Mine is Better

Okay, boys... whip 'em out! Er, your costume and hairstyle designs for Rainbow Girl, that is.

On the left, is (the vastly more skilled) Gary Frank's cover for "Action Comics" #862, which just showed up on the internet this month (your time). To the right, is my makeover for Rainbow Girl, which I published on my blog last July (your time). In an amusing coincidence, both Mister Frank and I thought Rainbow Girl would look nicer with shorter hair, dyed purple. However, he forgot to layer it, and as a result it's hella limp. Mister Frank also thought Rainbow Girl's appearance would be improved with skeletal Barbie doll arms. You're alone there, buddy. Unless... are the arms a plot point? Does she suffer from an eating disorder? Will the shocking ending feature Lois Lane holding Rainbow Girl's hair as she throws up in the Daily Planet ladies' room? Maybe we can get Tina Fey to do an intervention for the Action Comics Rainbow Girl. "These are Princess Projectra arms! We want you to have Rainbow Girl arms!" But enough tomfoolery out of me. I thought I'd ask Rainbow Girl what she thought of her otherdimensional doppelganger's new look. And here's what she said:

Hey! I'm trying to work here! Why are you always shoving crap in front of my face? What is this? Another birthday card for Nightmare Boy? Didn't we just have a party for him last October? What? Fine, I'll look... what the hell?! Is this supposed to be me? Who drew this? I look like I haven't washed my hair for a month. And why am I in my gym socks? And who slapped ginormous rainbow stickers all over my jogging outfit? And what's the deal with my arms? Is this a joke? It's not? Huh. I don't know who modeled for this thing, but she needs to eat a food pill, STAT. Criminy. Yeah, I'm a real scream. ...Sorry I snapped at you. It's just that Eyeful Ethel has me working four different cases right now... at once! I barely have time for all my charity work! And I'm only sleeping two hours a night these days, instead of my usual three. No, I'm sorry. Can I get back to work now, Blockade Boy? I promise, we'll go out for space wine after work, and we can talk about it some more, then. Yeah, that little place on Gurn's Grove Parkway would be great. Okay. Goodbye... I said "Goodbye, already!" Criminy! ...I'm sorry.

There you have it. I win!

Happy Thanksgiving, or Whatever

As previously stated, we don't have a Thanksgiving holiday here in the glorious 30th century, but I figured I might as well "give thanks" for some things... y'know, as a gesture of solidarity with (some of) my 21st century pals.

Let's see...

• I'm thankful to all of my readers, with a special shout-out for everybody who took the time out of their lives to work up costume designs for yours truly. You didn't have to do that, and I really appreciate that you did.
• I'm extremely thankful to my identical ancestor, Stockade Boy, for giving me his body. Especially the dingus part. No more robo-dingus! From now on, the only oil for my pecker goes on it, not in it!
• I'm thankful that Eyeful Ethel helped me evade a draconian United Planets law about space piracy by creating a new civilian identity for me. Even if it's pretty much turned me into "Mike Murdock" and none of the hipster doofuses out there (i.e. Phantom Lad) respect me. Eh, screw 'em.
• I'm thankful to have a regular job. Again, that's thanks to Eyeful Ethel. Sadly, my grief over Weight Wizard's demise has manifested itself as a rampaging sex spree... which, in turn, has maxed out my credit cards with charges to all the best man-whore brothels on Lallor. But that's hardly Eyeful Ethel's fault.
• I'm thankful that Storm Boy has cleaned himself up, dropped a ton of weight, and has gone from being an irritating rival to a merely exasperating pal. And I'll be thankful if this "Ox" guy he's allegedly dating turns out to be a real person and not a blow-up droid, or -- the Luck Lords have mercy! -- an actual ox. I asked Eyeful Ethel if she knew anything about "Ox". She told me that although Storm Boy is quite explicit about their sexual encounters, she can never glean any information from his babblings in regards to Ox's real name, occupation, home address, or physical appearance. The suspense is killing me! The Blockade Boy, he is frustrated! Grrrrr...!

That's not a bad list. I mean, I'm still hurtin' for cash, but other than that, I'm in terrific shape. Especially physically! *peels off top of costume and strikes several weight lifter poses for your edification and enjoyment*

Happy Thanksgiving! Or whatever!

...And Next, the Lady Natural Underarm Turn

When your panel layout requires more arrows than a mambo instruction chart, that's a good sign you should just erase the damn thing and start over.

...Admittedly, the way I've cropped this picture makes it resemble one of the instructional pamphlets* that I give to a date whenever he seems to have no clue as to how our foreplay should go. I prefer using the pamphlets, really; it saves me from having to strain my voice screaming commands at them. ("NOW RUN YOUR HAND OVER MY BEARD! SLOWER! SLOWER, GODDAMN YOU!!!") Mind you, a lot of my dates seem to enjoy getting screamed at, but one doesn't want to wake the neighbors.

*Popular titles in the series include "So You Want to Make Love to Blockade Boy", "Blockade Boy's Junk for Dummies", "Three Hours to a Happier Blockade Boy", "The Little Cub Who Could", and "How Did I Get Here, and What's Going On?"

My Other Tank Top is a Porsche

To quote Crow from MST3K, "He's an idiot savant. Minus the savant."

Jeebus, but these 1978 fashions depress the heck out of me. From the racing-stripe tank top worn by the balding douche in the back ground, to the Dennis the Menace/Incredible Hulk/Pirates of the Caribbean tribute ensemble sported by the balding douche in the foreground, it's all one big, ugly blur to me. A big, ugly, purplish blur. It makes my retinas throb. No wonder everybody in your country became addicted to cocaine!

...Er, that is what happened, right? Aside from my time travels, most of my knowledge of your era comes from one of my planet's grade school text books, "Amadus Is Way Better Than 20th Century Earth." (Apparently, my home planet is way better than a lot of places! How fortunate I am to have lived there!)

So THAT'S How Deathstroke Lost His Eye!

Today in science:

1977: Baskin-Robbins announces that it has partnered with Lockheed Martin to produce a "frictionless" ice cream cone, capable of breaking the sound barrier. ("WOOOSH!")

Say It Ain't So, Sack

Hey, gay stoners! Feeling blue because you don't have a "treasure trail"? Just sew a fabric version onto that smelly tank top you're always wearing! Voila!

(You're welcome.)

Marge's Little Lulu's John Stanley's Bob Kane's Batman

BRACE YOURSELVES, DEAR READERS, FOR A WEIRD, SCANDALOUS, SPINE-CHILLING, AND ENTIRELY FABRICATED TALE OF COMIC BOOK HISTORY!

True* fact: In 1978, veteran cartoonist John Stanley was asked to take over the writing chores for "Detective Comics!" Stanley was a master of pacing, and had written some classic stories for the horror genre, so he should have been a perfect fit for the "weird crime" milieu of "Detective Comics." And yet, something, somehow, went horribly wrong.

Stanley pitched an idea for a story about a mute juggernaut who would mercilessly pummel Batman in a reservoir until the wily detective discovered a way to defeat him. Editor Julius Schwartz loved it, and asked Stanley to submit a full script. Stanley complied, and even included penciled layouts, just as he had done on the "Marge's Little Lulu" books. However, his confidence in his own ability to write a straightforward super-hero story had evidently faltered in the interim. The script's tone was wildly divergent from the one set by the book's previous writers. Stanley had even gone so far as to change Bruce Wayne's surname to "Van Snobbe," and to depict most of the protagonists as children -- or, at least, midgets.

In brief, the story focuses on "Tubby Banekins", who is kicked out of a "Tuff Fellers Club" for being the best pal of orphaned "rich kid" and "world champion softie" Bruce Van Snobbe. Incensed, Banekins boasts to the club that he's "the perfect fighting machine." He extracts a promise from the organization that he will be readmitted to their society in exchange for winning a fight with whomever they deem to be "the toughest feller around." The club agrees ("Just to show 'im up!") and demand that he fight Batman. Banekins is internally rattled, but makes a go of it, even donning his mother's sleeveless pajamas and swim goggles in an attempt at a costume. Batman -- who is, in reality, Van Snobbe -- sees through Banekins' disguise immediately. ("Tubby's gone bonkers! I'd better humor him 'til he comes to his senses!") Unwilling to do serious harm to his friend, Batman throws the fight. The success goes to Banekins' head, and he decides he is now the Number One Crime Fighter in Gotham City. Batman finds himself trailing behind Banekins as a sidekick, in order to secretly rescue him from a number of mishaps. Banekins' growing ego and his barrage of flippant remarks wear on Batman. In front of the "Tuff Fellers Club", the seasoned detective finally gives Banekins "a poke in the nose", flattening him with one punch. The "Tuff Fellers" readmit Banekins out of sympathy, and even offer to give a trial membership to Van Snobbe (into whom Batman had changed while off-panel). Van Snobbe declines, saying it would take valuable time away from his hobby of collecting butterflies. Everybody groans. The End.

Upon reading the script, Schwartz fired Stanley on the spot, and handed the assignment over to the more malleable Denny O'Neil and Don Newton.

Below: a penciled panel from Stanley's version.

*And by "true", I mean "grotesquely false."