That One Time I Got Carjacked By Hulk Girl By Lenny Grist, Profeshunnal Henchman

So Im sitting here in my cell downing the last of my speshal eggnogg which I make myself out of rubbing alcahol and half-and-half and Im thinking "This is the worst Christmas yet I mean ever since Gladys up and left me for that crumb-bum lawyer of mine Larry Larkspur I been really down in the dumps and of course she dont send me no mackaroons no more which is insult on top of in jury." And then like a Christmas meericle who shood mateerialize in my cell but Blockade Boy hisself although I have to say he dont look too good on account of his hairs all white like he seen a ghost I guess it must a been quite a scare. But he says his readers been clammering for more of my stories and he gives me a pen and paper and so here goes.

This story is from the time I was on the lam after that time I was working as a teachers assistent for the Taskmaster and we were oporating out of a CIRCUS TENT if you can beleeve that shit and anyways the whole thing fell apart but I managed to aktuwally EXCAPE for once and Im just trying to lay low and mind my own bizness and keep my nose clean but I gotta keep moving of course and so finally I wind up in CALIFORNIA. And anyhows Im working in this burger joint and these two guys who are reguler custamers "Slim" and "Whiskers" they called themselves on account Slim is really skinny and Whiskers has whiskers we kind of strike up a friendship we seem to have a lot of the same interists like watching TV and drinking beer and ogling at ladies with big tits so its like we been best pals FOREVER oh and also they gave ME a nickname "Jeff" on account I kinda look like that actor guy Jeff Daniels appearantly. And its after my shift and they ask me if I want to have a little fun so of course I say "Yes" and I hop in theyre car and I guess they want to go to the dogtrack or something and I say I aint got no dough on account I work in a burger joint. And they look at eachother with this kind of knowing look and I probbly shood have gotten out of the car right then and there. But I dont and they stop at this gas station and we walk inside and Whiskers says "We can take care of your money troubels here" and I say "What are you high this aint no bank" and Whiskers says "The hell it aint!" and then he pulls out a gun. And I wish I cood say I was shocked but to be honest I been a crimminul for so long I just kinda shifted into ottopilot and I helped them rob the place. And as were making a break for it we pass this huge green lady in a ripped dress and I guess I shood of been more alarmed but hey it was CALIFORNIA.

And then Slim and Whiskers deside to totally FUCK ME UP THE ASS by taking off in the getaway car WITHOUT ME. So of course I have to take the next availabul veehicul which had the gas nozzul still stuck in it even but frankly I was in no mood to worry about particyoolers.

And Im thinking if I ever see those two slimeballs again Im going to clean theyre clocks BUT GOOD and so with revenge on my brain I of course am taken COMPLETELY BY SOOPRISE when the huge green lady leaps OVER THE CAR STOPS ME AND RIPS THE DOOR OPEN. And then I rembember where I seen her before which was on the news and they called her the Rampaging Hulk Girl I think and anyway I love me some hot curvasyhush ladies dont get me wrong but somehow when theyre seven foot tall and green and pissed off it stops being sexy and moves into the relm of TERRIFYING. And Im thinking shes just gonna pull my sorry ass outta the car and haul me off to the cops but NO.

She shoves me over into the passenjer seat and hops behind the wheel HERSELF and she takes off after Whiskers and Slim just like I was gonna do and I mean she FLOORS it. And I know it werent too manly of me but Im screaming my head off like a goddamn SISSYMARY but she dont pay no mind to me at ALL.

So were running stoplights and knocking over falaful venders and those guys with the maps of the stars homes and a anti-nucular power protestor or two and theres drag queens getting throwed to theyre asses left and right and I can hear SIRENS but Hulk Girl dont give two shits she just keeps driving. And its no sooprise to me that she catches up to Slim and Whiskers and then guess what. NO GUESS.

SHE LEAPS OUTTA THE GODDAMN CAR! And she was driving! And I get like a A-1 perfect view of her ass and she aint wearing no panties niether but hey Im a profeshunnal I still manage to grab the wheel and I slow down and get behind Slims and Whiskers car because I know some REAL BAD SHIT is about to go down.

So Hulk Girl climbs on top of the other car and shes stradduling it like shes gonna RAPE the damn thing and then she rips out the hole engine block! And Im thinking its a good thing I aint near the car no more cause that cood do me some real damage thats for goddamn sure and so of course...

...she throws it BEHIND her and now a engine block is bounsing down the assphalt right TWOARD ME and I know you aint gonna buy this for a minute but I swear as God is my witness the sound it made was "SKANK."

No kidding engine block. No kidding.

Spider-Woman's Super-Disguise Kit!

With Michael Fleisher as writer, Marvel's "Spider-Woman" series took on a very DC-esque tone. Namely, it turned into a cross between the "Supergirl" and "Jimmy Olsen."

Incog-NEATO! So that bent, bedraggled old lady was really the shapely Spider-Woman! Let this be a lesson unto you, young (straight) men: any old woman you meet could turn out to be a foxy super-babe! So take time to check them out. Really, give them a thorough going-over. Don't be afraid to peek under their hems for telltale signs of spandex. Pinch their bottoms to see if they're padded out. For reals. It could be totally worth it. But how on earth did Spider-Woman come across this fantastic disguise?

Oh. Okay, so I feel a bit cheated, but I'm sure Fleisher will make good on his promise to tell that wonderful story. Hmm? What's that, Jeremy? He never did? Huh. Well. Now, of course, I'm going to have to kick his ass. *makes beeline for time bubble*

*emerges from time bubble with a blackened eye, a dislocated jaw, and a pronounced limp* That could have gone better. Er, where were we? Oh yes. Here's Spider-Woman disguised as a cheap trollop. Or maybe Marcia Wallace. I'm not quite sure. Oh, and by the way, I think I saw that exact same ensemble on Tommy Tomorrow. I liked it better on him.

Fishnets and a blonde wig? It doesn't get more DC than this, folks! Except for the next page, where Spider-Woman goes on a date with a smarmy creep while wearing her Spider-Woman costume.

Also: "Momo?" The hell-?!

Sometimes Spider-Woman would disguise herself as a man! In a zoot suit! As part of a zoot suit-wearing gang. You see what I mean about how "DC" this all is? It's like they escaped from an old "Green Arrow" or "Black Orchid" story.) "I'm dreadfully sorry I had to let them get so close to you and your wife, Mr. Ambassador...!" Thank God she wasn't following a masher, huh? ("I'm so sorry I had to let him fondle your wife...")

Once, Spider-Woman disguised herself as supporting cast member Lindsay McCabe, masquerading as Spider-Woman. My brain is bleeding just thinking about it. Luckily, nobody noticed Spider-Woman's man-hands.

Such ravishing muttonchops! Er, but I digress. That vacant pile of boobery in the background is none other than Spider-Woman! I call this look "Vanna Frost": part ditsy "briefcase babe" and part icy ballcutter. With barrettes!

Ack! Another man-guise! You can't tell me your stomach didn't jump back up your throat a bit when you saw that panel of her lifting that screaming man-head off her comely visage. Okay, so you could tell me that, but I wouldn't listen to you. In fact, I have my hands over my ears and I'm humming a jaunty little tune this very instant. La la la la la...

And in my last example, the tables get turned on Spider-Woman when somebody disguises themselves as her.

Apparently the carpet didn't match the curtains! Because the whole roll of it got returned to the warehouse. Why are you snickering? What did you think I meant? Why, that's filthy! For shame. Let me start over.

Woo-woo! It's Spider-Woman's very own Etta Candy, complete with a "Spider-Woman" sorority. Which we never got to see, goddamn it. You'd think the follow-up writer, Chris Claremont, would be all over that shit. Except he'd make them mind-controlled ninja assassins or somethin'.

Empowered Tool

Remember when I said that there was no villain so lame that he needed to be killed off? I take it all back. Because I had forgotten about the Grinder, from "Spider-Woman" #26 (May, 1980).

I don't know if the Grinder is dead. Probably not, since it's doubtful he appeared anywhere after this issue. He still pisses me off, though. I mean, look at this idiot! The Grinder is the kind of supervillain people who don't read comics imagine people who do read comics would like. He's farcical. He's "Inferior Five" material. I don't get it. Marvel already had a villain who uses rotary saw blades, and his name is Whirlwind, and y'know what? None of the spinning blades were on his head. And the Skittle-fied color scheme! Yikes! Normally I'd blame something this garish on early-80's Marvel colorist Don Warfield, but nope. The credits indicate it's actually old standby Carl Gafford, or, as he's listed here, "Gaff." Yeah, that sounds about right.

It gets worse. This issue was written by Michael "Dave Sim is my homeboy" Fleisher, so the Grinder actually presents a challenge to poor, pathetic, woman-y Spider-Woman. To quote her thought balloons: "Blast it! I was too self-confident! If I'd waited till I'd moved in closer, I could've probably hit him in a spot he couldn't protect with that shield! Now it's going to be another hour before I'm sufficiently recharged to unleash another venom blast! He's leaving the way he came! It's not going to be easy to catch him-- because he's equipped with motorized flight, while all I can do is leap and glide! But I've got to try!" Darn that feminine self-confidence! Bah. If I want to read about a superhero who's a whiny little bitch, I'll pick up a Spider-MAN comic, thank you very much.

Thankfully, Spider-Woman pulls herself together in time to defeat the Grinder with one of his own blades, and from the ground, no less.

"H-HALP!!!" Ah, so he's the father of the little girl in the Shake 'n' Bake commercials.

Is there a way the Grinder could have worked? I can think of two, actually. The first and most boring way is to simply move the blades off the top of his head for God's sake and onto his arms where they'd look cooler. The downside is that he winds up as a very generic 90's-style villain. And nobody in their right mind wants another one of those. The second option was inspired by the following panel:

The Grinder's "shield" which Spider-Woman mentioned previously was merely the top of his bladed beany-copter. But what if... those blades were there in place of his head? What if he was this freaky guy with a sawblade (or three) floating over his headless body? Maybe he could be a cyborg with his brain in his chest, Arnim Zola-style, huh? (Only without the dopey TV screen. That thing looked ridiculous.) And maybe he could talk via the spinning blades, and he'd sound kind of like that surgeon Cenobite from the second Hellraiser movie. You know. Kind of like, "NNNNNwhooooooowaaaannnnntsmoooorecremmmmmebruuuulllleNNNN?" Er, only he'd say something cooler than that. Or maybe he could just talk like the "Slingblade" guy. What do you think? Too Grant Morrison? Too DC? I dunno. How would you improve the Grinder?

Tomorrow: more costume-foolery from Michael Fleisher's Spider-Woman. Friday: a letter from Lenny!

Rude Toff's Shiny New Gear

There's nothing sadder than a man in a sexed-up, nipple-baring Santa suit... after Christmas, natch. Before then? Why, it's the epitome of elegance! Which is my little way of saying I've got a new costume!

I thought I'd take advantage of my current obsession with hair bleaching to design some kick-ass black-and-silvery-white togs. I never would have worn something like this when my hair was brown... or orange. Anyway, this is my most favoritest costume yet! It's a bit "Fantastic Four," I grant you. But the little spots of color in the goggles and in the superhero logo make a big difference. Also, I trimmed my hair a little shorter than before, to put more emphasis on my killer biker 'stache. I think it's a pretty sweet look for me. And if any man disagrees, we can settle things the old-fashioned way: with fisticuffs. Or better yet, a drinking contest! In fact, forget the "contest" part, let's just meet at your place for drinks. And if we get in an argument that escalates into a full-contact brawl with the both of us wrestling on the floor until our clothes get torn off and we're all sweaty and dirty and naked, I'm totally cool with that.

I'm just sayin'.