Clay, Pigeonholed

I thought you might like to see some interesting clippings from the Marvel Universe version of "People Magazine."

From 1996: "There's an exciting new tyrant in town, and his name is Vince Vaughn! The lanky dictator recently forced critics to bow to his iron will with the indie feature "Swingers." Currently Vaughn is dominating the set of "Jurassic Park 2" where none shall oppose him -- not even the accursed Spielberg. When asked about his plans for the future, Vaughn haughtily replied (in a voice like a cold steel hand closing around this reporter's throat) "The staff of 'People' shall know the wrath of Vaughn if they do not appoint him 'Sexiest Monarch Alive' within the fortnight! Soon Vaughn shall topple all box office records and unleash a wave of postmodern, self-aware sex appeal crashing down upon America -- nay, upon the world! Every knee shall bend before Vaughn!" Vaughn is also a terrifying force in the nightclub scene, annexing the territory of a different starlet every night. Although some insiders worry that the non-stop partying will make short work of Vaughn's face and figure, it's the opinion of this reporter that Vaughn is a god amongst mere mortals and that his glory shall never diminish. All hail Vaughn!"

Aaaaannnd from this year: "The Fantastic Four recently ejected embattled despot Vince Vaughn from the set of his latest film, 'Fred Claus,' after he arrived for work looking puffy and melted. Vaughn's dissipated appearance has long drawn the ire of human rights groups and many teenage girls. (Although he looked relatively fit in 2004's 'Dodgeball' that individual was later proven to be a Vaughnbot.) The popular megalomaniac's whereabouts are unknown at this time. In a related story, Vaughn's former partner in screenwriting and evil, Namor Favreau, has been forced by his growing obesity to give up battling superheroes and to instead focus on directing invasions of the surface world from behind the scenes."

My Dinner With Antron

Hey, guys! Don't panic... I know I usually only show up to deliver messages like "Jeremy's computer crashed and there'll be no more blogging for three-and-a-half years" or "Blockade Boy went out line-dancing with Battallion and that was a week ago and we haven't heard from him since" but this time I'm just here for fun. Blockade Boy thought you might like to hear about my visit with my cousin, Antron, "the" Antron, the one from "Micronauts" #36 (December, 1981).

Antron was in town on a sales call -- he works as a rep for a company that sells those vinyl deals that separate ceramic tile floors from carpet in office buildings -- and he invited me out to dinner. It was great seeing my cousin, especially because I don't often get the chance. When we were larvae, my parents and his parents got in a huge fight over a liverwurst sandwich someone had dropped on the ground at a picnic and that led to a lengthy estrangement. At age twelve, Antron witnessed both his folks getting stepped on by a fat guy at the beach. Antron quickly found himself homeless. Unable to find employment both because of his speech impediment and the racist propoganda put forth by the Royal Family, he developed an addiction to sugar water. To support his habit, he fell into a life of crime. Swept along by the revolutionary tide of the new Baron Karza administration, Antron cleaned himself and joined the military. I only saw him once during this period. I was shocked by how much he'd changed. Formerly a very solemn but sweet young man with bright twinkles in his eye-facets, he had become a grim, strident fundamentalist who had even taken the extraordinary measure of shaving off his sweet man-perm (the traditional hairstyle of our people) and painting his carapace dark gray in order to emulate his hero, Baron Karza. He was like a stranger to me.

Since the collapse of Karza's regime and the new spirit of egalitarianism and economic freedom that has spread over our land, my cousin has abandoned his Karzist philosophies and reinvented himself once more. Now a happy and successful vinyl... um, thing salesman, he divides his time among work, charitable causes, his wife and egg-sacs, and, of course, maintaining his kick-ass man-perm. He looks back on his days as a revolutionary with both pride and bemusement, and he had some interesting tidbits about the famous counter-revolutionaries known to your planet as the Micronauts, and especially about their leader, Commander Rann.

"Rann was a racist dickweed-dickweed," said Antron. "Sure, he was a big-big astronaut hero but his political views were as provincial as they could get-get. He just couldn't believe someone-someone with our background could engage him in a fair fight. I remember a Microverse Today article where he said he thought all the insectoids fighting-fighting for Karza were grown in a test-tube or something. Jackass-jackass. I could hold my own with that brain-dead space-jockey because I got educated-educated -- something that was illegal when the Royal Family was in power. Karza did-did everybody a favor when he wiped out those throwbacks. And then we were left with their skanky-skanky daughter, what's-her-name with the hooker wig... bah!

"I remember when I had a shot-shot at Rann. Just the two of us-us, mano-a-pincer. It was sweet-sweet. My squad-squad had followed the Micronauts to Earth and had them cornered in a school, which was I thought was delightfully ironic-ironic. I pinned him against a wall-wall and grabbed a spiky Earth artifact to finish him off.

"And then I don't-don't know what happened. He flipped me around in some kind of freaky ballet maneuver and stuck my ass in the wall and I do mean-mean my ass. It took-took Lobros and Centauria to pry me back out. It was-was humiliating. You know-know, I still get cramps back there when it rains?" Antron silently chewed some of the lima bean we'd been dining on, and I could tell his mind had drifted back, to another time, to another life, when he'd been a warrior. He didn't say much the rest of the evening. I may not see my cousin again for quite some time, but I have no doubt that I will see him again.

He's a survivor.

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Color Kid

As part of my ongoing effort to redesign the costumes of anyone who's ever been rejected by the Legion of Super Heroes, I now turn my attentions to Color Kid. A.K.A. Ulu Vakk (a special cleaning attachment designed for getting lint off of insulated boots) the Kid has the almost useless ability to change an object's color. Yes, I said "almost." Because he can alter certain minerals, such as... (wait for it)... Kryptonite. Yup, that can come in handy. Sadly, however, he looks like Wolverine's twink cousin.

And that's before he started smearing white greasepaint on his face! My challenge here was to design a costume for a color-themed hero and make it fresh. I liked that his costume was mostly black-and-white. I wanted to stick with that motif, especially because it's almost impossible to pull off rainbow colors in large amounts... unless you're my favorite Flash villain. And then I hit upon the idea of putting all the color in his hair. I knew I wanted the hair to be long, for maximum visual impact, and at first it was just going to be long and straight like Fabio's. But I figured that would be impractical in a combat situation (which for the Legion of Substitute Heroes would probably consist of a really vicious slap fight) so I pulled it back in a high ponytail... samurai style! Only now he kind of looks like Rainbow Brite. Shit.

Oh well. Anyway, as you can see, the costume is harlequin-themed, with a little domino mask as an accessory. He was hardly a bad-ass before and I didn't think his new look needed to be bad-ass either. I just didn't want him to look quite so much like a mousy secretary from the 1950's. And hey, now he'll get a lot of camera time when he's in the crowd at sporting events!

(Rainbow Brite... goddammit...)

Daredevil: The Man Without A Decent Dry Cleaner

In case anybody is wondering, Jeremy is still watching football games, but he won't be posting on them anymore because according to him, having to sit there with a pen and a piece of paper trying to catch every secret dick joke turned the experience into a massive chore, and also he got the feeling the football posts weren't that popular anyway. The next time he posts it'll probably be a movie review or sumpin'.

Okay! So in "Daredevil" #11 (December 1965) we discover that The Man Without Fear is heavily into role-playing.

Oh Lord, the cops think Daredevil's inviting them to some sort of secret, costume-themed sex party. "Quick! Get the Captain! And help me think up a new 'safe word!'"

Here we have a key difference between Daredevil and one of his closest classic DC analogues, Batman: sure, Batman would go undercover as a supervillain, but would he be so uptight about the condition of his bat-suit? Of course not; that's what willowy English manservants are for! I'm also guessing Batman doesn't spend any time wondering how his costume would look on other people. Unless you count slash fiction. ("A low, gutteral sigh escaped Batman's cupid-like lips. He imagined his fearsome costume stretched across Ra's Al Ghul's mighty frame, the cowl beautifully framing the madman's bristling fu-manchu. His gloved fingers tenderly stroked the unconscious Green Arrow's handlebar mustache as he contemplated the sight...")

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Chlorophyll Kid

The Legion of Substitute Heroes' roster is composed of dedicated young men and women with powers too lame to qualify them for the Legion of Super Heroes. (I know what you're thinking: they're lamer than Bouncing Boy? Sadly, yes. Hell, my power's lamer than Bouncing Boy's. It's a bitter pill to swallow, I must admit.) But so what if the subs are a bunch of goobers! With my help, they could at least be stylish goobers!

Take Chlorophyll Kid, for instance. Here's the Kid in action, displaying his own special brand of incompetence.

I know he's a mite chunky, but did he really have to dress in a green Hefty bag? With cutesy little leaf shapes on top? And a photo-realistic tree on his chest? Here's how I would have styled him:

(After putting the lad on a strenuous diet-and-exercise program, natch.) Did you know that the Kid has leaves for hair? It's true! I read it in "Secret Origins." If I were him I wouldn't hide that freaky shit; I'd cultivate it. So I'd give the kid a groovy sixties-style mop-top and matching muttonchops, and then I'd make him ditch that bag of lawn clippings he charitably calls his "costume" for a nice form-fitting number with leafy details on the chest, boots, and cape. See, I figured I could suggest a leaf with the vein-like ribbing and the shape of the cape, without resorting to just slapping a picture of a plant on the costume.

Stark F***ers

Happy turkey season, turkeys! How'd your Halloween go? Get any? Yeah, I didn't think so. Of course, the ol' Steele-Man made out like a total bandit! As a lark, I dressed in drag (the better to emphasize my brawny manliness, of course) and a couple of lite beers later I found myself in the middle of a steamy sex-pile with a passle of ladies costumed as a biker gang! The costumes were astoundingly realistic, by the way -- the only way I could tell they were women was the fact they were making out with me! And then one of them put an ether-soaked rag over my mouth and things got really freaky! Or at least, that's what I've been able to glean from the blackmail photos. But I digress. I'm here to help you, the hyposexual fanboy loser nerd. Let's see what we can learn from the example set by the jetsetting Prince of Playas, Tony "The Pony" Stark!

Nothing says "down on all fours, if it's not too much of a bother" like black silk. Incorporate black silk into your wardrobe whenever possible! As the head of a Fortune 500 company, Tony has to rock the "business casual" look, so he can't just walk around in black silk pajamas all the time. Unfortunately. But where there's a boner, there's a way! Tony merely fakes a carpal tunnel injury and voila! Black silk sling! Bonus tip: come up with a cute name for your girlfriend's vagina!

Nazi costumes are so last year. Next time you want to spice things up, try role-playing as an East German army officer! Or for maximum kinkiness, try North Korean! Do that crazy goose-step into the bedroom and your theoretical lady friend will "open her borders" for "reunification"... unless the "UN weapons inspectors" show up. Wait, what? That was one too many metaphors. And I'm not even sure I know what it means! You know what, just forget that last part.

It's brawn, not brains, that snag the babes. Here's an example: Tony apparently thinks Acapulco is a ski resort nestled somewhere in the Rocky Mountains. (Inside the briefcase: mittens, snowshoes, and one of those little knit caps with the pom-pom on top.) But I'll be darned if he doesn't score with the first passer-by he meets! Why? Because he walks with a confident stride and he has a fantastic bod. Just look at those legs! And that ass! Dude is freaking scrumptious... er, is what a woman would say.

Okay, so let's say you actually manage to land a girlfriend (unlikely, I know, but bear with me here) and you piss her off big time. Maybe she came home to her apartment and found you there, screwing her roommate, and you forgot to ask her to join the two of you for a three-way. You know you've got to make it up to her. You search for a sweet, romantic gesture. Do you give her a single red rose? Probably, but that's wrong! Dead wrong! What's better than a single rose? How 'bout a single rose petal! Yeah, you're feelin' me! It's smaller and therefore cuter (or at least that's what I tell myself). And don't forget to give the petal to your lady with a casual, lazy-eyed half-smirk. Chicks love that.

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Polecat

Polecat is the whole reason I started redesigning the costumes of rejected Legion applicants. I've made no secret of the fact that I don't like the smelly little bugger, but I did accidentally crush him and I'm sorry for that. And I've often wondered, why don't I like him? Is he really that bad? Is it just my problem? Y'see, one of my many enchanting foibles is a tendency to overreact to things I find aesthetically displeasing, especially if they are obnoxious or tacky -- and Polecat is basically a walking fart joke! Upon deeper consideration, I've found a lot to admire about Polecat. He's very proud of his culture, which is important, and he's not afraid to be himself. It's just a damn shame he's hideously unattractive, has no taste in clothes, and has a laugh like a car alarm. So if I ever manage to get back to my specific timeline (not that I'm in a rush, mind you) I'll present him with the greatest gift I could ever give: a makeover! And maybe a gift certificate to an orthodontist.

So, here's the "before":

Law & Odor: Fashion Victims Unit! The biggest "don't" in his outfit is the pairing of bare thighs and long sleeves. He looks like a gymnast. A girl gymnast. On top of that, the design is boring with a capital bore. Black with a single racing stripe. He looks like a Camaro, only nobody wants to take him for a ride if you know what I mean. And that greasy bowl cut isn't doing him any favors.

And here's my "after":

I designed a symbol for him (stylized skunk in the shape of a "p") and, more importanly, gave him some freakin' pants. I shaved his head to show off his horns. And to show off his entire head (I know, risky) I gave him a huge fur collar and matching trim on the gloves and boots. I think it looks pretty tough, albeit in a Bob Fosse sort of way.

Rock on, stinky!

Corpulent Identity

I'm all better! The only lingering side-effect is a powerful urge to lick my own balls. ...Only now that I think about it, I had that before. So, not too long ago I showed you all Firestorm's quick-change fashion show nightmare from the back-up story in "Flash" #304 (December, 1981). The main story in that issue introduced probably the least-appealing villain design of that year (which is really saying something). It's the one-man Royal Flush Gang of Tomorrow, Colonel Computron!

I'm surprised Marvel didn't swipe this design and call it Kingpin 2099! This is how I imagine the president of Jeremy's cable provider to look, by the way. In this issue, Computron makes trouble for one Mister Willard Walter Wiggins, who previously had the genius idea of hiring his shady illegitimate son to promote his company's line of boomerangs. Writer Cary Bates is very cagey about Computron's identity, but a Len Strazewski story in the (mulleted version of) Starman comic would confirm that the villain was, indeed, a Wiggins employee, nebbishy Basil Nurblin. A few pages before this scene, Wiggins had insulted Nurblin with a measley $99.95 bonus despite his creating their company's most profitable item. And then Nurblin had to hear about it from his shewish, Agnes Moorhead-like wife. So you can't blame him for snapping. I should also add that both Nurblin is thin as a rail, so I can't account for how fleshy his face looks in that suit.

Now, about that suit: I know that computer graphics circa 1981 were pretty blocky and the "in thing" for sci-fi at the time was to make everything look like a Star Destroyer and artist Carmine Infantino had entered his Etch A Sketch Period by then but goddamn. That is one ungainly, clunky looking pile of crap. My Lord, just the beady little eyes--! It's hideous! Hey, let's see him in (flabby, lard-assed, grunting, phlegm-gurgling) action!

Don't underestimate him. Computron's fat like a sumo wrestler, but he's also strong, like a... sumo wrestler. Huh. Not my best simile. Oh, and that smudge on one of Computron's word balloons is from a Snickers bar Jeremy ate about twenty-five years ago. You know, if he was famous, that would have made the comic book more valuable, not less. Hurry up and get famous, Jeremy! Anyway, Computron must be aware of his serious figure flaw because he does what all unattractive people like to do: he surrounds himself with people (or in his case, robots) who are even uglier!

This is like the worst budoir photo I've ever seen. Also, check out the sad, forced smiles on the faces of Blip-One and Blip-Two. Look familiar? I'll give you a hint. Imagine Blip-Two on the red carpet at a movie premiere with Tom Cruise's arm around it.

Dracula: Prince Of Dorkness

...And my hair is perfect. Nope, this isn't a mask. Unfortunately. AAAARRROOOOOO! *clears throat* Sorry, I'm prone to doing that now. Anyway, take my advice: don't stand in front of the microwave at QuikTrip while you're wearing Zuunium cuff links. I'm afraid I caused quite the ruckus -- a half-dozen fashion victims mauled, and not a stick of beef jerkey left in the place. Grrrrroowwwlll AAARROOOOO! *ahem* But fear not! Such a low dosage of irradiated Zuunium should wear off by tomorrow. For now, though, I have yellow eyes, horrifying teeth, and there's so much fur on my face you can barely make out my facial features. Thank God this is Wichita, Kansas, or else I might stand out. (Halloween, hell! I could walk the streets of this redneck burg on freaking Arbor Day and not draw a crowd.) But enough about my personal problems. You came here for the costumes! Well, I'm in a Monster Mash kind of mood today, so I decided to redesign Dracula's superhero costume.

You heard me.

This is Dell Comics' Dracula. He's not a vampire, but he has ultrasonic hearing (I'm not sure how that's helpful, unless criminals communicate with one another through a series of high-pitched chirps and whistles) and he can turn into a bat and control bats. And yet he looks like a total goober. So here's how I would have dressed him:

I changed the motif from "bat" to "dragon" based on Vlad Dracul's membership in the Order of the Dragon. And since it looks a bit like a rib cage, I added designs that look a bit like bones to the arms and legs. And I replaced the dopey bat-belt with a sash to break up all the red and to add a little historical flavor. No cape, you ask? Damn skippy! My goal was to really emphasize the superhero aspect. My first sketches wound up looking too much like historical costume, with old-timey capes and leather armor and pirate boots and such. Those designs looked fantastic, naturally, but they didn't scream "superhero." That's why I based the final design around a monotone body suit, and just embellished it with the sash and the dragon/bone detailing. For just a pinch more drama, I gave him corpse-like makeup, a beard and long hair. The hair provides the motion that a cape would have, and it contrasts with the angular silhouette of the suit. And yes, I suppose he looks like the old Marvel villain, the Tarantula, but I didn't notice that until I was inking it. Swear to God.

So forget ol' bat-ears up there. This is a guy I'd let sink his teeth into me. Or vice-versa! AAAAAARRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! *ahem* Sorry.

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Spider Girl

Here's a new addition to my burgeoning list of design challenges: recostuming anyone who was ever rejected by the Legion of Super Heroes. The idea grew from a single cartoon of Polecat that I drew while waiting with Jeremy in the DMV (he promised it would only take a minute and then when we arrived there was like, three hundred people ahead of us). So to pass the time I started sketching. Then next thing I knew, I'd devised costumes for the original roster of the Legion of Substitute Heroes and a bunch of others, besides! And here's the first one I'd like to show you. It's very nearly Halloween in your backwards, superstitious era (praise be to the Luck Lords) so in honor of that I present: Spider Girl! (Creepy!) Let's take a gander at the "before," shall we? Here's Spider Girl getting all her hopes and dreams crushed by a lame pun:



I'd feel sorry for her, but c'mon! Trying out for the Legion of Super Heroes without having even a modicum of control over your powers is like auditioning for American Idol without any singing ability. You're just asking for a snooty foreigner with huge jugs to tear you a new one. Still, Spider Girl didn't exactly put her best foot forward, now did she? First there's that nasty, dry, fly-away hair (SUNSILK!!! Sorry, I don't know what came over me) and then there's the costume. She's not exactly "dressing for success." The ultra-realistic spider web design is neither attractive nor intriguing -- it's merely gross. And the copious-yet-haphazard rusching makes her look like the world's sultriest trilobite. No sir, I don't like it. Here's how I would have attired her:



You go-go-go, Spider Girl! Except for some modishly-slicked bangs in the front, most of her hair is pulled back from her face. I also would have introduced the lady to a handy little invention called "conditioner." Now, that's the kind of hair you want to throttle you into unconsciousness. I added a mask because it's fun and mysterious, and it goes with the Halloween party feeling of the costume, and also because it's about the only thing that makes the outfit a costume and not just a dress. *nervous laughter* And what a dress! It's a charming little number in a violet-gray fabric that is slightly sheer, and worn over a darker body stocking. That way she can enjoy wearing something with a high hemline and not come off like looking like a pole dancer, Supergirl. Er, *ahem* and the entire ensemble is finished off with black silk slippers (with treads on 'em, for action!) and some fun bangles. There ya go, honey. Don't forget what I said about the conditioner.

The Curious Case Of The Crunch-Coated Cop

I think DC missed an amazing opportunity for a spin-off from this Firestorm back-up story in "Flash" #304 (December, 1981).

I bet being involuntarily costumed as an ice cream vendor was a profoundly life-changing experience for that policeman. At the least, it would have driven him stark-raving bonkers. I can just picture him quitting the force to wrestle with his conflicting need to dispense both justice and fudgesicles. He'd be DC's very own peanut buster parfait Punisher! Grimly, he'd patrol the streets of, er, wherever the hell Firestorm was living at the time, in a gloss-black ice cream truck (with all the windows tinted, but of course), death metal music blaring in a garbled, stuttering fashion from the damaged speakers. Besides the usual arsenal of high-tech weaponry, he'd lob scoops of mace-chocolate-chip at his enemies and use jagged waffle cones like ninja throwing stars. He'd burst into a crack den and machine-gun the place, giggling "How 'bout some sprinkles, bitches?!!" Maybe he'd enjoy occasional team-ups with a smaller, more refined vigilante by the name of Haagen-Dasz (a Danish* spy, perhaps?) or a pair of drug-addled underground radicals called Ben and Jerry, or maybe even a sultry, fishnet-hosed karate-chopper codenamed the Blue Bunny. Of course, he'd still wear the ice cream man uniform, only without the jacket and with the sleeves of the shirt ripped off to expose his massive, oiled/grimy biceps. And naturally he'd have a couple of bandoleros draped over his shoulders, and two ice-cream scoopers in leather holsters, like guns. Yeah... that would've been pretty sweet. *sighs wistfully*

*Although Haagen-Dasz is actually an American brand. (I hope I didn't blow your mind.)

Mento: The Lovemaker!

Y'know the best thing about my new gig with Blockade Boy? Besides the fact that we can wear each other's clothes, I mean! Which reminds me! BB, or "bro" as I like to call him, has the grooviest leather pants -- in crimson, yet! They hug his buns perfectly and since we have similar body shapes I know that I'd look good in them too. Haven't had a chance to wear them yet, but for now it's just cool watching him walk around in them. ...Huh. I feel all funny inside now. Um. Anyway! The other best thing is getting to observe the love techniques of other dimensions! Here's a real pro I've discovered from the DC Universe. His name is "Mento" and I think all you turkeys can learn a lot from him.

Okay, so you see a fox you want to do the diagonal polka with, but she's already talking to two other guys! Don't be spooked! Walk right up there and announce yourself as loud as you can without actually yelling. And don't slouch, damn it! Observe Mento here. He's in a pose I like to call "the rooster." Hands on hips, neck straight... in my version I actually flap my elbows like they're wings and do kind of a forward-head-bob thing, but Mento's style isn't bad either.

The other guys may try to distract you by inviting you to a pickup basketball game. Don't be deterred! Brush those losers off! They're just turkeys in wolves' clothing!

Okay, so you announced yourself already. Too bad, because you may have to do it again. Several times, in fact. You may have to remind your target of shlongmantic conquest of your name, over and over and over. So say it whenever possible! Talk about yourself in the third person! Like I do! ...I mean, "Like Lancelot Steele does!" Try wearing one of those old-timey mayor sashes with your name emblazoned on it! In gold! Buy a parakeet and teach it to say your name, and then give the bird to her as a gift! Spray-paint your name all over her house, and then blame the deed on an admirer! Got it? You want to burn your name in her brain. Not literally, of course. Because then you'll wind up in prison, and you'll find yourself pinned beneath some huge brawny psychopath, his long wiry beard scratching against your cheek as he whispers obscenities in your ear, his fingers probing ever deeper inside your... well, the point is that you don't want that sort of thing to happen, now do you? I know I don't. It's one of my biggest worries! I think about it all the time.

See what he just did there? He took an insult and turned it into a compliment! Like this one time at the talent agency, when I casually mentioned to Dazzler that I wasn't wearing underpants and she said, "Really? Then how come it looks like you have no penis at all? Do you keep it tucked between your legs like one of those she-males, or what?" And I said, "So you want me to wear tighter pants! No prob, babe! Say, maybe you can help me change into 'em!" And then she slapped me and walked away and sure, I had to hide in the copy room with the door locked so nobody could see me crying and Cassandra kept pounding on the door and yelling about how she needed to use the machine and how it was the third time that day I'd holed up in there and how she was going to get Harry to fire me but it was totally worth it

Yeah, man! Flirtation, Steele-style! Mento's got the right idea. Always be lifting something. In his case, a cage full of wild animals. I might have to borrow that idea. And he gets right to the point, doesn't he? That's key. Just tell the girl who you are and what you want to do to her. Focus. Even if, as in Mento's case, you really need to pee just then.

Sometimes the turkeys you shooed away from your love-target will come back, angrier and drunker, and they'll start a fight with you. They'll probably try to punch you in the babymaker -- a beautifully Darwinian move, and one I've used many times myself. The moral here? Maybe you should wear a cup. But don't worry, because your confidence will get you the girl, every time!

Oh, and it helps if you're a multi-millionaire.

Your Cheatin' Hair

Monday night's game had a strong match-up between the New York Giants and the Dallas Cowboys, and entirely too much Hank Williams, Jr. and his "Just For Men" dye job. (Fifty-seven years old and nary a gray hair? I don't think so.) The differently-hideous Tony Kornheiser, meanwhile, either forgot to have the spray-on tan applied to his pasty pink scalp (plainly visible beneath the few wispy strands of hair in his combover) or else he's inordinately fond of wearing sunhats. I didn't have a favorite team in this game, so I decided to root for the Giants on the sole basis that I find the Cowboys to be aesthetically displeasing. Especially the cheerleader uniforms. All that fringe! Tacky! And now for my extremely spotty and easily-distracted play-by-play:

• Dallas fans aren't happy about their quarterback, Drew Bledsoe, starting. Or even playing at all, I guess, since some of them are brandishing signs reading "We want Romo." Looking at Tony Kornheiser makes me want bromo, so I can sort of relate.
• New York's #18, Jeff Feagles holds the NFL punting record (1457 at the start of this game) which is even more impressive to me, since based on his headshot, he's apparently crosseyed. His first punt rolls up to the goal line. Dallas is forced to play with Bledsoe standing in the endzone, and the Giants' #55 Lavar Arrington sacks him for the first safety of Arrington's career (and the first one I've ever seen, or at least paid any attention to).
• One of the most horrifying announcements I could ever imagine (on par with "That wasn't Mountain Dew" and "I have everything on videotape"): "When we come back, Hank Williams, Jr. joins us in the booth." Oh please God no.
• An announcer deems Bledsoe "not a very mobile individual." Maybe a Hoverround would help. Four-and-a-half minutes into the second quarter and Bledsoe had been sacked four times. Seriously, he spends more time on his back than Paris Hilton.
• Kornheiser talks about that "all-star" version of "Are You Ready For Some Football?" that HW Jr. recorded, and then he asks him if he thought about getting Pink in there. *shudder* I know that guys who look like Kornheiser think about gals who look like Pink, and I also know there's nothing inherently wrong with it; hell, 99.9% of the U.S. population is pretty sorry-looking, myself included, natch... it's just that I don't want to have to think about Kornheiser lusting after Pink. Is that so terribly shallow of me?
• Hank Jr.: "I got a case with a lotta awards in it. The greatest award in the world is that ten-year-old that looks up and says 'Oh my gosh! You da man from Monday Night!'" Wait, so Hank Williams Jr. has a ten-year-old in a case?! Does John Walsh know about this?
• Late in the second quarter, Arrington gets carted off the field with a torn Achilles' tendon. Aw, now who's going to sack Drew Bledsoe? Oh yeah... everybody.
• Bill Parcells replaces Bledsoe with #9 Tony Romo for the second half. Romo immediately throws an interception... which the Giants turn into a touchdown, making the score 19-7, Giants. Dallas fans scramble to make new signs.
• With 2:33 left in the game, Giants #35 Kevin Dockery intercepts a Romo pass and runs ninety-six yards for a touchdown. Sweet! Giants win, 36-22.

Batroc The Leaper Only WISHES He Was This Gay

Sometimes it takes a queen to catch a queen.



Yes, the Web is simply drooling over the chance to get his hands on the Flipper's "loot-filled pouch." It's a veritable treasure-trove! Why, the jewels alone...! Er, *ahem.* The above nonsense is presented courtesy of "Archie's Super Hero Special" #1 ("1978 Edition" according to the indicia) and it reprints a story from Archie Comics' frankly desperate attempt to replicate the bombastic writing style of Stan Lee. Sad, really. I mean, it's not as though Stan ever ripped off the Archie Comics style. Oh, wait, he totally did.

Y'know, as much as I enjoy costumes with wide black horizontal stripes, the Flippers' duds just aren't doin' it for me. For one thing, he's a thief, and he's disguised himself with a mask, and yet he's not wearing gloves. That kind of thing only works if you've used battery acid to burn your fingerprints off, and it's really not worth it. Trust me. Then there's the upturned collar. Hell, he might as well sew a little embroidered alligator to the front of his costume, put on some penny loafers, wrap a sweater around his neck, vote Republican, and be done with it. (Say, maybe "the Flipper" is his nickname from private school! Y'know, for his uncanny ability to take a straight classmate under the bleachers for about five minutes and convince them to "change teams" as it were.) My solution for the Flipper's costume? In all seriousness, I'd give him some gloves, get that stupid collar off it it, and exchange the mask for a balaclava. It's far more mysterious that way! Also, maybe he shouldn't, y'know, talk.

The Web, on the other hand, might be beyond even my help. (Kidding! I'm a genius! Wile E. Blockade Boy, that's me!)

Dig that goofy cape! I bet if he walks through a playground he emerges with a bunch of eight-year-olds clinging to it. And then he's like "What the hell?" and he has to shake them off like they're ladybugs. Something similar happens if he strolls though a Marine boot camp. Only then he doesn't shake them off. Then there's the bat-winged Vampira collar and the sad little belt buckle. Ugh. Webs are a tricky motif for super-costumes, because they can look way too busy when used in excess -- although I believe I've come up with a great look for Spider Girl, which I hope to show you later this week. My solution for the Web? Ditch the cape and the collar, incoporate the web pattern on the top part of the costume, like, drape it over the shoulders and the torso, and change the color scheme from yellow and green to black and silver, or maybe black and electric blue. Voila. Oh, and he oughta dye his hair black. No, wait! He oughta bleach it out 'til it's completely white! Yeah, that'd rawk. Oh, and I just thought of this! Maybe he could use the cape as his signature weapon, y'know, like how the gladiators in Ancient Roman Tymes used nets (and tridents) in their matches! Suh-WEET! YEAH!!! *pounds chest, gorilla-style* Man, I'm really pumped about this now! I might have to actually draw it!

That's all for now. Get back to work, you goldbricks!

Narrow Win Stadium

Holy cats! Now, that was a football game! I'm referring (of course) to the Chiefs/Chargers game yesterday -- tied up 27-27 with 5:10 to go in the fourth, and that deadlock only broken by Lawrence Tynes' career-long fifty-three yard field goal with 0:06 left on the clock. So KC won, barely, 30-27.

• Turns out San Diego's deep back is named Michael Turner. I'm surprised he has time for a football career in between drawing all those ugly JLA covers. I also wonder if the woman who models for him really does look like an extruded version of Angelina Jolie... with her spinal column surgically removed.
• KC has suffered four veteran losses this season (so far). Here's the rundown: Trent Green (concussion), Willie Roaf (sting ray attack), John Welbourn (toenail fungus), and Tony Richardson (alien abduction -- kidding! It turns out he actually died fifteen years ago). I think KC really should have seen that last one coming.
• First quarter: we get a glimpse of Trent "Astroturf For Algernon" Green as he decides to start eating a felt tip pen. CBS cuts away before Herm Edwards runs over and slaps it out of his hand.
• An announcer, about two Chargers passes that led to fumbles: "Phillip Rivers looked high and uncertain on both of them." Well, that explains all the Grateful Dead decals on his helmet.
• First quarter: Tynes saucily hikes up his knickers to show off a little kneepad. Brazen!
• Second quarter: Fantastic fifty-seven yard pass completion by KC's #88 Tony Gonzalez, who kept pushing down the field even though three Chargers were mobbing him and had even spun him around so he was facing away from the goal. He was running backwards! He was moonwalking to victory!
• A Chevy ad: a doughy middle-aged farmer or hunter with a truck full of dogs, accompanied by the text, "This is our spokesman." That's odd; I thought their spokesman was a little cartoon boy urinating on a Ford logo.
• The Chiefs took their second time-out with 0:34 left in the second quarter. QB Damon Huard used that respite to consult with Edwards. Meanwhile, Trent Green began to lick his laminated play sheet. At a post-game press conference, he reported, "It tastes like peanut butter!" (Yes, I know this concussion=stupid gag is getting tired. Will I cut it out? ...ummmmmmmmmmNOPE.
• Announcer Rich Gannon keeps referring to players as "hats" and quite frankly he's starting to freak me out. I don't like Dadaesque play-by-play, Gannon! Also, Boo Radley called; he wants his haircut back.
• Third quarter: I'm no expert, but it seems to me that if you're going to pass the ball to a guy, it should be somebody who doesn't have his back to you, Damon Huard.
• Third quarter: Despite the Chargers' Marlon McCree signalling to the contrary, the refs rule for a KC touchdown. Man, I love it when the players try to tell the refs what to call. Honestly, has that ever worked? "Pass interference, number forty-nine, offense, five-yard pen-- what? No? Well, if you insist..."
• Fourth quarter: the Chargers' #21, LaDainian Tomlinson has the ball and fends off the Chiefs' #35, Lenny Walls, by barely touching him and yet somehow sending him flying backwards. In fact, the first time I saw it, the angle was such that it didn't look to me like Tomlinson had touched Walls at all! I was thinking, "How the hell did he do that... mind powers?!" Or maybe Walls has a greater resistance to Earth's gravity.
• On a related note, I'm thinking of changing my first name to JereMainian.
• Just once, just for a change, I'd like to see a player make a touchdown and point downwards. ("Thank you, Satan!")

The Unflattering Accessories Of Doctor Destiny!

In "Justice League of America" #34 (March, 1965), bad apple Doctor Destiny fancies himself a personal stylist and literally "dreams up" some accessories for the team.



The haunted haberdashery puts a serious crimp in the League's crimefighting efforts. But more importantly, most of it just doesn't look very good! Why, if I had been in charge of the dialog... *cue harp glissando*

Superman: These glasses -- have given me the appearance of a stocky 60's business executive at a costume party... and the urge to down like, nine martinis, while chainsmoking and pinching my buxom secretary's ass!

Batman: This high school class ring on my hand -- paints me as a loser whose only success was as a varsity football hero! And now it's ten years later and I'm working as a delivery boy for a Chinese take-out joint, and I've gotten so chubby the goddamn ring won't come off my fat finger, and sometimes I have to deliver eggrolls to old classmates of mine, and they're living in these big fancy houses with gorgeous babes hanging off their arms, and the chicks look at me with this little sneer on their face like "Who's the loser?" and I think back about how I used to give the guy she's sleeping with a "swirly" in the boy's bathroom pretty much every day and now he's banging this hottie and then he pays me with a twenty and says "Keep the change" and I try to say "no" but he puts the money in my shirt pocket like he's doing me a fucking favor and he looks sincerely concerned about me and at that point I really want to give him another swirly.

Hawkman: Ever since these gloves appeared on my hands, I can do the dishes without the harsh detergents ruining my lovely hands! Also, just by having a little more skin covered up I now realize how creepy it is for me to galavant about in public with my shirt off in the still-square days of 1965, I mean, if it was the late 90's and I was a college boy at Lollapalooza with this amazing body sure I'd probably be shirtless along with all the other short-haired pseudo-hippie frat boys buying a six-foot-tall bong with my daddy's American Express card and pumping my fists to a Snoop Dogg number and thinking about date-raping that high school girl I'd flirted with fifteen minutes ago but right now? Kinda creepy. Also, I really wish I knew what happened to my nipples... and my package!

Wonder Woman: How can I defeat my foe, when the mask I'm wearing betrays my penchant for buying glitzy crap on QVC? It's covered in genuine cubic zirconia! I'm paying for it in twelve E-Z installments of $89.95! My house is filled with junk like this! I can't seem to help myself! Please, somebody help me! I'm living on cat food!

The Atom: And what chance do I have of overcoming my foe when I look like a complete dork? Also, I have an antenna on my head! I look like a bottle of liquid soap! No, I said only I only look like -- HEY! Put me down! Don't squeeze -- AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! *dies*

And to answer your question, Steven, I haven't forgetten about the "supervillain accessories" post. By which I mean I did completely forget about it until just now. D'oh!

Retractable Field, Retractable Victory

Sooooo... how about that game...? The football game, I mean? Bears-Cardinals? Well hell yes I mean the one three nights ago! I don't care; I wanna talk about it now! Sooooo... how about it?

• The shiny new University of Arizona Stadium has a retractable grass field! (Wouldn't it be awesome if they retracted it in the middle of a game? Like when the score is 20-0 in favor of the Cardinals, just for a random example? And if beneath the field there was a big open shark tank, or maybe a pit filled with bobcats and stalagmites and landmines?) Also, the stadium has a roof that can slide open and which makes it look like a Celestial's bedpan.
• Michele Tafoya is wearing a neutral blazer, a persimmon-colored blouse, and more gold chains than Mister T.
• Announcer: "The big stage does not intimidate [Cardinals quarterback] Matt Leinart!" I agree. I once saw him in an off-Broadway production of "Dubarry Was A Lady" and he brought the house down! He had five curtain calls! Five!
• Leinart is wired for sound, so every so often we're "treated" to his on-field remarks. Let's just say he's no Dorothy Parker. Example: "YeeeeeEEEEEAAA*voice cracking in the middle of it*AAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhh WOO!" Money well-spent!
• Cardinals kicker Scott Player's "single bar" helmet is one of the dorkiest things I've ever seen... and I frequent comic book stores! And the bar isn't even up around his mouth! Apparently Player has a deep-seated fear of being punched in the Adam's apple. And after seeing him in that helmet I want to do just that.
• Monday Night Football suddenly turns into "People Magazine" with a montage of quarterback/female celebrity couples: Leinart/Paris Hilton (ew), Tom Brady/Bridget Moynahan (who?!), Troy Aikman/Lorrie Morgan, Terry Bradshaw/Jo Jo Starbuck, and Joe Namath/Ann-Freaking-Margret. Namath wins.
• Less than 3:00 before the half, the score is 17-0, Cardinals. Booth guest Charles Barkely thinks the Bears can still win it. Tony "My First Combover" Kornheiser thinks he's out of his mind. I realize that I'm beginning to hate Tony Kornheiser. He strikes me as a know-it-all weisenheimer who isn't nearly as funny or clever as he thinks he is. And I can't stand looking at him. Get a decent haircut already!
• Leinart, wired for sound: "Are you ready for some footBAAALLLL?" I'm ready for you to shut the hell up, is what I'm ready for.
• Even though they make a turnover within twenty yards of their own goal, the Cardinals are kept from making another touchdown by both the Bears and a heaping portion of their own incompetence. They have to make do with a field goal. The score is 20-0.
• Barkley (a Cardinals fan): "I'm gonna make a prediction. Twenty ain't gonna be enough to win this game." Kornheiser is graciously indulgent with the poor, deluded Barkely.
• Third quarter: Scott Player gets knocked down by a Bear and briefly assumes the pose of an Odalisque before getting back up again. Quit showboating your ass, Player! And lose the dork helmet!
• With two seconds left in the third quarter, the Bears make their first touchdown. With the extra point and a previous field goal, the score is 23-10, Cardinals.
• According to an announcer, Cardinals #32 Edgerrin James went to his managers and insisted the team be given black shoes instead of white shoes. (Unless they're playing before Labor Day.)
• Fourth quarter: Cardinals #25 Eric Green tackles Bears #87 Mushin Muhammad by smashing into him from behind (what are you snickering at?) and the instant replay has a beautiful slow-mo view of the two of them falling on their asses at the exact same time.
• Fourth: the Cardinals intercept a pass at the start of a play. #90 Darnell Dockett gets the ball and is immediately sacked, but he manages to land on top of Bears #81 Rashied Davis, pops back up and takes off down the field seventy yards for a touchdown. He picks up an entourage of five more Cardinals before he makes it to the end zone, the bizarre spectacle looking for all the world like the finale of "The Music Man" -- but it turns out most of the Bears weren't all that keen on chasing after him because they saw his knee had touched the ground. The Bears make a challenge. Touchdown denied!
• Bears #54 Brian Urlacher scoops up the ball after teammate Charles Tillman pulls the ball away from the Edgerrin (Edward G. Robinson voice: "Where's your black shoes now? Myah!") and the Bears get another touchdown and the extra point, so the score becomes 23-17, Cardinals.
• A Bears fan in the stands has a big glowing neon circle on his chest. I bet he models for Ethan Van Sciver.
• With 2:58 left on the clock, an astounding 82-yard punt reception by Bears #23 Devin Hester ties the game. Chicago makes the extra point, but of course. Note to self: ask Charles Barkley for some good stock tips.