is... going to be all right? My guesses:

• The flight's beverage selection
• That goatee Tony keeps talking about growing
• The Stark Industries Theater Club production of "The Fantasticks"
• That new Waffle House they just built where that graveyard used to be
• The Wichita Chamber of Commerce's reaction to Tony's proposed Downtown Revitalization Project (i.e. legalized dogfighting, run by prostitutes)
• Marianne's insistence on wearing undergarments
• This week's episode of "Here's Lucy."

Harried Plotter and the Head that's Hollow

It's a good thing the Invisible Girl Marianne isn't sitting on Tony's left, or else she'd see that there's a big hole in his head... and there's nothing inside! (Except maybe a diorama of Iron Man banging Madame Masque, made out of pipe cleaners.)

Marianne: Not Exactly Maya Angelou

Wait, he told her Iron Man was on the plane with him? Was that even necessary? And he's in a "room" on the plane? That's not even a good lie! (Is this when we were all supposed to figure out he's a Skrull?)

Or is Marianne just really bad at crafting poetic imagery? Her previous attempts:

1. "Why did you store Iron Man in the overhead bin?"
2. "Why did you have your personal chef bake Iron Man inside my Chicken Cordon Bleu?"
3. "Why is the in-flight movie a triple feature of 'Iron Man of a Mad Housewife', 'I Never Sang For My Iron Man' and 'Little Big Iron Man?'
4. "When is the captain going to turn on the 'No Iron Man' sign?"
5. "Why did the stewardess offer me a tiny bag of dry roasted Iron Man?"

If only Tony could tear his eyes away from that filthy connect-the-dots he's working on, maybe he'd notice she's upset!

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Double-Header

Double-Header: what is he good for? Absolutely nothin'. (Say it again.)

The Legion auditions are like your 21st Century reality shows. It's a cattle call. And alongside the talented folks who get turned away for not being good-looking dickweeds, there is another class of rejects. That would be the no-talent opportunists who know perfectly well there's no way no how they'd ever get into the Legion but they show up and make a scene so their names will get into the evening's holo-papers. Which is my way of saying that Double-Header is to the Legion what David Kenneth "Sex" Soller was to "So You Think You Can Dance."

Look, I know Double-Header. He's not a bad guy. And he's not dumb. And I've certainly never seen his left and right heads fight... like that anyway. Naw, they get along just peachy. (The left one is the dominant personality... the "Mary-Kate Olsen" of the pair, if you will.) It's an act, and Double-Header only auditioned in the first place to impress a girl. It didn't work, but he still gets called up by the media for a juicy quote whenever the Legion holds another round of auditions. I guess it wasn't a total loss.

How could I have made Double-Header a viable Legion prospect? It stumped me for a while, but then I found my hook: Triplicate Girl's Tri-Jitsu.

As seen in Double-Header's subsequent appearances, he had surgery to separate his fused skulls and give them independent mobility. So he can now look in opposite directions simultaneously. I think that'd make him a real boss martial artist. He could even invent his own fighting style! Like "Juduo" or "Kung-Two." The only catch is that he'd have to be a better fighter than Karate Kid to actually make it in! ...Or else Karate Kid would have to meet with a terrible debilitating accident. (I'm sure that could be arranged.)

Double-Header's costume incorporates the Yin-Yang symbol. I made it black-and-red instead of black-and-white because you don't see that as much, and it makes him look more like a tough customer. And yes, I suppose it's asymmetrical even though I've railed against asymmetrical costumes in the past. Criminy, I'm never going to live that down, am I? In my defense, I'd just like to say that by making the dominant color a neutral I keep the design from looking garish or clown-like, and also that rules are meant to be broken -- but only by a professional such as myself. I experimented with some hairstyles for Double-Header, most of them of the mohawk variety, but I finally decided he looked best with the shaved thing he already has going. However, I gave one head a killer biker 'stache and the other a sweet-ass goatee to help define them as individuals. Both sets of stylish shades were going to be red but I accidentally started inking one in and I decided I liked it better that way. He still might not get accepted by the Legion, but I bet he'd make for a cool bouncer at a nightclub!

The Life Blockade Boy Leads

Weight Wizard's been acting all pissy lately, shirking his chores and back-talking me, which would be understandable if he was fourteen and not twenty-two. So I sat him down for a talk. By which I mean I made him listen to me sing a song about a proper space pirate: me! (With apologies to the Mary Poppins soundtrack.)

Suits Me Fine

You know what else Iron Man should wear? A hat. Since he's doing the turtleneck thing (a.k.a. Marianne) I'd give him an arty beret.. or if it was the 1990's, even an irreverent tuke, maybe with a patch on it, like Captain America's head with a big red "X" over it. I actually have a bunch of those on hand, and I made them all myself! Not that I'm one to bear a grudge, mind you. Anyway, that's what Iron Man could wear on a date. For a business meeting or a DUI hearing, I'd recommend a three-piece suit with a nice fedora or a homburg. For company picnics? A peppermint-striped jacket with a straw boater. For leisurely yachting across New Haven Bay, an18th century British admiral's costume (with epaulettes and everything!) and a Cap'n Crunch hat, rakishly cocked. And for a European beach, speedos and a dab of zinc oxide where his nose is supposed to be.

Thank You for Flying Air Noir

Miss? ...Missus? Hello? Hello? *heh-hem* HEY, DUMB-ASS! ...Dang, she is really out of it. I was gonna point out that the plane has apparently lost all electrical power and will most likely plummet to its doom but oh well.

And Tony is too busy marveling over how the impromptu chiaroscuro lighting makes his handsome face look all mysterious and wise and shit. "I should ditch the fluorescents and just put in some of those brazier thingies like Steve Strange has in his pad," he thinks. "Then maybe I could get me some of that extra-dimensional tail!" (Seconds later, the cabin is engulfed in flames.)

Planescape: Torment

*crackle* This is your captain speaking... an overabundance of melodramatic thought balloons is increasing the plane's aerodynamic drag, so our arrival time will be pushed back about half an hour... if you have a problem with that, you may want to take it up with the self-pitying billionaire in seat 1-B... also, I'm afraid we have no more of those teeny liquor bottles, because the billionaire drank them all... the stewardesses will be coming around with small pillows that can be used to throw at or forcibly smother the billionaire... that is all... *crackle*

Earth vs. the Flying Boozehound

Before the advent of notebook computers, air travelers had to use briefcases to cover up their socially-inappropriate boners!

So, assuming he's not waggling that red pen as a symbol of his constrained dingus (a true martyr for our time!) what is he's doodling? Is he...

1. Figuring out a way to maximize his own brooding?
2. Plotting his route to the airport bar (or Marianne's vagina)?
3. Drawing a mean-spirited, racist caricature of the Mandarin? (Admittedly, the Mandarin already was something of a racist caricature.)
4. Sequencing the DNA for what will be named "Scarlett Johansson"?
5. Diagramming Marvel's "Civil War" crossover, inadvertently creating a mathematical formula which proves there is no God?
6. Inventing the world's first voice de-activated bra clasp?

I'm stumped! What do you guys think he's scribbling?

So Do All the Hookers Have to Sleep in the Barn, or What?

Contrary to popular belief, Washington, D.C. actually consists of a handful of monuments scattered about a wheat field.

Fluffy Bubbles of Pure Love

I would have broken this down into smaller panels but as you can see, the ConwaySpeak tends to overlap itself. Except for in that first panel, which must be feeling awfully lonely right now. C'mon, First Panel Demitrius! Come out from around that corner. You could be smothered in word balloons right now! (It's fun!)

I love how Slasher's blocking makes it look like he's standing up and playing an electric organ.

(And speaking of my robotic dingus, I'm reminded that it's about time for its next scheduled maintenance. Three months or three thousand bouts of torrid lovemaking with Weight Wizard, whichever comes first! Tusker, put the pita pocket down, grab a drain pan and a big can of oil, and slide yourself underneath me.)

Because You Politely Requested It

It's my 2nd Bloggiversary today! (See?) That means posting will be light while I'm feted by my entire crew... under my strict supervision, natch. (Tusker, that ice cream cake you made in my likeness is sub-par. Start over!) Anyway, this is all I have for you today.

Well, I certainly can't find fault with Slasher's headgear, now can I?

But those jumpsuits--! Black polka dots on army green? Are they an elite unit of party clowns? Did they just come back from the paintball range and they didn't have time to change? Are those just oddly-placed sweat stains? And don't try to tell me it's "camouflage" unless they're going to infiltrate a Baskin-Robbins and skillfully blend in with the mint-chocolate chip.

(Also, I can't figure out why Slasher's hotplate has a detonator.)

Pinch Me; I Must Be Dreaming

You know how I'd take care of this joker? Drawn butter, and puh-lenty of it!

Wow! Just what in th' Sam Scratch is going on here?! Was Grant Morrison interning at Marvel in 1971? Did Stan Lee's gofer slip a little something extra into his coffee? (And I don't mean "Sweet 'n' Low.") Am I imagining the whole thing, and everybody else looking at this freak is seeing the Melter or some shit?

The cover is a bit misleading, as the fellow with the crab-claw cranium is not named the Slasher and his groovy orange costume is actually a demure olive green. Which I think is George Tuska's and Jim Mooney's woefully misinformed notion of camouflage.

Welcome to the crazy mixed-up world of "Iron Man" #41 (September 1971), without a doubt one of the worst comic books I've ever encountered in my entire life. And I say this as someone who's read "Oblivion." It's written by Gerry Conway at his most hysterically overwrought. And like a lot of Conway's books, most of the characters can be divided into two categories:
1. Snide, hateful jerk-offs who talk way too much
2. Whiny, self-pitying douchebags who talk way too much

Believe it or not, there are a few nice silent panels. Sadly, they merely serve as literary "palette cleansers" -- preventing your brain from becoming numb to young Conway's hackery before assaulting it afresh. Probably 95% of the panels are so stuffed with purple prose that the characters are reduced to the size of ants. In fact this comic is so bad I'm tempted to go all "Gravity Girl" on its ass and blog it in excruciating detail. I mean, get a load of this caption box from the very first page:

"Slightly moist?!"

Cross-dressing Pajama Party!

Hey, don't judge them too harshly -- as you can see, hubby's completely smooth from the neck area on down. If that's what it takes for them to achieve intimacy, so be it. (And don't even think of asking about all the mustard bottles on her vanity.)

MTV Cribs: The Mighty Samson

Some happy day I'll create a holovision channel devoted exclusively to the faux-fur-wearing barbarian and the faux-fur-wearing barbarian lifestyle. And my first subject will be "the Mighty Samson."

Oh yeah. That's a totally fake pelt he's sporting. He tells everybody he skinned it off a "liobear" but I know for a scientific fact those things ain't magenta and their fur is impervious to dye. My guess: "the Mighty Samson" salvaged his "skins" from the floors, walls and ceiling of an old van. (It wasn't a-rockin', so "the Mighty Samson" came a-knockin'.)

Show us around your pad, "the Mighty Samson!"

And it doubles as a toilet!

Say--! What's that on the wall? How quaint, a flat-screen plasma TV! What're you watchin'? The History Channel or some-- oh.

Dang, we are a "modern stone-age fam-i-ly", aren't we? Boring! Please, tell me you at least hiding a jewelry safe or a peephole into your bath area or a cage containing the trussed and gagged body of the real "the Mighty Samson" behind that thing.

Hang on, the Mad Thinker's even lamer cousin wants to show off. Preach it, Poindexter!

Christ. He says the word "cannons" and his eyes automatically land on her chest. Which wouldn't be half as creepy if he wasn't her father.

And honey? Could you stop thrusting? Seriously. Just turn that shit off for half-a-minute. And the next time you buy a sweater, consider going a size up. Also, we need to sit down sometime and have a nice long talk about the way you've been eating popsicles and corndogs.

Well, at least the positively asexual "the Mighty Samson" isn't suckered in by such obvious ploys! Isn't that right, "the Mighty Samson?"

"...Because I just happen to own a 'French maid' costume..." *thrust, jiggle*

TURN IT OFF, I said!

(See? Auto seats! I told you he raided a van!)