Casual Fridays At 177A Bleecker Street

Lazy, rainy Fridays at the Sanctum Sanctorum of Doctor Strange... could it get any better? I imagine it would be like living in a Pier One. Cool foreign knick-knacks everywhere, the air permeated with a sublime, musky incense, and lite jazz blasting from hidden speakers. But unlike Pier One, you can stroll about in your bare feet and a cool robe and the salespeople won't scream at you or call the cops. Uptight bastards... but I seem to have gotten off track. Where were we? Oh yes.

Here's Clea, the Vili Fualaau to Doctor Strange's Mary Kay Letourneau, in a fetchingly convoluted penoir-and-genie-pants ensemble. It's very nearly see-through (the shameless hussy!) and features a stiff orange collar that would have done the Karate Kid proud. The very best part? The collar doubles as a dry-erase board. That way, when you're done doodling on it, you can jot down helpful messages. Like "Buy more incense" or "Exorcise cats." If it weren't for that way-out collar, Clea's "satanic milkmaid" up-do would overpower the gauzy frock -- but with the collar, the hair's practically a necessity.

And what would Hep Cat Supreme, Doctor Stephen Strange wear? Dig it!



Suh-weet! I covet that robe. Profoundly. Knowing that such a glorious robe exists and that I don't have it makes me die a little inside. And you know me; I'm an expert at sneaking into places and taking whatever I want, er, need. (Like "my" time bubble. Haw!) But I'm sure Strange's crib is fortified to the rafters with spells that would turn me into a bunny rabbit (with bangin' highlights) or hurl my taut white ass into a shadowy limbo-realm if I so much as tapped on a huge round window. So I guess I'm just going to have to deal with it. Hey, let's look at the back of the robe...



Gah--! Hang it all, now I really want that robe! And you just know it's the most comfortable robe, like, ever. Probably micro-woven out of the silken moustache hairs of teenage satyrs and hand-dyed with the hypo-allergenic inks of Polynesian octopus-spirits. And yet it's machine washable. Because it's magic. Check out the bottom half of it. There's even a scary crimson bat-creature on it to guard against people yanking it up when you're not wearing any underpants. Which is the case here, I'm sure. Oh, I must have that robe! Unless... maybe the robe itself is guarded with spells. Like, if anybody else tries to wear it, it eats them or maybe it transforms into an abbreviated terrycloth number, rendering itself unfashionable. Yikes. I guess I'd better leave well enough alone. No doubt, the bathrobe of Doctor Strange is not intended for mere mortals.

And You Smell Like One Too!

The man whose brow is all a-wrinkle is Bruce Wayne; the lady with the fifty-cent garland from Hobby Lobby on her head is, of course, Poison Ivy. This is her very first appearance (Batman #181, June 1966). Happy 40th birthday, Ivy! Although technically the comic was probably published in March 1966. Nevertheless, you still look positively ravishing. Must be that brow lift you got back in '02. Sure, at first you resembled a Romulan but I think it's settled quite nicely.

Could Bruce be any cattier about Ivy and her makeup? Yes. Yes, he could, and I'd like to help. I think you've got a good start with the passive-aggressive tone of your remark, but you need to follow it up with something bigger. Here are some ideas:

"And frankly, I'd applaud anything that will distract them from how limp and stringy your hair looks. Seriously, when was the last time you washed it? During the Eisenhower Administration?"

"Nice eyebrows, by the way. What did you use, a magic marker?"

"And you're asking your cigarette because... why?"

"You've got a mouth like a catfish and your eyes are way too far apart. Practically on either side of your head. I don't know if makeup is going to get the job done. Have you considered just wearing a ski mask all the time? Or maybe never leaving your house?"

Feel free to take any or all of these, Bruce. It's my free gift to you! Just for being so darned square-jawed and rugged.

Now let's look at Ivy's former rivals, who first and last appeared in this same comic. Unless you count their cameo appearance as a godawful "Riot Grrrrl" band in some retelling of Ivy's origin a few years back. Which I sure as hell don't. Presenting... the three most dangerous people in the entire world! They're not just random tarts in showgirl costumes. Honest.



On the left we have Dragon Fly, with her innovative "crotch louver" bathing suit. Say goodbye to yeast infections forever with adjustable slats that give your cooter an air of Film Noir mystery!

In the center, we have Silken Spider, who is wearing the standard nurse's uniform for the Tommy Lee Memorial STD wing at Cedars-Sinai. It's also what the maids have to wear at Charlie Sheen's house. I don't know why she's posing with a garbage can. Probably full of busted sex toys and empty bottles of lubricant.

And on the right we have Tiger Moth, who has just returned from yet another daring faux-fur robbery. Now she has enough to make some capri pants! I wonder if anyone explained to her that moths don't have bird wings. Of course, former "Top Model" contestants have believed that all birds are blind and that elephants are related to dinosaurs, so anything's possible.

Meanwhile, in the lower right-hand corner, the Alfred clone just cannot believe the size of that lolly-pop.

Hat Whack

(Warning: contains last-page spoiler image for "Secret Six" #1.)

As a villain, the Mad Hatter never struck me as all that menacing -- at best, a little odd, but never creepy or scary like the Joker. I mean, look at the guy:



Just some homely dude with Veddy British orthadonture and foppish taste in clothing. In fact, I'm not sure this isn't Willy Wonka. He just looks kinda... stupid. And that's the version without the outsize handlebar moustache!

The first time I saw the Mad Hatter smoking a hookah it was in "Arkham Asylum."



I have to say, it impressed me not a whit. It was too mannered, too much like an affectation. Like he was only doing it because he wanted Batman to see him doing it. I was certain that as soon as Grant Morrison's hysterical drama queen Batman had flounced tearfully out of the Hatter's sight, the Hatter would start hacking and coughing, and then he'd dig in his pockets for an Altoid to get the taste out of his mouth.

And then I read "Secret Six" #1. The team is looking for someone who can combat Doctor Psycho. In the last few pages, Catman enters a house with a Red Queen door knocker and we see all kinds of Wonderland accoutrements strewn within. Smoke curls into frame. Well, I knew it was going to be the Mad Hatter, and I thought, "For Christ's sake, he's on the hookah again? What the hell ever, DC Comics. Listen, I don't mind reading about the Hatter but don't bother trying to convince me he's a decent threat." And I sighed a jaded, world-weary sigh, and turned to the last page...

...and saw this:



Jesus Burger-Flipping Christ! It's the Nude Hatter! It's getting HAT in here, so take off all your clothes! He's in the buff, he's in his birthday suit, he's in the altogether! Yeah, yeah, the hookah is decorated with human skulls, I can see that, who cares. The Mad Hatter is starkers! Not to mention his expression. Look at 'im! That feller ain't right in the head! The long, chipped fingernails and toenails are a beautiful touch. Very Howard Hughes.

And, lest we forget, the hat. The hat can be a tricky accessory when you're drawing the Mad Hatter. Make it too small and he looks ordinary; make it too tall and he looks like he got lost en route to a rave party, circa 1991. The proportions in this instance are just right. And the entire image, spooky though it may be, would lose all its punch if he wasn't wearing that hat. I mean, he has to wear the hat since he's the Mad Hatter, but here's the deal: his nudity combined with the hat somehow makes him seem twice as nude. It's genius.

I yelped the first time I saw this. Seriously. I couldn't help it, the image was just that disturbing to me. I can't remember the last time a comic book has provoked that kind of reaction in me. Creepy movies can do that to me (saw the J-Horror film "Pulse" tonight and I was yelping like a mo-fo) but a comic? Pretty much never. Mad Hatter, I tip my cap to you!

Not Your Friend, But An Incredible Simulation

One of the weirder things in Roy Thomas' most recent run on "Thor" was the "Godpack." And I'm not just talking about the crazy sub-Liefeld costumes and hair (although I'll get to those momentarily). I mean the whole concept is kind of batshit insane. Because the Godpack consists of apparently random shmoes who were transformed by the High Evolutionary into super-beings with no memory of their old names or, I suspect, anything else. Which is just creepy. And here's the kicker: their new super-powered bodies were designed to emulate various Norse gods. And Thor became the leader of the group. Which means Thor spent a lot of time bossing around artificial versions of his close, personal friends.

Of course, Thor is used to bizarre crap like that. Just imagine what it must have been like in the Wundagore Gift Shoppe!

High Evolutionary: Janice? I've decided to promote you to manager.

Janice: Oh--! Well, thank you, Mister Evolutionary! So did Laurie quit, or did you promote her too, or--

High Evolutionary (darkly): Laurie's services were no longer needed.

Janice: I... see. Well, I'd better put in a classified ad for a new sales clerk!

High Evolutionary: No need! Behold, Janice O'Malley, for I now present to you... FUR RED!

Janice: The hell--?! He looks just like my friend Fred, only...

High Evolutionary: Only much, much BETTER! The creature you see before you is indeed based on the Fred you know, but is a wholly separate being with a myriad of genetic improvements! I trust you don't mind.

Janice: I just want to make sure the registers are covered. Still, it'll be kind of weird working with a guy who has Fred's face --

High Evolutionary: And his habit of whistling snippets of music from "Candide."

Janice: Really? Yikes. The main thing is... it'll be weird for me to, say, see Fred in the laundry room of our apartment building and then see his face again on a seven-foot-tall creature with a bright red lion's mane.

High Evolutionary: And tail.

Janice: Ew. Well, "Fur Red," let's find a company polo shirt that will fit you.

Fur Red: FUR RED NEEDS NO SHIRT! GRRRARRGGHH!

Janice (warily eyeing the broad, triangular thatch of red fur on the creature's chest): Trust me. You do.

[The two of them head for the storeroom, with Fur Red huskily whistling the opening bars of "Glitter And Be Gay."]

OKAY! Time for individual evaluations!



Back row:

"Anak." Son Of Thunder! (Kidding. And boy, is that ever a joke for comic book nerds!) Ridiculously gigantic and strong bald Black guy. Because that's not a sad, demeaning cliche, honest and for true. His outfit is actually the most demure of the bunch, except for the daring use of Seafoam Green, a color normally found on vacationing grandmas.

And that's it for the back row. Because he's big!

Front row, left to right (we'll skip Thor):

"Bellam." You know what I love about comic book ponytails? I love that they can grow to four, five feet long and still bounce around in complicated snaking patterns without a single strand out of place. I wonder what Bellam's hairdressing secret is. Some kind of xtreme-hold gel? Or Crisco, maybe? Also note that the High Evolutionary spent most of his shoe budget on everyone else so when he got to Bellam he only had about five bucks left and had to buy a pair of flimsy sandals from some hippie out on the street. Also, the poor dope has an axe for a hand. Not that he lost his hand in an accident, mind you. Nope, the High Evolutionary designed Bellam's current body to lack one hand. It cannot be said enough: the High Evolutionary is a creepy bastard.

"Luminor, Lord of Light." Which is funny, since I would have guessed from his breastplate that he was Lord of Corrugated Cardboard. Got enough kneepads, Luminor? You do? Then could I borrow a couple? No? Yeah, I didn't think so.

"Blitziana." Nothing screams "ready for battle" like a chrome-plated sports bra, huh? Check out the gloves. I'm thinking Blitziana is dressed to go to the opera. Providing that opera is being performed by the Celestials. (I've heard that Exitar is simply smashing as Madame Butterfly.) Bonus Creepy Points: the Norse god that Blitziana is based on? Is Thor. I guess the High Evolutionary was thinking, "Yeah, I like Thor and all, but you know what he needs? A fabulous rack. And maybe Wolverine's hair." News flash, honey! Nobody needs Wolverine's hair. Not even Wolverine needs Wolverine's hair.

"Loga." What a clever way to reuse those old red curtains in the sitting room! Bravo, High Evolutionary! And those tights look like they'd pinch. Just a bit. Just a teensy bit.

"Zefra." I don't think my eyes can take this much magenta. Notice how if she poses just so it looks like she's nude below the waist! Which is totally not on purpose, I'm sure. And there's more segmentation on the accessories, which, I'm sorry, is just stupid. Once Weight Wizard got his foot stuck inside a Slinky. (Yes, they'll still be manufactured one thousand years from now. Hey, stock tip!) If those arm-deals are anything like that Slinky, Zefra should be bawling like a baby and accusing Thor of taking her for granted. Oh wait, I guess he wasn't really blaming the Slinky for that second thing. Also, check out her hair. At this size, I can't tell if she's wearing a really goofy Zatanna hat or if it's a dye job. But one thing I do know is that her Medusa Lite mane would have been sexier if somebody hadn't snipped off the last two inches of it. I'm guessing Bellam got tired of being shown up in the hair department and took a little revenge. Bellam, you little bitch!

I Thank Thee, Nay

Mine Worthy Ally and Friend, The High Evolutionary,

It please thee, find attached with this missive the costume thou hast provided me. Though it pain mine warrior soul, must I confess thine superlative garment be too grand e'en for the Odinson. The immoderate use of gold and silver alone be more than enow to redden the cheeks of Hela's pale subjects. The sublimely mysterious accessories, such as the "bicep clasps" -- of which both function and purpose not e'en the All-Father himself might discern -- be o'er-worthy of this simple god. The symbols on the garment's severely abbreviated tunic, resembling naught so much as two Midgardian traffic signs, are of such an alarming shape and color that e'er had I mounted mine goat-chariot, Toothgrinder and Toothgnasher gazed upon mine newly-costumed form with much startlement and forthwith bolted from their stable, past noble guardsmen into the palace of Odin himself! (After much searching the beasts were located within one of Sif's boot closets. They maimed twelve men afore they could be persuaded to leave.)



Think thee not that the Thunder God mislikes thine miraculous gift! In truth, it is mine own body which is shamefully unfit to bear such finery. Mine lowly skin hath chafed fitfully 'neath its segmented trousers; likewise the mere act of donning the costume hath clipped mine bodily hair in a wondrous manner: though it be plentiful (if patchy) enow, each follicle individually hath been reduced to the length of a Midgardian gnat's phallus and I knoweth not if it might e'er return to its once-remarkable length. (The lone exceptions being the hair above mine knuckles, 'though why I knoweth not.) The helmet, a reproduction of mine original helmet in charming and dainty miniature and with an intriguing "widow's peak" added, be too tight for mine sensitive cranium, and the aches I suffer be more terrible than the teeth of accursed Fenris. (It may interest thee in addition to know that the helmet's very design hath a strange property of instilling mirth in all that view it -- e'en Hogun the Grim made merry, with a laugh so much akin to a horse's whinney that the Prince of Asgard was sorely discomfitted, with no choice other than to yank up his jerkin and make sport of his third nipple.)

Ne'er wouldst I knowingly bring dishonor 'pon mine father nor 'pon mineself, yet in good conscience must the Odinson return to thee this handsome armor, which be too grand e'en for a god.

In all respects,
Your humble servant,
The Mighty Thor

P.S. The kneepads shall I send thee in a fortnight. They presently reside somewhere on the snow-capped peakes of Jotunheim, as the younglings of Asgard hath mistaken them for toboggans.

[A special Blockade Boy thanks to SpiritGlyph for sending me the scans, and a hearty Blockade Boy apology for sitting on them for nearly two months until I could devise a post I thought would do them justice. Tomorrow: the essence of 90's fug, a.k.a. "The Godpack."]

Losers of Mass Destruction

Yesterday, we looked in on a meeting of the Zodiac, undoubtedly one of the worst-dressed groups in supervillain history. Cancer, a.k.a. Baron Crabclaw Von Shortshorts, was doing a piss-poor job of chairing, and most of the other members were either anxious or about to nod off. Fortunately, Scorpio made an announcement that really livened up the proceedings:




Yes, as that famed 22nd century cyber-clone Hank Williams 8.5 once sang, "All my android friends are coming over tonight." If you're wondering what the holy bejeebus an "LMD" is, it stands for "Life Model Decoy." If I recall correctly, SHIELD would use them to throw would-be spies and assassins off the trails of their secret agents. So that's where the "decoy" part comes in. It's still a stupid name, though.

It turns out Jake Fury (Nick's brother!) was resurrected by the magical talking Zodiac Key as a BLT -- er, I mean, "LMD." I'm sorry, but does that make the least bit of sense to anyone? Highly classified government technology being used by talking magic keys? That's a hell of a security leak. Next thing you know, the Wand of Watoom will have its own Helicarrier.

And now Android Jake has made eleven other androids to replace his criminal teammates. And all because they laughed at Jake's idea to raise money with a bake sale. (An evil bake sale!) You could have just resigned, Jake, but no! Seriously, dude, sometimes you just have to let that kind of shit go.

One thing in Jake's favor is that the all-new, all-robot Zodiac has better costumes (mostly) than their fleshy predecessors. Not all of them, mind you. The very idea of a female Taurus "the bull" is kind of alarming to me, but on the other hand she'd make a good girlfriend for the Serpent Society's equally chunky and mannish Anaconda. The new Capricorn is a furry, goat-like female, so again, big aesthetic turn-off for yours truly. Talk to me after you've had a thorough waxing, dear. The new Virgo bores me to sobs with her plain pink jumpsuit, and the new Aquarius looks just like this one guy who tried to sell me a hand-knitted poncho in the parking lot outside a Phish concert. He even had a gun! (He really wanted me to buy that poncho.) I like the new Aries, though, with his sleek, red-and-silver Kirbyish armor. Nicely done, Aries! The new Leo is only middling for me, but I do appreciate how all his teeth had been filed down to razor-sharp points. Not that we ever saw him bite anybody. It wasn't the 90's yet!



Hey, it's Taylor Hicks as Wolverine as the Phantom of the Opera! As an android! Soulless Patrol! You all know how much I dig prematurely silver hair, but not when it's styled to resemble a hang-glider. Fun fact: after he died, Sagittarius willed his gold-plated shoulder pad to Aquaman, his mini-crossbow to the Huntress, and his hair to the Fadeaway Man.

The next panel describes one of the weirder and least necessary features of Jake's STD's. I mean LMD's! LMD's! What is wrong with me today? Where was I? Oh, yeah. To quote:

"They know it's a Life Model Decoy, but it moves like a man-- moans like a man-- dies like a man!"

Whoa, back up there. It... moans... like a man? Huh. So, just hypothetically, if a fella wanted to buy one of these android guys, would he have to pay up front, or is there some kind of installment plan? And does it arrive fully-assembled, or is it like a kit or something? I'm not asking for myself; there's this friend of mine, see...! *sweats profusely*



One annoying habit of the Zodiac androids was their incessant chatter about their individual star-signs. Even in the middle of a battle, they just babble on and on about why they're performing a particular move and how it relates to the symbolism of the Zodiac, and blah, blah, blah. (Special dialogue by Chris Claremont!) Imagine spotting some sexy guy or gal in a bar, and you say "Hey, beautiful, what's your sign?" and suddenly their reply ends up being a five-day filibuster and the doors are all locked from the outside and the restrooms are closed and there's no AC and the juke box is stuck on "A Moment Like This" and after the first day all the beer is gone and the only thing left to drink is creme de menthe. That's what it's like fighting the Zodiac. And Libra? I know it's the 80's, honey, but not everything needs flared shoulders. Especially not a robe. Unless you're on Orando, and then it's required under penalty of death. I really dig Gemini's outfit, though. Too cute! It's the pointy skirt that really sells it for me. Very Ditko-esque. Thumbs up, Gemini! Thumbs up.



The other problem with the Zodiac MMORPG's -- sorry, LMD's -- is that their personalities were designed to match the supposedly standard personalities of everyone born under their particular sign. And not all of those personalities were predisposed to fighting. Like with ol' Pisces here. (Looks like somebody exposed Pamela Anderson to the Terrigen mists, huh?) And seriously, hon, you need to tone down all the dorsal finnery a tad. One strong gust of wind and you'll wind up on a rooftop next to some kid's frisbee. New Improved Cancer gets my vote of approval by evoking a crab with -- gasp! -- armor, and purple-and-orange armor at that. (Bonus points!) He looks a little clunky, though. His boots could be beer kegs. And if they were, that would be just awesomely cool but somehow I doubt it. Also? I'd love to see how he runs in that get-up. I'm guessing it would be like when I was Blockade Tot, playing with my action figures, and I'd make the stiff plastic bodies "run" by rocking them back and forth while sliding them forward.

As for Scorpio, I appreciate that he's trying to improve the overall look of the Zodiac cartel, but "Physician, heal thyself." You've got a cowl over a red facemask, plus the most convoluted underpants I've seen since Lightning Lad. Not to mention the bug on your head. Not even Zatanna could pull that look off.

Okay, I'm done with you. Everybody dance now!

And Now Membros With An Urgent Announcment

Hello, all! Membros here, official spokesmonster for Blockade Boy. People say my brains are exposed, but what they're looking at is really my rockin' man-perm. I'm the Mike Brady of the Micronaut World! And now my announcment: the second part of Blockade Boy's discussion of the Zodiac Cartel has been unavoidably delayed because Safari crashed on Jeremy Rizza's ancient Mac (from 1998!) and destroyed the post which Blockade Boy was too lazy to have saved in draft form, and now it's 7:08 in the morning, Central Standard Time, and Jeremy Rizza is going to be late for work (again!) and for some weird reason he won't let Blockade Boy on the computer if he's not at home. Go figure. So Part Two will have to wait until either lunchtime or tonight. From everyone here at the Blockade Boy Organization, our sincerest apologies. In the meantime, enjoy my perm!

Stop, Or I'll Squirt!

Trick or treat for UNICEF! From "West Coast Avengers" #26 (November, 1987) it's Taurus, a member of the criminal organization known as the Zodaic. I don't know what the deal is with that gun, charitably referred to on the next page as a "star-blazer weapon" but I do think Taurus should return it to the silver age Atom villain he stole it from, post haste. Also? Taurus needs to lay off the meth. Seriously. Of course, I'd be a wreck, too, if this was my team:



Not exactly the cover of All-Star Comics #3, is it? And they let the crab guy run the meeting? I would have turned that freak away at the door. Get out of here with your big claws! And the Dogpatch-style spandex... I didn't think that was even possible. Went a little nutty there with the pinking shears, huh?

This meeting is not going well. Cancer clearly clearly could learn a thing or two from "Toastmasters." Check out the body language on the other eleven members. Virgo and Scorpio have zero interest in anything Cancer is talking about, Taurus and Aquarius are about to doze off, Aries is so nervous he's worked himself up into the initial stages of a major heart attack, Libra's neck is killing him, Leo is anxious because he's about ten minutes away from losing his deposit on that lion costume he's rented and also the 'roid rage is kicking in, Gemini has the mother of all sinus headaches, not one but two members have been reduced by boredom to playing "Pull My Finger" and the only one who seems happy to be there?

Is this guy:



And that's because it's better than his last gig, which I'm guessing was a Space Ghost cartoon.

Tomorrow: the new and only marginally improved Zodiac!

It Was Either This Or Try To Have A Baby

Nothing says "I'm trying to save our marriage" quite like Daimon Hellstrom's superhero costume.

For whatever reason, Marvel Comics has been the runaway leader in the category of ill-advised, bad idea, "what the fucking hell" marriages. Its like their comics are being edited by Britney Spears and Liza Minelli. Or maybe Marvel pairs up its characters using a LOTTO tumbler. I dunno. At any rate, comics fans may wax nostalgic about Ralph and Sue Dibny or even Ray Palmer and Jean Loring, but I don't recall any tears being shed over the convoluted breakup of Patsy Walker and the Son of Satan.

Daimon Hellstrom is the son of a mortal woman and a demon named "Marduk Kurios." (I think I shopped for knick-knacks there once!) He was introduced as a horror comic character in the 70's, and he typically goes about shirtless, the better to show off his sculpted, pentagram-decorated chest. He has pointy Vulcan ears and carries a huge, pitchfork-sized trident made of "Netheranium." He likes to wear his hair with two Quicksilver-style "horns" in the front but he can also rock a heavy metal-sized mane, as he did in his solo series, "Hellstorm: Prince of Lies." He has occult powers that come and go, along with a "Darksoul" that makes him even more demon-y and scream a lot and break things, so much so that you'd think he'd just watched A-Rod half-ass his way through yet another Yankees game. What he was doing with the morbidly perky Patsy Walker is utterly beyond me. He looks like an idiot in that costume. And there is absolutely no way you can convince me he designed it himself. No, I'm guessing things really shook down like this:

Patsy: Daimon! There you are! Got that cute nose of yours stuck in some ol' book again, huh?

Daimon: It's not just "some ol' book," Patsy, it's Der Vermis Mysterius and it's a very dangerous and powerful tome of--

Patsy (knocks the book out of his hand): Well, forget that because I have a surprise for you! Tah-dah! (holds up his new superhero costume)

Daimon: What in the name of all that's unholy is that?

Patsy: It's your new costume, silly! Now we can go out superheroing together and we'll totally match! See? My costume has a sash, your costume has a cummerbund! It's like we're twins!

Daimon: Darling, I--

Patsy (her smile trembling and her eyes glistening with tears): Yes?

Daimon: It's great. It's just great.

Patsy: I suppose it's not really your style, exactly, but I tried to add some touches that might appeal to you. See the little clasps for your cape? They're shaped like skulls! Isn't that positively wicked? (forced, barking laugh) Oh, and let me show you the trident!

Daimon: I already have a trident.

Patsy: But this one is so much better! I took your original trident and I shrunk it!

Daimon (under his breath): After practicing on my manhood first...

Patsy: What was that?

Daimon: Nothing. I think the costume is great. Just great. And you're great for designing it for me! What a wonderful gift! But I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable wearing this is public! Say, maybe I could just wear it at home... (strokes her hair with a long-nailed hand) on special occasions...

Patsy (shakes his hand off): But it's not just for you! It's for us! You know how my family felt when I married you. I'm a laughing stock in my own home town! But if they see you in this, they'll know that you're just one of the superhero gang! They'll say, "That Patsy, she's so lucky, she married a superhero!"

Daimon: You're embarrassed to be married to me?

Patsy: It's not that! It's not that! But sometimes I feel like you don't do anything to contribute to this marriage! I try so hard, and all you do is your dumb ol' research! I have to do everything! Don't you want me to be happy?!

Daimon: Of course! It's just--

Patsy: Then you'll wear the costume! Look, I designed the cowl so you can see that adorable red hair of yours but your scary pointy ears are totally covered! It's great! And you'll get used to it! Do you think I wanted to wear that orange scoop-neck cardigan that was designed for me by Mandy Becker of Hutchinson, Kansas? Or that pencil skirt with the huge embroidered daisy on it that was designed for me by Alice McCormick of Flint, Michigan? Do you think I wanted to wear any of the ugly, hackneyed crap those brain-dead idiots designed for me? Of course not! But Mommy said I had to! Because I'd be making somebody else happy! If you can't understand that, maybe I'll... I'll... I'll KILL MYSELF!!!

Daimon (in a flat, defeated tone): Hand it over.

Daimon and Patsy's marriage eventually fizzled (as most Marvel marriages do), with Daimon becoming very demonic for a while, Patsy killing herself, and Daimon resurrecting her but telling her what was later established as a big honking lie about being Dormammu's grandson(!) in order to keep from getting back together with her.

But I'm thinking the real low point in their marriage was Daimon's costume.

Hover For What You Believe In With The Angel Squad!

From the government that brought you the Marine Corps comes the next big idea in gay-friendly law enforcement! Introducing the "Angel Squad!" The Angel Squad is looking for slim-waisted young men to float gently about on individual hover-platforms while wearing designer jumpsuits and carrying what appear to be gym bags with bazookas sticking out of them! And you don't even have to be gay! (Although it sure helps.) We're targeting a wide array of people!

Are you a neatfreak germaphobe? The Angel Squad gas mask recycles air directly from your own lungs for maximum purity!

Are you knock-kneed or pigeon toed? No problem, because a design flaw in the hover-platform forces you to stand like that anyway!

Do you have puny, sloping shoulders like Clive Owen? I mean, don't get me wrong, I think Owen is kinda sexy and all, but did you see him with his shirt off in "Gosford Park?" It was truly disturbing! Put a coat on, Clive! Cover your shame! But I digress! To continue, the Angel Squad uniform disguises your fatal figure flaw with a puffy top made of drip-dry Beyonderalyne! And the hover-platform is designed to make your shoulders look perfectly ginormous!

Do you have a smooth, frictionless crotch? Well, to be brutally frank, we'd rather you didn't but we can't afford to be choosy right now so we'll take you anyway. If you insist.

Are you looking for romance? You just may find it in the Angel Squad!



So go to your local recruiting office today. A world of adventure, fashion and individual hovering awaits you in the Angel Squad!

(Disclaimer: you may occasionally be called upon to battle Godzilla.)

The Zaniac Craves The Perfect Tanning Lotion!

I am the Zaniac! You may remember me from "Thor" #319 (May, 1982)! But probably not! I am here to tell you about my new tanning lotion! I call it "Tanhunt!" It is the choice of professional makeup artists everywhere! I remember the old tanning lotions I used to buy! They smeared and dripped and left finger marks on my beefy, hairy legs! The pretty-pretties laughed at me! I hated the old tanning lotions for that! The hate built up inside me, festering! And I knew that one day that hate would explode! That's when I decided to create "Tanhunt!"

I am going to explain the difference between the old-style lotions and "Tanhunt!" First of all "Tanhunt" comes in a wide range of colors! Including David Berkowitz Bronze, Karla Ho-mocha, You'll Never Get Me Copper, and Tantan Macoute! Also including Jaundice Wayne Gacy! That is my favorite one! I crave it! But there is an even better feature of my tanning lotion!

Suppose for a moment you are wearing my new tanning lotion in a movie role and you are filming on location! Suppose for another moment that a cigar-smoking amateur movie critic with unbelievable aim manages to ignite a crate full of TNT and also just a pinch of uranium (don't ask)! Suppose also that years later another writer realizes that what happens next is too big of a load of b.s. even for "Thor" readers to swallow and so he ret-cons some mystical parasitic vermin-type thing into my origin! Is that okay? Sweet! Let us continue!

Suppose the residual radiation and/or the mystical parasitic vermin-type thing (if you are so inclined) packs a couple hundred pounds of muscle onto your arms, legs, and torso, and adds several inches to your... er, height! Only "Tanhunt" moves with your mutating form, giving you continuous smooth coverage with no streaks or thin patches! No other tanning lotion can do this! Only "Tanhunt!" The pretty-pretties will love you! So you won't have to stick your knife into them! Buy it today!

I AM THE ZANIAC!!!

Celebrity Dish From Lallorland!

Zap! Pow! Lights! Camera! Pow! Action! Zap! Are you getting sick of this yet? 'Cause I'm not! Pow! Zing! Zap! Roll 'em! Blam! Makeup! Whizzzzz! Fwick! Cut! Okay, I'm done. Television and Broadway star Charlie Brown has been cast as the title character in "Duplicate Boy," the latest project from the director of "Uzumaki" and countless Japanese music videos, Higuchinsky.

The film, written by "The Ring 2's" Ehren Kruger, features a little-known DC comic book character. Duplicate Boy, an alien superhero with the ability to mimic other superheroes' powers, first appeared in "Adventure Comics" #324 in 1964 and made occasional appearances in that and other comic books in the following decades.

At a press conference, Kruger told reporters, "I hope to have the same wonderful experience I enjoyed working on the "Ring" sequel, when the director barely spoke any English, and didn't try like that hack Gore Verbinsky did to mutilate my beautiful script into something that was enjoyable and coherent."

Through a translator, Higuchinsky added, "To be honest, I couldn't care less about the script. I just want to use a lot of slow meaningless dissolves and filters and quick jarring cuts and warped-out cartoony eyeballs plus I'll add a lot of jet sounds and elephant noises for no good reason."

A reputed Hollywood insider calling himself "Blockade Boy" opines that the casting of Charlie Brown in the role is "pure genius." Said Blockade Boy, "Duplicate Boy's Who's Who entry from September 1985 says, and I quote, 'He has no training in use of his powers, personal combat, or much of anything else.' You know you're pathetic when even the slimmest biographical profile is at a loss to name things you're good at. Listen, honey, I met the guy and I can tell you right now all the stories about him are true. He's just a good-looking lunkhead who skates by on a natural talent he never bothered to develop. He's like that guy who was a football hero in high school and ten years later he's a janitor. Not that Charlie Brown ever struck anybody as good-looking or heroic, but hey, he's still a lame-ass. Just like Duplicate Boy."

With this latest bit of news, the future looks uncertain for Guy Ritchie's planned Duplicate Boy film, which was to star "Loser" of "Whizzer & Chips" fame.

In a related story, Marcie is in negotiations to co-star as Duplicate Boy's love interest, Shrinking Violet.

The Tragic Decision Of Betty Brant!

A one-act play by Blockade Boy, adapting a scene from "Amazing Spider-Man" #195 (August, 1979) by Marv Wolfman and Keith Pollard.

Curtain rises on the exterior of Empire State University's cafeteria building. Ned Leeds leans pensively near the door. He checks his watch.

Ned: Where on earth can my wife be? It's not like her to be late!

Betty Brant Leeds enters from off-stage, walking briskly, a smile on her face. As she nears her husband, she pats and smooths her hair to make sure no follicles have slipped out of place.

Ned: There you are! What in blazes took you so long? You know I told you to meet me here at exactly twelve o'clock!

Betty: Oh, dearest, I feared my tardiness would anger you, but I did it for us! I just came from the beauty parlor! Don't you just adore what I've done with my hair?

Ned: To be frank, Betty, I don't adore it! It makes you look like Prince Valiant's nancy-boy cousin! And you know very well that any and all decisions about your personal appearance are to approved by me beforehand!

Betty (tearing up): I-- I only wanted to make you happy, Ned!

Ned: And you failed miserably. Oh, don't start sniveling now. I want us to practice one last time what we're going to say to that loser, Peter Parker. It is vital that we present a united front! Why, the poor fool thinks you're still in love with him!

Spectacularly, the set rotates, to the vigorous applause and orgasmic sighs of the audience. A massive chandelier descends upon the crowd, then rises again while a helicopter swoops overhead. Weirdly-costumed dancers swarm over the audience, fondling them, then vanish in a cloud of noxious vapor. When the gas clears, we can now see the interior of the cafeteria. Peter Parker kneels awkwardly over a dropped tray in front of the cashier. Harry Osborn and Flash Thompson point and jeer.

Harry: Hey, Flash -- it's Mr. Grouch of 1979! (giggles)

Flash: Christ, Harry, it's not that funny. And quit laughin' like that. That squeaky, nasal titter of yours always creeps me out!

Peter: Knock it off, Harry... I already apologized for missing your party!

Harry: I know what you said, Peter. It's just that I had ice-cream cake and pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and everything.

Ned and Betty enter the cafeteria.

Ned: There you are, Parker! Your landlady said you'd be here.

Betty: Remember what I said, Ned -- don't get angry!

Peter: Ned Leeds?

Betty: Peter! What happened to your arm?

Peter: I broke it avoiding a cat!

The lights dim and a spot appears center stage. Peter emerges from the darkness and takes his place in the spotlight.

Peter: Oh, if only I wasn't leading this accursed yet wholly necessary double-life! If only I didn't have to spin this spider's web of lies! If only I could tell Betty that I was the swashbuckling-yet-sensitive hero Spider-Man and that I broke my arm chasing after a sexy cat-burglar with a great rack plus she totally has the hots for me.

Peter returns to his place in the scene. The lights go up.

Ned: All right, Parker-- we're going to end this game right now. Tell my wife you'll never see her again!

Betty: You don't have to, Peter... tell him you care about me...

Peter: Hunh?

Flash: Hey, Betty! Don't look now but your hair-do is eating your head!

Harry: Yeah, Betty, what's with the bouffant? Are you auditioning for the Shirelles? (giggles)

Flash: Once again, Harry, it wasn't that amusing. And teach yourself a new way to laugh. You sound like a freaking child molester.

Ned: C'mon, Parker-- I'm getting sick waiting for your answer! Are you going to stand between Betty and me? Are you going to break up our marriage!?? (He grabs Peter's busted arm)

Betty: Ned! For goodness' sakes-- stop it!

Peter (wincing): No! He's grabbed my bad arm! The pain!

Peter swings at Ned with his good arm. Ned lurches back, out of harm's way.

Peter: That tears it, Mister-- get your hands off me-- now! You want an answer. I'll give you one! I don't wanna see either of you loonies again!

Betty: What do you mean, Peter? We... we care for each other!

Peter (in another aside to the audience): Now's my chance... if I'm a heel, Betty will go back to Ned. I can never be the kind of husband Betty needs. Besides, that new hair-do of hers makes her look like a crazy person. Like a brunette Suzanne Sommers on coke! It's like she's wearing a snood made out of hair! No, she's better off without me and with a rage-filled, possessive lout who could get brainwashed into becoming a supervillain.

Peter takes his place once more.

Peter: Care? Don't make me laugh, Betty... even though that "Bettie Page meets Moe Howard" hairstyle of yours is a real rib-tickler... no, you were just convenient... You showed up when Mary Jane jilted me. Besides, I can tell your first love is a limp-wristed hair burner who's sucking your wallet dry while he gives you the ugliest hair-dos in all creation!

Betty (sobbing): No! You can't mean that!

Peter: Don't bet on it, lady!

Betty stares at Peter in disbelief for a moment. Then she slaps his face.

Betty: How could I have been so wrong about you? How could you say what you did?

Peter: Take a good look in the mirror, honey. That is, if you can see past the three pounds of mascara you have on right now. (to himself) Oh, now I'm overdoing it.

Betty: I-- I came to you as a friend... oh, what a fool I've been...!

Betty storms out the door.

Flash: Well, there goes another girl Parker's wiped his ass with and flushed down the toilet.

Harry: A journey through the New York sewer lines can only improve that mess she calls a hair-do! Am I right? High-five! (giggles)

Flash: Don't talk to me anymore.

The curtain falls.

Letters From A Henchman, Part Two: Evil On Parade

Dear Gladys,

I ben in prison again for two hole months now and you never come seen me or wrote me or nothing so I am writing you a new letter to say how come. Maybe you never got the last letter I sent you so to sum up, since I got outta prison I racked up some pretty heavvy gambeling debts but then I gotta job to pay them off only the job was for this supervillain named "Meeraj" and he was gonna kidnap the Thing from a hospitle but it turns out Meeraj ain't that good a supervillain and long story short we got caught and I'm in prison again. Also I asked you to send some mackaroons for me and my cell mate Fabian cause it turns out we both like mackaroons. But in case you DID get my last letter then you remmember how I said I would tell you what happenned when I was in that big supervillain army that was in all the papers so here goes.

Like I told you before Daredevil was beating the holy hell outta us henchmen but then Meeraj decides he is gonna take him on singlehanded and he uses his illuzhun deal to make dooplickets of himself so I elbow this other guy Charlie and I say "This hole jobs gone south so whaddaya say we make a break for it" and Charlie says "Thats a pretty good idea." So we take off those dumb head gear things Meeraj made us wear and we just stroll around the corner easy as you please trying to disguise our limps and trying to make sure none a the bloody teeth Daredevil knocked loose fall outta our mouths and also we pass a supply closet so Charlie and me slip in there real quick and put on some operating pajamas over our bad guy outfits and next thing you know we are near the front door. Oh and meanwhile a bunch a other crap is going on like Thor fighting the Mole Man so its not like people are paying any attenshun to us anyway. But right outside the front doors is four cops with guns and me and Charlie deside to double-back but then this guy in a black catfish mask or something knocks them all out with a gas grenade and we figger he's gonna walk right in thru the doors but instead he blasts a hole in the wall NEAR the doors and walks thru THAT which is just stupid. And then he gets punched in the kisser by Ant Man and then ants attack and he runs away. And then Ant Man flies off so we finally can make it outside and I am thinking we are home free but then we run smack dab into this guy named "The Melter" who right away can tell we are henchmen so he pretty much orders us to join his supervillain army. And I know what you say Gladys about how I shud stand up for myself more but I was really stuck there, I mean I don't got no super powers and the other guy was named "The Melter" which told me right then and there that if I did'nt do what he said he was gonna melt something offa me like maybe an arm or even my head. So the Melter marches us thru a alley to a old department store that nobody was using and it is filled to the gills with bad guys. I see a lotta guys I seen on teevee before like the Constrickter and the Rhino and the Beatle and Blacklash plus that one guy with the big giant head and the Pete Rose haircut, M.U.R.D.O.C.K. or whatever. And also my cell mate Fabian was there! Only I did'nt know it at the time since we had'nt met yet and also he was in a suit of armer and he called hisself the Meckano Marawder. Anyway some a them had already got their tails kicked in the hospitle but they figgered strenth in numbers so why not just head back down there in a mob? So we did.

Well I wish I could say we were a scary site but to tell the truth a lotta the guys were kinda chubby and out a shape espeshully the Constrickter and even the ones who were halfway fit were dressed like freaking circus clowns like Blacklash and that dumb green Judy Jetson ponytail of his or the Melter and his two-tone stripey pants and teeny helmet or even my pal Fabian who had a suit that made him look like a robot version of our nations capital. And then the women were'nt even hot or nothing they were wresslers I guess so they had man sholders and these huge fat asses and I swear that one lady Poundcakes even had what looked to me like a shlong. Oh and the only skinny one was Screaming Mimi but she was even dressed EXACKTLY like a clown with the face paint and the ruffly skirt like Cyndi Lauper and you know how much I valew our merrage Gladys so let me confess right here and now that yes I was thinking about putting the moves on her but then it ockurred to me how much I love you and also she came off as kinda twitchy and crazy and like a real ball cutter if you know what I mean so I left well enuff alone. So anyway we are marching down the street and me and Charlie are stuck in the back with the Mole Man's guys plus I have to walk right behind the Rhino who smells like our Naugahyde couch after that one time when your brother Freddie got drunk and peed hisself so already I can tell this whole mess is not going to turn out good. And alla the people on the sidewalks are pointing at us and gabbing and they look real ecksited but they do'nt look scared or nothing cause like I said we ressemballed a parade more than a army. That one guy M.U.R.D.O.C.K. even FLOATS like a Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon. If I remmember it rite I think one kid even yelled at us and wanted to know why we were'nt throwing any candy. And then we don't even make it back inside the hospitle cause there is a ekwally big army of superheros waiting for us right outside the doors and then we all throw down.

There were some good guys I reckognized like Captin America and the Fantastick Four but also a bunch I never seen before or at least if I did I do'nt remmember which cud be from all the times they knocked me in the head. Like there was this metal guy in red hip-waders and this furry blue guy with a devil tail and also the HULK was there if you can belive it even tho I still ca'nt cause I did'nt even know the Hulk WAS a good guy since he mainly just runs around destroying shit and also is'nt the US GOVERMENT looking for him rite now? I mean it'd be like if the cops in London were shooting at some bank robbers and then the Irish Republickan Army shows up and says to the cops "Hey can we help?"

So in the fight a couple a our guys get taken out right away like Meeraj OF COURSE and also the Melter which is just sad since the whole clusterfuck was HIS IDEA IN THE FIRST PLACE but by then we are in the middle of it so we ca'nt just turn tail and run. Me and Charlie are just doing our best to stay out a the way, ducking and dodging and shit and then Thor nails Fabian right in the belly but he manages to get a few shots off which is cool but the only fighters he took out with them are the Mole Man's guys so that's like minus points for our team. Now I am not one hunderd percent positiv this next part happened like I saw it so bear with me but I coulda sworn Spider-Man shot a web outta his CROTCH and rode the Rhino around like a bull at a rodeo, anyways thats what it looked like from my angle. Also this short hairy-armed guy in a ugly orange and brown outfit is fighting Blacklash using KNIVES on his hands so I guess he's another villain who got confused like Fabian did. I bet his face is read now! The last thing I remmember this orange Bigfoot guy I never seen before lifts some robot guy I never seen before over his head and then M.U.R.D.O.C.K. shoots a squiggly laser outta his noggin and lifts the Bigfoot guy offa the ground and tosses him like twenty feet thru the air and guess who he lands on? Yours truly. Not to menshun the Bigfoot guy got knocked out so I'm trapped underneath him with his knee-length pubes in my mouth until the cops show up.

So now I'm in jail again. Gladys I know we had our problems but I miss you and to tell you the truth what scares me most is how much I DO'NT MIND seeing no women around here. Fabian is great and we can talk for hours and hours or sometimes we just look at each other which is nice too since he has these really good looking eyes and a nice smile and his back massahges are the BEST but you are my wife and we will always have that. So please come and see me here real soon okay? I love you.

Your faithfull husband,
Lenny

P.S. Don't forget the mackaroons.

Letters From A Henchman, Part One

Dear Gladys,

I know your sister says I'm a no good bum and you never should of merried me but I wanted to tell you I gotta job so there. And no its not exacktly on the up and up but you know with my record its dificult for me to find gainfull employment. Anyway to make a long story short I owed this guy Tommy a lotta dough and I could'nt pay him right away and he was gonna get the other guy named Ham-bone to chop off both a my legs but then he got this funny look on his face and he said that he knew this guy named "Meeraj" who was looking for guys to work for him and he was paying a pretty good finders fee and he said he knew I was strong and tough and all so he'd just kind of give me to him and take the money for hisself. So it turns out Meeraj is an acktual supervillain like you read about in the Bugle so that means I got to wear a fancy costume and everything.

To tell you the truth that was my least favorit part of the job because the costume is really kinda goofy and I'm glad you never seen me in it. For one thing it's got these little skinny stripes on it like a business man suit would have and I do'nt think that makes no sense on a supervillain suit at all plus the color of it is mainly a washed out orange like a nerf ball or something and the boots and the gloves are this BRITE BRITE blue and to see the two colors together at the same time makes my eyes feel bad. But the worst part of all is the head-mask-thing because it has handles on it. Handles! They go on the sides of my head and I do'nt even know what the hell they are suposed to be for unless Meeraj wants people to think we all have really big ears or maybe that we are the Human Pretzel Family. Also there is a third eye hole on the fourhead part so all that shows thru is skin and no eyeball. I told Meeraj I did'nt really unnerstand why we had to dress like that but he punched me real hard in the gut and said I needed to shut my fat mouth and he also said if I did'nt like the set-up that he could send my sorry ass right back to Tommy and Ham-bone and then I could be doing fashun crittisism with NO LEGS.

So Meeraj's big plan was to sneak us into the hospital where the Thing was and then we would "spirit him away" and hold him for ransome. I wanted to ask Meeraj how exactly the four of us were going to get a monster like the Thing out of the hospitle without nobody notissing cause he ways like a ton and a half plus he could probbly clobber us all to smithereens using only his pinky toe but then I remmembered about getting my legs chopped off so I shut up. So then Meeraj drives us to the hospitle and he uses his illuzhun doo-hickey to make us look like ambulence men and we just walk right inside like we work there and I'm thinking "Oh man I hope no doctors sees us and wants us to drive a ambulence." But so far so good and then when we are almost to the Things room Meeraj turns off the illuzhun for no good goddamn reason at all and then DAREDEVIL is there and he bounces his billy club off the wall right in front of Meeraj like a warning shot or something and THEN Meeraj tells Daredevil our whole plan and I figure out why Meeraj has to pay top dollar for henchmen. Because he's an IDIOT and nobody in their right mind wants to work for him. So Daredevil bounses off a window ledge and then he sproings right into us like we are bowling pens and knocks us silly. We get up and go at him again and he kicks one guy in the belly while I tackel him but then he does this kung fu move where he flips me and as God is my witness I swear it made this really strange sound like FWICK. And then the Mole Man drilled right thru the floor in another part of the hospitle and he had those scrawny little bug eyed guys with him and Thor was there so with everything that was going on we were able to scram out of there and regroup. Oh and then later I was in that supervillain army that was marching down the street back to the hospitle but you probbly heard about that but you probbly did'nt know I was in that so I will give you all the detales about it in my next letter.

Your loving husband,
Lenny

P.S. Please please bring more of those coconut mackaroons next time you come to the jail because me and my cell mate Fabian love those. Thanks your the best.

Blackened Catfish, With Ants

I think we've all been there. You've had your eye on a certain special someone. You want to impress him, so you get yourself all duded up, above and beyond what you usually do -- it's practically a makeover! -- and then, at the very last minute...



...you get ants in your pants and flee the scene. (Panels from "Marvel Two-In-One" #96, February 1983.)

Such is the life of Shellshock, who appeared in only two comics before this and one afterwards. That last one being "Captain America" #319, in which he was killed by Scourge. I can't say it was much of a loss, costume-wise. And yet, I think if he'd had a better costume, he might have been used more often and therefore escaped his editorially-mandated death. And when I say "mandated," I mean the conversation probably went something like this:

Writer: Hey, you mind if I kill off Shellshock?
Editor: Who? Yeah, sure... whatever. Knock yourself out.

Seriously, look at the guy. There is absolutely nothing of interest in that costume -- except for that mask, which is merely odd and which bears no relation whatsoever to his codename or powers. It makes him resemble a blackened catfish, or maybe the lovechild of Daredevil and Doctor Doom. It's ridiculous.

If I had designed Shellshock's costume, I would have made him look less like the Golden Age Sandman and more like a policeman in riot gear, with a bulkier outfit and helmet. Maybe some shoulderpads! (Shoulderpads! Squee!) And I'd at least try to think of a villainous emblem for his chest or sumpin'. Maybe something with a grenade, or concentric rings. I dunno. The main point is, if Shellshock had gone to me for advice, he'd still be alive today and smack-dab in the middle of that Civil War crossover mess that's going on in his universe. Really, I'd like to think I could have deprived Scourge of all his victims. I can just see Scourge lurking around a corner, with the Basilisk in his gun sight, his hand trembling, thinking, "I must rid the world of his evil, and yet... he's just so damned handsome!"

And then he'd toss the gun to the floor, and run away, weeping hysterically.

Farrah Fawcett Grampa

In the Marvel Universe, there is a family of timeless, god-like beings called the Elders of the Universe. Among these is the Gardener. The Gardener dresses simply, in a robe and sandals. Ostensibly it's because he's a deeply spiritual man who is One With Nature... but if you ask me, he's just trying to put even more visual emphasis on his spectacularly feathered hair. I mean, look at that glorious mop! Sure, he pulls the old "humble hermit" act when he's around other people, but you just know the moment he's alone, out comes the hairspray, a brush, and a hairdryer that runs on the Power Cosmic. Better yet, he accessorizes with Adam Warlock's soul gem and a bird with an identical hairstyle! (Lookalike pets... what is this, a Marvel comic or a Hanna-Barbara cartoon?)

And now, a completely imaginary romance between the Gardener and the Incredible Hulk, hastily cobbled out of random panels from "The Incredible Hulk" #248 (June, 1980).



Angry sex! Yes, Gardener, the Hulk really knows how to work over a guy's "staff." The Hulk and the Gardener were quite the couple after that. They went everywhere together -- quarreling constantly but just as often stealing away for more furious lovemaking. The Hulk moved into the Gardener's ashram and took to wearing (tattered) hemp pants and restricting himself to a macrobiotic diet. He'd only eat whole, live deer and yaks and manatees and such. For his part, the Gardener started going around shirtless, and he learned to appreciate the simple pleasures of leaping over the Grand Canyon in a single bound, pounding military vehicles into unrecognizable lumps of steel, and referring to himself in the third person. But such volatile romances rarely last. Annoyed by the Hulk's absolute refusal to either do his share of the housekeeping or to go out and find a damn job, the Gardener accepted Xemnu the Living Titan's invitation to join him in a glamorous ski vacation, and summarily kicked the Hulk out on his ass. The Hulk was devastated, and even contemplated suicide.



The Hulk couldn't go through with it, however. Because he weighs 1040 pounds and has skin like rhino hide, so the rope just snapped in two. Still, he was mopey for a long while. Love had died in his heart.



Aw! A happy ending! Turned out Xemnu had also invited Quasar and the Living Tribunal on that ski trip, and was apparently expecting some kind of "four-way" to occur. The Gardener was humiliated. Finally, he returned to the Hulk, because he knew their love was meant to be. Also because he's an enabler, and in some dark corner of his mind he gets off on taking care of someone who doesn't appreciate him.

(Okay, so maybe the ending's not that happy.)

The Heartbreak Of Starfioriasis

By Doctor Blockade Boy, M.D.

Starfioriasis is a fungal infection of the skin. In its advanced state, it causes the victim's skin to turn green, with darker, fist-sized lesions. Unlike the viral disease "Shingles" a.k.a. "Herpes Zoster", which affects only one side of the sufferer's body, Starfioriasis affects limbs on alternating sides. It will spread to cover the entire trunk of its victim with one odd exception. For reasons as yet unknown to medical science, it leaves a large, oval-shaped patch of unaffected skin in the center of the chest.



Starfioriasis is rampant on many alien worlds where hygienic conditions are not commonplace. The average Starfioriasis victim is female, between eighteen and twenty-four years of age, tall, slim, and has a great rack. Concubines-turned-rebel-warlords are particularly susceptible.

Currently, there is no medical treatment for victims of Starfioriasis. It is not fatal; nor is it permanently scarring. In fact, it will often spontaneously vanish, leaving no trace that it was ever there at all. Until then, infected persons are advised to make themselves comfortable by wearing as little clothing as their modesty will allow. Ideally, they should run around bare-ass naked. Exercise is highly recommended, including running, jumping up and down in place, and chopping one's enemies' heads off with a sword. When sitting, it's best to do so on a fur-strewn castle floor or a massive, ornate bed surrounded by gauzy curtains. For maximum comfort, it's suggested that the Starfioriasis victim spread his or her legs as far apart as humanly possible, or crouch on all fours and glance backwards with a friendly, inquisitive expression. Patients are typically put on a strict diet of bananas and corndogs. They are instructed to eat these very slowly.


(Many thanks to Walaka for pointing out the goofy costume of Starfire's boyfriend Dagan to me, thus giving me the idea to tackle Starfire's awful get-up. Check out his dissection of Dagan's duds on his blog. Two words: stovepipe fez. Haw!)

Post-Traumatic Banner Disorder

I'm not kidding. That's me, right behind him, there! I think I look very handsome and rugged, in a "Moose" from Archie Comics kinda way. I know... you're wondering, "What happened to your sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops?" *sigh* Long story.

Cool cat Tom Foss has links to even more Civil War parody banners on his blog.

Pimp My Briefcase

When Denny O'Neil wrote this book, they could have used this same cover but replaced the gauntlet with a bottle of Jack Daniels. "Must... save... booooozzze...!"

The one thing about Iron Man that really strained my suspension of disbelief was that darn briefcase. I just couldn't buy that Iron Man could cram his entire suit of armor inside the thing! Powerful rockets and pop-out roller skates on the bottom of the boots? Sure, why not? A device on the palm of the glove that can blast through a brick wall and yet doesn't tear Iron Man's arm off with the recoil? If you say so, man... whatever. Just don't try to tell me that a man-size suit of armor that's able to withstand the impact of a bazooka shell is collapsible and can fit inside a briefcase. His name is Tony Stark, not George Jetson. Yeah, yeah, I know there've been countless nerdy schematics drawn up to try and support this crazy idea. "But the armor is really flexible!" the nerds squeak, pathetically. "It's like chainmail!" Yeah, not buyin' it.

On the cover to "Iron Man" #118 (January 1979), artist Bob Layton makes it appear that Tony Stark was already wearing the chest plate under his clothes, like he used to do in the Olden Times when he needed it to keep his heart from going kablooey. I like that idea... because it frees up more space in the briefcase! Not sure what that would do to the fit of his crisp designer suits, though. He'd have to wear big baggy shirts and jackets all the time. Like the Beyonder! (Ew.) And inside the comic, where Layton is finishing John Byrne's layouts, the actual scene is a bit different:



Do you believe that his entire suit of armor fit inside that dinky little briefcase? Well, good for you, because I sure as hell don't. I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree.

So let's forget about the armor. What else do you think he managed to stuff in that briefcase? I'll start!

1. Fully-stocked sushi bar
2. Pint-sized homunculus valet, packed in dry ice
3. Hot tub!
4. Go-kart
5. Crystal chandelier
6. Pipe organ
7. Wig, mink coat, and one-of-a-kind Bob Mackie gown, for special "undercover" missions
8. A complete Sentinel robot. Just because he can.
9. One of the islands in the West Indies; I forget which one
10. His soul

Your turn!