Looking For Love In All the Wrong Epochs

I was planning on just handing over the entire blog -- lock, stock, and password -- to Blockade Boy, but I just had to get in one last post. Because something important happened. Just a few days after I'd managed to kick one obscure thirtieth-century superhero out of my apartment, two more showed up. Their names are Weight Wizard and Plant Lad, and they're looking for Blockade Boy.

I tried to take a photo of the duo but they didn't register on my digital camera. Probably because they're from the future. Or maybe I left the lens cap on. That happens sometimes. But they were nice enough to pose for a sketch. In case you can't tell from their costumes, Weight Wizard is the scrappy little guy on the right and Plant Lad is the gangly doofus on the left.

I didn't have time to do any colors, but you can get a general idea from how they looked in the comic books. Weight Wizard is blonde, with darker facial hair -- his coloring is kind of Nordic, I guess. And Plant Lad has grass-green hair and skin the exact same color and texture as a yellow bell pepper. Weight Wizard is the cheerfully intense type -- he shook my hand way too long and he was always nodding his head and he almost never blinked. Plant Lad didn't say much and generally seemed pretty out of it. ("Never mind Plant Lad," Weight Wizard explained. "He just went through a growth cycle and now he's in a dormant period.") I made everyone coffee and we had a good long discussion about Blockade Boy and about how their still being alive jibed with what I'd read in "Adventure Comics" #344 and #345 (May and June, 1966). It was eerily like the first time I ever sat down and talkd with Blockade Boy. Here's a transcript of our conversation:

Weight Wizard: First of all, I want your readers to know -- and Blockade Boy, too -- that I'm not proud of my actions in the Super-Stalag of Space -- well, except for that last one where I was a huge hero -- remember that? I rocked, pretty much! Noble and self-sacrificing as all get-out! But the other shit -- pranking Blockade Boy into shaving off his sweet-ass muttonchops and goatee, and letting Nardo use me as a mole (among other things!)... well, I just regret that stuff like there's no tomorrow! For realsies!

[Meanwhile, Plant Lad has found my television remote and is turning the TV on and off, on and off, on and off...! Weight Wizard finally grabs the control out of Plant Lad's hand and gives it to me.]

Plant Lad [slurring his words]: I was using that...!

Weight Wizard: What did we talk about on the way here? Huh? Buddy?

Plant Lad: *mumbles*

Weight Wizard [sharply]: Louder?

Plant Lad [reciting quickly and with a sudden anger]: "That I am to be on my best behavior and to do everything you tell me to do because when I am in this state I am for all intents and purposes a crazy person and cannot be trusted with the simplest of tasks!" Phht. Whatever! Suck my stamen, dickweed. [crosses arms and slumps down on the couch.]

Weight Wizard: Aw, don't -- great, now he's sulking. Jeremy, I don't suppose you have anything for him to read...? Like a book on soil cultivation, or maybe just a seed catalog or something with a guy sticking a rhubarb up his ass?

Me: Um. Nope. Oh, how about "ESPN the Magazine"? It's gigantic, and there are a lot of pictures.

Weight Wizard: Sweet! Let's rock 'n' roll!

Me: And by "rock 'n' roll" you mean, "fetch a magazine for a mentally-unbalanced plant/human hybrid to read?"

Weight Wizard: Hell yeah!

Me: Just checking.

[While Plant Lad busied himself with systematically tearing pages out of the newest issue of "ESPN the Magazine", Weight Wizard and I continued to talk.]

Weight Wizard: Here's the dealio: after Plant Lad and I--

Me: "Dealio?" People are still saying that one thousand years from now?

Weight Wizard: Aw, hells yeah. 'Matter of fact, that's how the revised U.S. constitution reads starting around 2170: "We the people, in order to keep it real, think this is the dealio..."

Me: Yikes.

Weight Wizard: Aaaaannnyyyywwwwaaaaaaayyyyyyyy.... this is the dealio: Plant Lad and I lammed it out of the Super-Stalag of Space! But as far as we knew, Blockade Boy had been killed! Then we got lost in the Galactic Frontier for a couple of months, and by the time we made it back to civilization, we learned that Blockade Boy had survived, but was missing! I was boggled! And how'd he escape the Stalag, anyhow?

Me: Well, he just tagged along with Matter-Eater Lad when Matter-Eater Lad escaped. Matter-Eater Lad tunnelled them both out by chomping through solid rock. But then Nardo and his androids surrounded them. Nardo was gonna kill Matter-Eater Lad, but Blockade Boy jumped in front of him.

Me: Since he had turned into a steel wall, the Nardo's powers didn't harm him. But he knew nobody else there knew that, so he played dead.

Me: They just left his body there. Blockade Boy waited 'til the coast was clear and then he took off.

Weight Wizard: Heh! Blockade Boy and me, we were always on the same wavelength! I faked my death, too! Well, Plant Lad helped! And he faked his death before I did!

Plant Lad [stares at a picture of a University of Tennessee fan who is slathered in orange bodypaint]: Grampa?

Weight Wizard [loudly clears throat]: As I was saying, during one of those times when Plant Lad actually had a functioning brain, he decided the only way out of that damn camp was in a body bag! And believe you me, he put on a real show!

Plant Lad: Jose Reyes is hot. [proudly shows us a picture of the Mets shortstop, then begins tongueing it]

Weight Wizard: That's nice, buddy. [pats Plant Lad's hand]

Me: Check out Adam Timmerman on page thirty-one.

Weight Wizard: Since Plant Lad is more vegetable than man, he can regenerate damaged tissue! But Nardo wasn't aware of that! So all Plant Lad had to do was pretend he was a goner and then let Nardo's androids dump his body outside the prison walls!

Me: Well, that explains how Plant Lad faked his death. How did you fake yours?

Weight Wizard: I just told you that Plant Lad, who can turn into any plant, faked his death and escaped. That was before I went over the fence and supposedly died! Put two-and-two together, man!

Me: Oh, no freakin' way. The giant flower!

Weight Wizard [grins]: That was Plant Lad! Lucky for me, I stumbled into that swamp where he was hiding out! He dragged me inside and whispered for me to let my body go limp! Once again, the bad guys just took off and left us there!

Me: Wait a minute. So three different prisoners on three separate occasions escaped that prison camp by faking their own deaths?

Weight Wizard: Yeah... now that I think about it, it wasn't a terribly well-run prison camp. Huh.

[Just then I hear a hissing sound.]

Me: Wait a minute! Where did Plant Lad go?

Weight Wizard: I'm on it!

[He produces a small whistle from behind his ear and blows into it. No sound comes out, but we hear Plant Lad say "OW!" from the direction of the kitchenette. We run over there and find Plant Lad trying to stick one of my cat Pepper's head in his mouth. I snatch the cat away from him.]

Plant Lad [rubbing his ears]: Gah! Don't do that!

Weight Wizard [slaps Plant Lad on the forehead]: Then don't do that! [jerks his thumb in the direction of the cowering feline]

Plant Lad: I just wanted to see if it would fit.

Weight Wizard: Go back outside and sit in the time bubble. Go! And don't touch anything!

[As Plant Lad flounces out the door, Weight Wizard notices my dubious expression.]

Weight Wizard: Naw, he can't take it anywhere! I got "the Club!"

Me: Wow. The things that are going to last one thousand years--! So, how did you two know to come looking for Blockade Boy here?

Weight Wizard: I overheard that fat fuck Storm Boy bragging to Eyeful Ethel -- his government-designated "fag hag" -- about how he'd found out that Blockade Boy was doing some time-travelling and costume designing, and how he was going to do the exact same thing, "only better," quote-unquote! I did some research and soon enough I found out that Storm Boy wasn't full of hot air! For once! Blockade Boy's face and name are all over the history books. It's nuts! I found traces of this blog on a server that archeologists had recently unearthed, and that's how I knew he was spending a lot of time here!

Me: Yup.

Weight Wizard: But the two of you weren't, er, "shacking up", was he?

Me: Nope.

Weight Wizard: Because you knew we were an item. Right?

Me: Yeah. I gathered that.

Weight Wizard: And the two of you never... did anything?

Me: Uh! No. He did a lot of other people, though. But the only guy he ever talked about was you. He mentioned you a lot.

Weight Wizard: He did? Aw, man, that is-- that's great! That's really fantastic!

Me: I think he misses you.

Weight Wizard: [grunts] Yes! Yes! You just made my freakin' day, my friend! So where's he at? When's he coming back here?

Me: I don't think he is coming back here.

Weight Wizard: I don't follow...

Me: I... kind of. Um. Kicked him out.

Weight Wizard: MOTHERFUCKER!

{Weight Wizard takes a swing at me but I easily duck it because he has like these little T-Rex arms.]

Me: Screw you, Tiny! I kicked his ass out of here, I can kick your ass out of here!

Weight Wizard [a little mortified with himself]: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's just... you gotta understand, man, I just need to see him again so bad...!

Me: Right. I'm sorry, too. Anyway, I get it. You two were like "this." [I cross my index and middle fingers]

Weight Wizard: And sometimes we were like this! [He makes a different gesture with his fingers that I don't think I can properly describe]

Me: I... did not need to see that. Look. Why don't we just see if he updated the blog? ...He can do that, right? From the future?

Weight Wizard: Only one way to find out, I guess! Let's rock 'n' roll!

Me: And by "rock 'n' roll" you mean "sit in front of a computer and read a blog?"

Weight Wizard: You know it, dog!

Me: Just checking.

(...And indeed, he had. Weight Wizard and Plant Lad are headed back to the 30th century, where they're going to give a very miserable Blockade Boy a very happy surprise. And he deserves it, the big sweet lug.

This is officially the last post for me, Jeremy Rizza. But if I know Blockade Boy, he'll have a new post for you right here, on Monday.)

Boy Meets Boy, Boy Loses Interest In Boy

A funny thing happened to me on the way to ValXan's worldship. No... make that two funny things. The first thing is, the time bubble's robot navigation system suddenly piped up and droned, "HOMING FUNCTION IS ONCE AGAIN AVAILABLE." Which is great, but see, here's why it's funny: the first time I ever tried out the time bubble, the computer informed me I couldn't take it home (i.e. to my own timeline) because that specific era had been destroyed and replaced. And then that replacement timeline got destroyed and replaced, and so on, and so on. It was a real mess. So when I heard that message, my immediate thought was "Great, now the damn time bubble's going on the fritz."

The other funny thing is, while I was moving forward in time, I nearly got sideswiped by another time bubble moving backwards in time. They were going so fast I couldn't tell who was driving, except there were two of them and one had green hair. And I'm wondering who the hell in the Legion of Super-Heroes has green hair. That'd be nobody, right? Unless Princess Projectra's latest dye job went south on her. ...What, you thought that white-blonde stuff was her natural color? Bitch, puh-lease. The other possibility: Storm Boy has gone punk! (God save the queen!)

The whole ValXan deal was a bust, by the way. By the time I got there, he'd been married to that RatBat with the tattered Wonder Woman costume for like five or six years and they had a whole litter of human/RatBat hybrids scampering around, and I couldn't even interest him in a little hanky-panky on the down-low and to tell you the truth, he'd gotten kind of flabby so I wasn't even that into him anymore. So there. (I did get an offer from a male RatBat in a tattered Vibe costume and while it was tempting, at that point I was just feeling worn out. Time bubble lag, you know.)

When I climbed back into the bubble, the homing button was still lit up. So as a lark, I dialed up my own era on the tele-screen, y'know, just to take a gander at it. (That channel's been gray and murky for a couple years now.) And sure enough, there was an image of the Legion, getting their asses handed to them by a hypnotist. (Haw! Good thing he didn't have a mime and a juggler with him or else they'd be totally screwed.)

I was glad to be able to go home, finally. But at the same time, I felt like I'd been jerked around. Finding out my era was destroyed was pretty devastating. I was finally making peace with the idea. And now suddenly with no explanation my continuity is valid again? What's up with that shit?

And it turned out there were scads of Legion continuities I could choose from. There was a future one where Mon-El was called "Valor" for no good goddamn reason and everybody was dressed either like an 18th century fop or like a janitor. And there was one where all the people had these weird, taut, vaguely English faces with teensy-tiny eyes and noses and mouths, and the costumes and hair styles were atrocious. Remind me never to visit that one.

So in the end I just went home to my regular continuity in 2966, to my "swingin' bachelor pad"... which I used to share with Weight Wizard. *sigh* I've lost the will to screw! I'm just staying inside, puttering about in my crotch-hugging orange pajama bottoms and my (unbelted) purple silk robe, drinking too much space wine and growing my hair and my muttonchops back out and trying to decide what to do next.

At least I have Jeremy's copy of "Star Spangled Comics" #36 (September 1944). Maybe that will cheer me up.

Yes, there's nothing kids love more than a gun-toting Parkinson's victim. Bang! Step lively, boys! Bang! Now yer doin' a little step I likes ta call the Pecos Polka! Bang! Oops! Well, yer young. I'm sure yer "adult toe" will grow in soon enough.

Sheriff Hawkins looks kinda familiar, somehow. Where'd he say he was from?

Holy--! I know this guy! From when I was vacationing in the DC Universe's "Old West." He was the sheriff but I'm the one who "deputized" him, if you know what I mean and I think you do. Kee-rist. He used to be hot. A little on the small side, but he had a real "Gary Sinise" thing going on. Damn. Now I feel old. Maybe the "Robotman" feature will cheer me up.

*whistles* That is one of the most downright beautiful splash pages I have ever freaking seen. Not only does it make me want to read the story, it makes me want to strip naked and rub myself all over the story, and cook a seven-course gourmet dinner for the story, and maybe nominate the story for President. A cyborg, a herd of dinosaurs, and a giant disembodied green guy? How could it go wrong?

Um, villain guy? Nobody's there. Maybe you should write all this stuff down, and then you can tell your therapy group. Also, aren't you supposed to be green? I call "shenanigans."

Serendipitously, the animal trainer happens upon a freshly thawed herd of mammoths, mixed generously with other prehistoric mammals. Nobody communicated this to the artist, however, because he drew them as dinosaurs. So the human characters point at and gape over and flee from fancifully depicted T-Rexes and Tricerotops and such. Meanwhile, the captions and word balloons clearly refer to them as "mammoths" and "elephant ancestors" and -- my personal favorite -- "queer elephants" (a.k.a. "Log Cabin Republicans").

But it's hard to complain about a comic book story with panels like this:

That, my friend, is the dictionary definition of "panache": riding atop a yellow tyrannosaurus with a safe in its maw. Wish I'd thought of it. Actually, there's a lot of dino-riding going on in this story.

But that's a drawing of -- that's not a -- aw, I give up.

And finally, your obligatory out-of-context panel of gay subtext. (Because this is a blog, and that is what we do.)

Yes, Robotman. Let's test your hard body.

From behind.

The Breakup

Last night I met with Jeremy at the nicest restaurant in Wichita (the Pizza Hut Italian Bistro on south Ridge Road) and we had a good long talk. Jeremy's not mad at me anymore, and we both agreed that I'd overstayed my welcome. With me underfoot all the time, it was hard for Jeremy to get anything done. For instance, he'd just been able to afford to buy Quark Express 7 for his computer, and with me monopolizing it all the time he would never have time to teach himself how to use it (and eventually parlay that into some extra income). Plus there are a lot of other things he needs to do to get out of this rut he's in, and I was "cramping his style" (such as it is). And the feeling was mutual, believe you me. Jeremy's not exactly a party animal. So we both decided it was time I was on my way. At the end of our talk, I grabbed his hand from across the table, looked directly into his eyes, and whispered, "Become who you are."

Yeah, I don't know what that was supposed to mean either.

But enough about Jeremy. What about my needs? I'm going to go look for my future boyfriend, ValXan, and that goofball worldship of his. And I think I'll grow out my muttonchops again, and ditch the 'stache. And dye my hair red. I just can't decide what style I want to wear it in. If you have any suggestions for a hairstyle that looks good with muttonchops, I'm all ears. Like Antennae Lad! The dumb jug-eared bastard...

Oh, and as a gesture of goodwill, Jeremy loaned me the oldest comic book he owns: "Star Spangled Comics" #36 (September, 1944). Yeah... he's never getting that back. Say, let's take a look!

Nobody could rock lemon-yellow jodphurs like Liberty Belle. She was tall enough that it didn't make her ass look big. And her hair was always gorgeous. It's just a shame about her face, huh? She was often mistaken for a thoroughbred Creamello filly, which explains the time I saw a policeman mounting her in Central Park.

You'll notice she doesn't wear a mask. Which makes zero sense, considering she doesn't wear a wig or glasses or nothing in her civilian identity. I think we can thank Roy Thomas for the mask idea. (Finally, something I can thank Thomas for.)

Golly, but her face sure looks familiar. Where have I seen it before? That harsh, bony face, that mane of blonde hair...

Holy shit! It's Super Ann Coulter!

Gah! Let's move on. And quickly!

The Star Spangled Kid's "manservant"* (WINK!) Stripesy also never bothered to wear a mask. I guess his secret identity depended upon there being a surplus of Frankenstein-skulled, slab-like, redheaded goons with bad haircuts in his hometown. (I'm guessing he lived somewhere in Minnesota. Saint Paul, maybe.)

*Yeah, yeah, comic nerds. Technically he was the Kid's chauffeur. So he really knew how to handle a stick... shift. Ye Gads, I am in a positively filthy mood today.)

Case in point:

Here, private detective and closet pervert Penniless Palmer uses a stakeout at a taxidermist's to indulge in some Furry fun. I love how his assistant is all like, "Why do I have to be the walrus? (Again?)"

And now for a snack. *reaches into glove compartment of time bubble*

Aw, yeah! Nothin' like a candy bar from World War 2, I tells ya. They're good and good for you. Just check out the label! In fact, that's the problem with you kids today -- or I guess I should say "back then" since I'm currently speeding through the 2480's -- anyway, that's the problem with you twenty-first century folks.

Not enough dextrose.

Tomorrow: more Star Spangled goodness, and I'll let you know how it goes with ValXan!

Jettison My Heart From the Airlock At Wounded Knee

Jeremy still won't let me in his apartment. I tried to reason with him, helpfully pointing out that he'd acted like a hysterical sissy-mary but for some bizarre, unknown reason this actually made him angrier. He said the problem was I was "inconsiderate" and had "a vicious tongue" and that I "never pay anything towards rent" and that I "eat all [his] food." At that last accusation I stuck my finger through the narrowly open door and poked him in the belly and with my most charming smile, said "We both know that one's a baldfaced lie, Bouncing Boy!" But Jeremy wasn't having any and maybe I shouldn't have used the word "baldfaced" on account of Jeremy's hairline. Then Jeremy said I should give him "some kind of warning" when I'm "going at some guy on [his] bed" so he doesn't just walk in on us after "a hard day at work" and that maybe I should try covering the bed with "towels." And I said, "What, am I living in Iran all of a sudden?" and that's when he started to close the door in my face. "Wait, wait!" I pleaded. "Can I have my shaving kit?" (which is technically a steamer trunk filled with various moisturizers and exfoliants) and he said he'd already thrown it out! Holy balls! The door closed. "Can I at least borrow some more comic books?" I shouted. From behind the door I could hear him say, wearily, "I'll think about it."

Sweet!

For now, I still have his copy of "Wonder Woman Annual" #5 (1996). It'll do. Let's take a gander at the book's heroine: a futuristic, noncommitally Native American-esque lass living on one of those ancient spaceship worlds that use to be all the rage. You know the kind -- the original passengers are long dead, and their descendants have no idea they're on a spaceship anymore? Blech. That nonsense is so 2660's.

Her name is AlyXa, and she dresses like a slut. But her hair and jewelry are to die for.

Spinabifidalicious! I guess her people have evolved past the need for an intestinal tract.

Anatomical abnormalities aside, isn't she the cutest thing? I wish I'd seen this ensemble back when I was in my Space Goth phase. I would have been simply dripping with handmade bangles and clasps and clusters of dangly earrings and shit. Oh well.

It's just too bad about her outfit. Slutty? Oh, just a tad. But the bigger crime in my eyes is that it's so damned impractical. There's so little material, and it's all fastened together so tenuously, it's not worth the trouble of putting it on. One strong gust from an air duct and WHAM! It gets knocked right off. And the cut of that skirt... yikes. It makes the current Supergirl look positively Victorian.

The guys on the ship don't wear much either but at least they have an excuse: they're hot! Well, besides that, they're warriors. So they dress kind of like gladiators in a "Mad Max" kind of way, with copious doses of "New York art student" and just a dash of Glam Rock.

And the winner for "Most Ridiculously Convoluted Spear" goes to--! (And now I play The Waiting Game. Sooner or later I'll get a pissy e-mail from some martial arts nerd informing me about exactly what kind of ancient Thai weapon or whatever this "spear" is based on. Ah, the internet!)

By the way, have you guessed who the penciler is? No? Here's a helpful clue:

Nobody else draws muttonchops like that. They're so pert! So full-bodied! This can only be the work of... Dave Cockrum! *thoughtfully strokes killer biker 'stache* Man, I miss my sweet-ass muttonchops. And my red hair. *sighs*

But never mind all that now. I've found a new boyfriend! Not that he knows it yet. Check him out, yo.

His name is ValXan. Which I've decided to pronounce like "Valjean" (from "Les Miserables"). Because it's French. Ooh-la-la! God damn but he's gorgeous! And he's sensitive! I can tell. Because he's wearing mascara -- oodles of it, in fact. He has a lot on his mind. Poor fella. Let me relieve you of your burden, ValXan.

Not that he spends all his time brooding, mind you.

Slap fight! So ValXan's voice is "a roaring bellow" and he prefers to resolve conflicts through violence? Gosh, but we have a lot in common!

Okay, now let's skip through all the blah-blah-blah in the middle of the comic and get to the end, where AlyXa mediates a conflict between ValXan's rugged band and the grotesquely-mutated humans who also live on that ginormous spaceship.

Yikes. That is the homeliest chick I've seen wearing a Wonder Woman costume since Cathy Lee Crosby. But back to my future boyfriend...

Aw, ValXan! Even humiliated, you're a cutie-pie! (And that's an important qualification in my boyfriends, believe you me.)

This Is Why I Don't Use the Changing Rooms at Old Navy

When I found this comic, I showed it to Jeremy and asked him, "Can you believe you bought this over ten years ago?" He didn't give me an answer. He just stood there, looking quietly destroyed. So I asked him why he wasn't saying anything. When he still didn't reply, I asked him if he wasn't talking because he's thirty-eight and his crappy, neglected body is just kind of slowly falling apart while I am so youthful, I haven't even been born yet. Still no answer. So I asked him if he was being so quiet because he was living in the same sad one-bedroom apartment he'd moved into in 1996, around the same time he'd bought this comic, and how it really got him to thinking about how his life hadn't moved forward one inch since then. And then started screaming some kind of gibberish that I couldn't really make out and he was pounding on my mighty chest with his puny, wizened fists, and the gist of it is he kicked me out of his apartment. But I managed to take one of his credit cards with me! And this comic! So now I'm writing this post at a Fed Ex Kinko's. Also, I hear Jeremy contacted a realtor and is looking for a house. Thank God. Because I could really use more room for all my stuff.

Shoplifters will be eaten to the fullest extent of the law!

Miss Gypsy Trampy Thief there is really rocking the Buckskin Chic look. Haven't heard of it? Oh, that's right. It's due for popularity in 2011 when President Russell Means divides the former United States into two nations: New England, and Turtle Island (which is everything west of New England). It's certainly a more flattering look for her than that tacky Wonder Woman costume. And we're talkin' the even uglier John Byrne version of the costume, with the two big lazy-ass stars on the trunks (because Byrne-boy couldn't be bothered). Feh! We'll get a better look at her costume tomorrow. And wait 'til you see how the guys dress! Rrowr!