Friday, January 05, 2007

Love Shack Pegasus

lancelothead TGIF, turkeys! Greetings from 1982! So, how'd you spend last New Year's Eve? No wait, let me guess... you drank alone and then masturbated while sobbing hysterically. Well, mine was far-out. My girlfriend, Candace, was out of town. Again! Or so she claimed. And it's really getting to be drag considering we've been dating (as far as I'm concerned) for about a year and the last time I actually laid eyes on her was the day before Valentine's day. So I thought I was just going to do my usual New Year's Eve thing: selectively dry-hump some choice booty in the throng at Times Square. It's perfect for me because the crowding is so dense they can't really turn around to slap you. Although you can tell they really wanna. But on December 31st, this bouncer I know, Leopold -- he's like, 6'6 and built, like he's chiseled out of granite or something, and he always has the grooviest suits and a ton of gold chains and this handlebar mustache that looks fantastic, I mean, he's just so cool, he probably has like a billion girlfriends -- anyway, Leopold actually invited me to his pad for New Year's Eve "to see the ball drop" as he put it. I told him I bet his apartment would be literally swarming with chicks and he said "I can think of one bitch who wouldn't miss it for the world" and I said, "Well, sign me up!" It turned out that I was the first person to arrive but Leopold put a drink in my hand as soon as I walked through the door, just to make me feel at home. I don't remember much after that but I do recall waking up the next morning naked on a garbage barge and there's a peculiar new wart on my pecker so I assume I had a blast. But enough about me! I'm here to help you losers score more foxes!

Did you know that your home is one of your best tools for winning the mating game? It's true! If even one aspect of your domicile is a turn-off, it's good night nurse for you. I learned that one the hard way! I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. (Although that would be pretty hilarious.) As a sort-of "worst case scenario" let's look at my first date at my first apartment, illustrated by scenes of something equally pathetic: Dazzler's visit to Project Pegasus!


I picked up my date, a gorgeous former teen model, let's call her "Patsy", under the pretense of being a limo service. When I veered off the prescribed route, she began to get nervous. And to be honest I didn't have any good answers for her. But I flashed my thousand-watt smile and flexed my pecs and she seemed to be satisfied with that.


My place was pretty big, for New York, but it was also in the top floor of a butcher's shop. That caused Patsy some alarm, let me tell you. But once we got up the stairs (and once that mook Gino got the slaughtered veal calf off the landing) I figured it would be smooth sailing.


One of my roommates was a good-looking actor and we walked in just as he was putting on his "Burger Clown" costume for an appearance at the opening of a fast-food joint. And even though he was covered in polka dots and clown white, he wasted no time in flirting with Patsy. And she was flirting right back! It must have been the tight clownpants. I was losing her! I had to act fast. So I hustled clown boy out the door and offered to give Patsy "the tour."


When we got to the kitchenette, we found one of my other roommates and his girlfriend sitting on the counter dunking donuts into a big bowl of bong water. And the donuts were covered in chocolate already so I don't think that even did them any good! Christ. The girlfriend started getting in Patsy's face, saying "You, you're that girl in that thing, you're that girl, I saw you, you're in that thing" and then one of her legs gave way and her head banged against the stove and she started laughing her ass off so I took that opportunity to get Patsy out of there. "Oh, this is such an adventure!" Patsy giggled and then she looked at me and said, "Lance, was it?" And I said yes and then I kicked myself for not giving her a fake name. Oh well.


I'd forgotten about that telescope I keep in the TV room and Patsy didn't buy my story about checking out the night sky with it since it was New York and you just plain can't see any stars at night and the fact it was pointed squarely at a boxing club didn't help my case at all. But then I explained that I was ogling the boxers' wives and she seemed to be cool with that. It was time to head for my bedroom! But first I had to make it through what I like to call "the gauntlet."


My bedroom is at the end of the hall so first we had to get past the two roommates who almost never leave that section of the apartment. First there was "Goo-Goo" Goolagong, an Aborigine body builder who's always tying up the phone talking to his mother in Australia and throwing wall-punching temper tantrums when he doesn't get his way. "Goo-Goo" was standing in the hallway with the super-long phone cord wrapped around his biceps. "Sweet ass," he smirked as we squeezed by him. And then he said into the phone, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Yes. No, I do have a filthy dustbin mouth. Yes, mum. I'm getting the soap right now..." and then he dropped the phone and bolted for the bathroom.


My other other roommate is a creepy little guy who lined his bedroom with foil gum wrappers so the government couldn't spy on him and who spends all day typing up newsletters he gives to the rest of us to Xerox and hand out on streetcorners. And we all tell him we do it, too, but since he never gets past the hallway we just use 'em for coasters and paper airplanes. He tried to slip Patsy a copy of his latest screed but I grabbed him by his nose and shoved him back into his little hole.


Finally we made it to my room and if I may say so, it wasn't bad. Patsy let out an amazed gasp because I'd done my damnedest to make it female-friendly. I figured a lady would want to feel like she was making love in her own bedroom, so I had a four-poster bed with a frilly yellow canopy and lots of stuffed animals and the walls were covered in paint-by-numbers horse pictures (nothin' but). Also I had the most bitchin' stereo system, like, ever ready to crank out some David Cassidy at a moment's notice. But here's the thing. When I put the headphones on Patsy's adorable head, I forgot to check the voume knob.


Patsy swore like a sailor as she ripped the headphones off her head. She looked at the room again with these kind of crazy eyes and she looked at me like I was a cockroach or something. Her face fell. She kind of whimpered "Jesus, Mary and Joseph" and she tore off into the hallway. I ran after her just in time to see her throw "Goo-Goo" (who still had a bar of soap in his mouth) out of the bathroom and slam the door. And then I heard her puking and I finally figured out she was drunk this whole time.


So naturally I started throwing myself against the door, over and over and over. When it finally busted open she looked at me with her face all shiny and tense and weird. She pushed me down and pretty much stepped on me to get out of there. And I wound up following her out the building and down the street, pleading with her to calm down but she just freaked and said "You take one more step and I'm calling the cops on your ass, you fat, slimy queen!" Which was just bewildering to me on account of my not being even close to gay but hey, it was said in the heat of the moment so I forgave her. Anyway, I walked back to my apartment in a daze and I wound up spending the whole night puzzling over what had happened, trying to figure out where I went wrong. And then it struck me.

Not enough paint-by-number horse pictures.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

Saddle Eyesore

bbwhitestachehead In "Marvel Team-Up" #97 (September 1980) Spider-Woman blows into New Mexico, all gussied-up in her tightest slacks and her loosest sleeves.


Yes, she'd sincerely wishes she could help stop the Hulk's destructive rampage. If only she was some sort of superhero! Ah, well. Maybe Paladin or Devil-Slayer is available.

I know, I know. I'm being unfair to Spider-Woman (and Paladin and Devil-Slayer). Why should she drop everything to chase after the unstoppable Hulk? She is technically on vacation. And she's not going to let anything ruin her one opportunity to visit the grave of the world's first astronaut chimp, in Alomogordo! She bought some candles and silk flowers just for the occasion, and she's going to make the daring simian's tomb look grander than Jim Morrison's!

Kidding. She's actually there to track down a criminal in her job as a bounty hunter. So of course she's not going to waste her time with the Hulk. That nonsense doesn't pay jack. Also, she'd have to pry herself out of those pants, and that takes a good three-and-a-half hours (and two economy-sized jars of Miracle Whip). Say, let's get a better look at her duds.


Ouch. It's not exactly Dale Evans, is it? It's not even Katherine Hepburn. Kate Jackson? Maybe. In other words, it's a mite mannish.

Yes, she's turning heads. Oh my yes. Sadly, they're the heads of potbellied gun nuts who are startled to realize they have those very same buckskin pants in their closets. And the matching vest! Maybe their eyes linger on the hot pink satchel, and they realize how fetching it looks with the tan leather and the cranberry plaid, and they wish they had the cajones to pull that kind of thing off. And they know in their heart of hearts they don't... not in public.

And then they run to the local Woolworths to search for a pink satchel.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

The Sting

bbwhitestachehead In "Marvel Team-Up" #106 (June, 1981) we find Stingaree the Scorpion safely incarcerated behind the walls of the "Brainsen Psychiatric Center" (no, seriously). So naturally he fakes a psychosis (which looks suspiciously like rabies) until one of the idiot doctors gives him his super-suit back.


"The costume itself is as dangerous as my daughter's designer jeans." That's where you're wrong, doc. As the victim of a freak Bedazzling accident, I can tell you that designer jeans are often more dangerous than any weapon-equipped Furry costume could ever be! I mean, sure, when you're fourteen years old it's fun to attend a sleepover at Plant Lad's house and stay up late and sneak into his dad's sewing room and try out all the cool antique machines he keeps in there, but when you're a little tipsy on Boone's Space Farm maybe you shouldn't talk Plant Lad into bedazzling your super-cool jean jacket while you're wearing it because maybe his hand-eye coordination isn't what it should be and he'll fall to his knees and start drunkenly bedazzling the pockets of your dungarees and it's not like you can scream or anything because you'll wake up Plant Lad's folks and they'll find out you're both wasted out of your minds on Boone's Space Farm and so you whisper through gritted teeth for him to stop but for some reason he can't hear you and he just keeps stabbing your ass with the Bedazzler. And finally you have to turn around and do this sort-of karate chop thing to a nerve cluster in his left shoulder and then he's out like a light and you have to drag his sorry ass back to his bedroom without anybody noticing, not even his slutty sister Plant Lass and that creepy old fertilizer salesman she snuck into the house and Plant Lad is really sore with you the next day and he won't even talk to you for like a month but what the hell is he so pissed off about, I mean, you're the one with the line of pinprick-sized scars in your buttcheeks in the partial shape of a unicorn head. Er, but I digress.


Okay, so who else dearly wants to see the Scorpion try dance therapy? Show of (jazz) hands!

By the way, guess who drew this. There's an important clue in this panel. Have you figured it out? Shall I give you a hint? Okay. Handlebar mustache! Yup! It's Herb Trimpe. (The poor dope. )

Y'know, I'm no expert but maybe the Brainsen Pyschiatric Center would have more success if all the walls weren't completely bare. In fact, I think some redecorating is in order. Scorpion, would you like to start?


"Ka-wassh!" Aw, the letterer must have a harelip.

I should also point out that it's never a good idea to entrust the care of a supervillain to someone given to exclaiming "Goodness!" That's a sure sign of weakness. Always get somebody who swears. Whatever their age or strength-level. (Even the kids on "Nanny 911" could do a better job than this guy! They'd at least freak the Scorpion out with their sheer evil-ness. I mean, I'd hate to cross 'em.)

Finally... "second-rate cracker factory?" Ah, so he's at Bob Jones University.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Because Nobody Wants the Thing to Reproduce

bbwhitestachehead In a "Fantastic Four" story reprinted in "Marvel's Greatest Comics" #43 (July 1973) Reed Richards fits Ben Grimm with a most peculiar contraption.


Why, it's only the world's bestest birth-control device for men, you confounding corncob beast, you! Mister Fantastic's amazing ExtraTesticular* Device or ETD, gently but firmly locks into place around the testes. These troublesome organs are therefore contained, while the penis slips freely into the ETD's sleek chrome access port. At the first sign of arousal, the ETD's stainless adamantium blades spin into action, shredding the testicles into a harmless gobbets and sweeping them (and any excess liquid) into the easy-to-clean disposal chambers. Your wound is cauterized with a burst of Blastarr-hot electricity, quickly and somewhat cleanly** -- and then your member is at liberty to go about its dirty business, with no possible chance of conception. It's been tested on the Mole Man, so you know it's good! What are you waiting for? Give it a go! Try it on somebody really scary, like Thundra or Ann Coulter.

*The ETD neither removes nor produces extra testicles.
**You can expect the device to belch a wild arc of tomato-red energy, bordered by little black bubbles, and a sound like "KERRRAAAACK!!!"


Not wasting any time, are ya, Thing? You even kicked the first letter of that sound effect out of the way so it now reads "HUMP!" (Sexy!) Wait, where are you headed? No, not her! That's Nicolette Sheridan! STOP! All that silicone will clog the machine and make it--


Monday, January 01, 2007

Clash of the Mediocre Titans

headshotjeremy Yesterday I watched the Chiefs-Jaguars game --- or as I like to think of it, Kansas City vs. Trent Green. I wasn't sure what to expect, since they both came into it with middling win-loss records. Some notable moments:

  • The show's opening montage fades in to the accompaniment of a familiar-sounding backbeat, and for a mind-blowing moment I think they're playing George Michael's "Freedom." No such luck.
  • 1st quarter: QB Trent "Iron Skull" Green rockets a pass straight to WR Samie "Ray" Parker "Junior" who basically juggles the damn thing while running before he finally drops it. Dumbass. (Not that I could have done any better, but it's fun to judge people.)
  • This is followed almost immediately by a Jaguars interception. Good one, Green.
  • An announcer notes that the Jaguars' Maurice Jones-Drew is "so good... people are fightin' over which nickname to give 'em." My choice: "the Marquis Lilliput Von Flyspeck."
  • And then, the greatest moment of my life: KC's Bernard Pollard blocks a Jaguars punt -- and when the ball lands near the goal line, he flings himself on it and makes a touchdown! (Admittedly, I lead a very boring life.)
  • In the stands: some idiot in a red foam tricornered hat (I refuse to call it a "cheesehead" hat when it's not yellow) emblazoned with the name of his favorite comic book: X-Factor. Behind him: some lady in a "Skull Kill Krew" sombrero.
  • 2nd quarter: Trent Green briefly sticks his fingers in his ears and wiggles them around, because he prefers his brains to have a frothy, mousse-like consistency. Or maybe he's signalling for "no huddle." I dunno.
  • The announcers theorize that Jones-Drew's sheer shrimpiness makes him very hard to tackle. He gets pounded by like, half-a-dozen guys right after that.
  • A late hit by Jaguars DE Paul Spicer nails Trent Green, knocking him on his ass. Green digs a loose shred of dura mater out of his ear canal and rallies.
  • On a fourth down, within one yard of the goal line, KC coach Herm Edwards opts to try for a touchdown. (Kinglike, I nod approval from the remove of my cranberry red loveseat.) And it pays off! Additional credit goes to the great Larry Johnson, who has to accomplish it by launching himself over a pile of Jaguars, Batroc-style.
  • Although when Johnson takes off his helmet, I'm alarmed by the sight of his hair. He has either a very audacious barber, or a frighteningly literate ringworm.
  • In the third-to-last play before the end of the first half, Jacksonville QB David Garrard spends what feels like five minutes dancing around before finally making an incomplete pass. And by that time I'm screaming at the TV, "Just let go of the fucking ball already, you idiot!"
  • A KC penalty with 0:00 left on the clock gets Jacksonville an extra, untimed play, and they use it to almost score a touchdown. Almost.
  • At the start of the second half, the announcers lay out some statistics to explain that the Chiefs actually kind of suck compared to the Jaguars and that the early turnover is the only thing that skewed the game in their favor. I feel a thin trickle of pee run down my leg.
  • On the first play of the second half, KC's Dante Hall gets crunched between a Jaguars player and KC player and he exits the field holding on to his right shoulder. Swell. *grumbles*
  • Jacksonville has to start its drive from its own twenty-yard line, and right away KC's Ty Law picks off a pass to put KC at the one-yard line. As a mere formality, mind you, Larry Johnson makes the touchdown. Freakin' awesome. With the extra point, the score is 28-10, Chiefs.
  • Jaguars coach Jack Del Rio pulls David "Not right now, I'm having a Montclair moment" Garrard off the field and replaces him with rookie Quinn Gray. Gray runs the ball in himself for a touchdown. Um... good choice. (Dammit.)
  • A KC pass to Dante Hall falls way too short which one of the announcers blames on the wind (what, like a downdraft? The hell--?!) so Hall can't get to it quickly enough. Players from both teams scramble for it. One of the Chiefs finally lands atop the bouncing pigskin, and then two Jaguars pile themselves on top of him. Long after the play is clearly over, the Jaguars just stay flopped on top of the KC player, and I can see their fat, evil arms trying to dig the ball out from under the KC guy. Somebody needs to get a spatula and pry those jackasses off of him.
  • A tackle bends Trent Green's leg under his body in an unnatural manner, but he manages to walk off the field... and let Damon Huard take his place for a bit! Holy Crap! An announcer notes somewhat ungrammatically, "Many in Kansas City feeling Damon Huard should have retained the starting position." Yeah, there's at least one guy in Wichita who agrees with them, pal. Now, I don't consider myself to be a kneejerk, fair-weather type of guy. I have no problem with Green. I'm just going by the opinions of some former football players I've seen on TV who think that Green needed to spend more time recuperating before trying to play again. (Doctors, shmoctors!) I admire the NFL creed of playing with horrendous, bloody, life-threatening injuries but a concussion is pretty much brain damage and I think that merits a "better safe than sorry" attitude. Of course, when your brain has ricocheted around your skull like a racquetball, life-and-death decisions aren't going to be your strong suit.
  • Within minutes of entering the game, Huard throws to Kennison for a fifty-eight-yard reception. Then Johnson runs it in for the touchdown. With the extra point, KC stays in the lead, 35-17. Hey, Green? You just sit there for a while. (If I sound like I think Huard is better than Green? I really don't. It's just for comedic purposes. Honest!)
  • "Anthony" Quinn Gray runs the ball in himself, again, for another Jaguars touchdown! He even holds the ball out from his body the last few yards. Just to taunt me. Oh, it's on now, Gray. Prepare yourself for a barrage of anonymous hatemail like you've never seen.
  • Trent Green is back in the game! Huzzah. *weakly waves a little Chiefs flag* ...Aaaaannnd Jaguars OLB Daryl Smith intercepts a Green pass. And there wasn't a Chiefs player even near Smith. On the sidelines, Huard locates his Trent Green voodoo doll and twists the legs around some more.
  • Fourth quarter: the Jaguars start a play at least two seconds after the play clock has run out but that Quinn Gray is such a charming, adorable cutiepie, I guess, that the officials let it slide. No penalty! Oh, isn't he just the dickens?
  • The second time Gray pulls that crap, the officials manage to catch it. Yeah, you ain't that cute, Gray. Also, I know what I'm getting you for your birthday: a watch.
  • On a forty-three-yard punt by Jacksonville, Dante Hall advances the ball a mere three yards after getting bulldozed backwards by the Jaguars. Flat on his back, he comically wiggles his head to-and-fro and then he launches the ball straight upward, killing a meadowlark.
  • With less than eleven minutes left to go in the game, one of the announcers breaks the news that Jacksonville has been knocked out of the playoffs. So if they win this game, it will purely be out of spite. I wouldn't put it past 'em. Bastards. *mentally drafts first installment of anonymous hatemail to Quinn Gray*
  • More good news: Larry Johnson has just set the alltime season rushing yardage record.
  • Trent Green, meanwhile, can't figure out who he wants to throw the ball to, panics, starts to run backwards, and then fumbles the ball, whereupon it's pounded into the ground by three Jaguars players. Goddammit, Green, you go to your corner and you stay there.
  • Quinn "Cummings" Gray throws three incompletes and then an interception, finally, but it's nullified, and all because KC's Jared Allen (who resembles a slightly less hairy version of one of the animatronic figures from Disneyland's Country Bear Jamboree) does this kind of flying, rolling tackle where at one point Allen's entire body is on top of Gray. And then Allen dry-humps him a few times. Well, too freakin' bad, Gray! Suck it up and be a man! *doodles caricature of Gray in diapers and a baby bonnet on a napkin*
  • Jacksonville touchdown makes the score 35-30, KC, with five minutes left. My stomach starts to cramp up. But when its time to make the extra point, Gray drops the snap. Haw! Oh, the healing power of derisive laughter.
  • Green runs the ball for a first down after a flag lands on the field. I'm sure he didn't see it but it still came off as a pissy, selfish maneuver to me. Because I've dedicated myself to being massively unfair to Trent Green. Anyway, the penalty is declined and it stands as a first down.
  • The boring, nondescript announcers talk about Larry Johnson tying a rushing attempts record (and I'm sorry, but big fucking deal) while the camera shows a very special guest in attendance: Wildcats bad boy, Grifter! Blonde hair, red bandana... I'm pretty sure it's him. Although the breasts throw a wrench into my theory. Huh. Maybe it's She-Grifter.
  • Larry Johnson breaks the rushing attempts record! And yet I feel nothing.
  • 2:08 left in the game, and a fight breaks out. Jeebus. One of the generic announcers mush-mouths, "Some timbers are flaring." Timbers?! Well, hell, screw the officials, then. Get Smoky the Bear on the case.
  • 1:16 left in the game. KC has the ball. As KC's line shifts from one formation to another, Jaguars DE Bobby McCray rushes forward. Flag on the play. The officials rule KC's maneuverings as legal, it counts as a first down, and that's the game. KC's still in it, and they're playing the Colts on Saturday. Sweet!
I know I haven't blogged about football much lately. I wish I could, but my problem is, it takes so long. I have to record the game and then pause it every minute or so while I type something. And I try to keep from finding out the score until I get a chance to watch it. That makes timeliness a problem. And if it's a night game, forget it! I'm not staying up all night blogging about a game when I have to be at work in the morning. But I figure I can just blog about an afternoon game I'm not necessarily invested in if one of "my teams" is playing at night. That way I can still have up-to-the-minute knowledge about the Chiefs and Steelers and blog about the other game when I actually have time. Not that there are that many games left in the season, huh? Oh, and I'm thinking about subscribing to the NFL Network. Since they air classic games throughout the year, I figure it could be a good way to catch up on some football lore. (Plus more football blogging!) I saw a NFL Network game on one of the INHD channels this last Saturday. It was the one where Tiki Barber managed to drag the Giants to victory after they started screwing up in the second half (like they always do). Bryant Gumbel was one of the announcers, and while I've heard he's kind of a snippy tightass I really liked him as a football announcer. He was kinda witty and seemed to be pretty good-humored. Do any of you have the NFL Network? And if so, do you think it's worth it?