Legion of Substitute Costumes: Phantom Lad

I'm off of work now, sitting nudely in my condo, with Cootie curled up on my lap, and a two-liter bottle of Sun Beam whiskey in my paw, so I can finally write about what happened yesterday morning.

*drains bottle in one swig*

Okay. So it turns out Frigid Queen was working overtime because she was avoiding going home to Phantom Lad. So of course, Phantom Lad has started hanging out at our office, pretty much all day, every day. What the hell? I know he says he has a job, but... ugh. I'd better start at the beginning.

It's 8:28 AM. Frigid Queen is at her desk, making notes from a reverse visi-phone directory. Nightmare Boy is zonked out at reception, with his long, raven hair tumbling onto the desk in an attractive fan pattern. There's a smug smile on his pallid face. Meanwhile, the com system is buzzing like mad. Then, Phantom Lad breezes in, like he owns the goddamn building. And I swear to the Luck Lords, the fucker looks skinnier and dustier and more washed-out every time I see him. And he smells all tangy and shit, like a mix of cinnamon and body odor, but at the same time he has this attitude that just makes me want to... gah! I'm getting ahead of myself again. You'll see.

So Phantom Lad sweeps past me in that dumb, tattered glow-in-the-dark cape he always wears (with matching boots!) and even though it's never done me a damn bit of good all the other times I've tried, I say "good morning" to him, and he doesn't even look at me. He plops his bony ass down on Frigid Queen's desk with his back to me, and the two of them start arguing about something. The gist of their spat is: he'd said something just hideously insulting to her while they were having sex the previous night, she'd kicked him out of their apartment, and now he was back with some cheap-ass "make-up" gift. (Her first words to him were "What's this crap?" if that gives you any idea.) But I can tell by her tone that they're headed for a messy, desk-clearing makeout session (they've always stopped at "third base"... so far) and so I mosey on over to the only other person in the office just then: Nightmare Boy.

The lazy Lothario's nap has kicked into high gear, and he's smacking his lips and mumbling things like "Oh, yeah, baby... you like that, baby? I think you do...!" And then his body starts making these humping motions, so I slap him upside the head to snap him out of it. With a snort, he jerks awake, yelping an obligatory "TERRIFYING VISIONS OF THE FUTURE!" as he does so. He rubs his eyes. "Man, that one was a doozy," he confides, his crimson eyes huge with feigned innocence. "Bad... stuff, happening... soon. So, what can I do ya for?"

I ask him if he has any messages for me. He just shrugs, and says "How should I know?"

So naturally, Phantom Lad takes this opportunity to rattle his bony frame over to the reception desk as well, and he starts bullshitting with Nightmare Boy about some hot dame Nightmare Boy had picked up that weekend. And he's still ignoring me. But I can't stop looking at him, because he's wearing my clothes! By which, I mean he was wearing pants and a top from my old menswear line, back before it tanked and forced me into a life of space piracy. But of course, he'd somehow managed to screw it up. It's simultaneously bleached all to hell and grimy. I'm pissed. The funny thing is, he still looks better than how he used to dress. Here's a before, from his "Legion of Super Rejects" phase:

Also, and I can't find a picture to back this up, but trust me, I'm pretty sure he wore his hair in one of those high-up samurai ponytails. Heh. But yeah, Phantom Lad kind-of, sort-of tried to do the "Legion of Substitute Heroes" thing, only his group was solely focused on trying to convince the Legion of Super-Heroes to admit them. (Bank being robbed? House on fire? Old Durlan needing help oozing across the street? Well, tough shit, because the Legion of Super Rejects is too busy with their letter-writing campaign.) And the group disbanded after a month, and then I never heard anything else about Phantom Lad, until I met Frigid Queen.

And here he is, now:

Don't ask me what happened to his eyebrows. They probably dried up and blew away. And boy-howdy, is his complexion scary. He looks like he's made out of wax. Which would be cool if was from Plant Lad's planet and not from Bgztl, where they all look like Earthmen. Anyway, Nightmare Boy says something douche-y like "Diggin' the threads! Vintage, am I right?"

And while I'm reeling from the idea that something I designed two years ago could be vintage, Phantom Lad proudly informs Nightmare Boy, "It's an original Blockade Boy." He glances over at me for the first time ever and adds, "Y'know, the Blockade Boy. The cool one."

Meanwhile, I'm still so horrified by the idea of this tool wearing my clothes -- albeit badly -- that all I can say is, "You're not supposed to wear those pants with that top; they match too closely, and it makes the whole ensemble look--"

And he just makes this raspy scoffing noise, without even turning his head.

And I lose it.

I grab his shoulder with one of my furry mitts and I say, "Are you brain-dead, ya dumb bony bastard? I said, you're wearing my clothes wrong!"

He goes intangible and flounces out of my grasp. "I don't talk to rats," he sneers at me. "I step on 'em."

Okay. So now I have this mammoth urge to kick his ass, but at the same time my better nature is telling me:

1. He weighs about as much as two kindergarteners, so it's not a fair fight (even with his phasing ability).
2. He's the boyfriend of a coworker.
3. I really can't afford to lose this job. Yeah, yeah, so I have a big pile of space-cheddah salted away somewhere. It's all tied up right now. In real estate... I don't wanna talk about it.

Instead of whaling on him, I just grit my teeth and demand to know what his snide remark was supposed to mean.

He says, "Everybody knows the only way you even got this job is by squealing on your brother. And whaddaya mean, 'your clothes', anyway?"

Reminding myself I'm masquerading as a fictional twin brother nowadays, I hurriedly grunt, "Phyl stole a lot of my ideas."

Phantom Lad gives Nightmare Boy a look, like "Can you believe this asshole?" and then he says to me, "That's what makes him a legend! He sees something he wants? He takes it! Naturally, he was the best space pirate ever, and when the U.P. tried to reign him in, he told them where they could put it! And he's still out there, doin' his own thing. I heard he's got a raygun-running operation goin' on with the Braalian Underground, and a couple of robo-brothels out by Colu. He's a freakin' counter-culture role model, man! But you? I never even heard of you before! So, what was your biggest accomplishment up 'til now? Finishing space-trucking school on your third try?" (His skinny ghost-hand phases tauntingly through my bushy goatee.)

How I keep from knocking his stupid block off, I'll never know. Instead, I stick to verbal sparring. I give him the withering once-over and say, "And you do... what, exactly? Play in a pod bay band? In between sash-shopping and not exercising?"

For the first time, he acts all defensive. "No! I'm a journalist."

"For what?" I smirk. "The Xanthu Shopper?" (And now Nightmare Boy is watching the two of us with bemused wonderment.)

"Screw that noise! I'm a gonzo journalist, on the political beat! You've probably read my stuff in Mother J'onzz or Rolling Asteroid."

"Ah, so you're one of those dim-bulbs who couldn't make it as a fiction writer, so you spot Marte Allon on a space-platform from twenty meters away and turn it into an 'arty' six-page piece about her doing shrooms on Jupiter." (And yes, I did the air-quotes when I said "arty." I despise myself for it.)

Phantom Lad is sputtering now. His jaundiced cheeks are desperately trying to blush, but all it's doing is making his head look like a dried-up nectarine. And Frigid Queen throws her two credits in with this fascinating comment: "Oh, that's not all he writes about! Tell him, honey!"

And she's laughing, and Nightmare Boy's laughing (although I can tell he doesn't even know what he's laughing about), and Phantom Lad darkly mutters that he has to leave. Frigid Queen still won't tell me what she was alluding to. It's driving me nuts not knowing. Huh. Well, I'll pry it out of her. Eventually. I'm charming that way.

But at least I shouldn't see Phantom Lad around the office again, anytime soon.

Right?

But this whole "fake twin" nonsense... it's gonna drive me bonkers! Look at me! I've turned into Mike Murdock, for Pete's sake! After all these years of railing against the stupidities of "secret identity" plotlines, I've stumbled right into one. The talons of Karma have got me by the balls.

...No, wait. That's just Cootie. Skedaddle, girl!

Where I'm At

Well, it finally happened... weeks ago, actually, but I didn't have the time to blog about it before.

A few days after our big blow-out sales event on Rimbor, and after Plant Lad had gone on his merry way, the U.P. showed up with one of their tow-cruisers, zapped the H.M.S. Exquisite with a repo-beam and hauled our asses up, up, and away from the planet.

And we were right in the middle of breakfast! The jolt knocked everybody on their asses, and I wound up with strawberry-flavored protein powder all over my crotch. Storm Boy offered to "clean that up" for me. Having a good idea of his preferred method, I politely declined.

I'd prepped the crew for this event, and we'd already settled on our future plans... I think that helped everybody to keep from losing their shit too much. Well, Tusker kept a firm grip on his dental tools and kept clacking the pliers together (menacingly) whenever a U.P. goon passed too close by, and in any other situation I'd be pretty proud of him. (I've been talking to him about sublimating his fears and replacing them with something more productive, like violence... which may or may not have a positive effect on his love life, provided he ever gets one.) I just had to remind him that the "silent threat" stuff is inappropriate for dealing with the Law. Cootie, bless 'er, managed to stay a couple of steps ahead of all the U.P. officers the entire time, or else they would have impounded her as an unknown species under the Please Don't Eat Our Native Fauna And/Or Flora Act of 2871.

So anyway, once the U.P. had combed the entire vessel and found no evidence of stolen merchandise, they set about frisking me for metal parts. Of course, they didn't find any, which meant the end of my Space Pirate Captain career. (And good riddance.) They weren't about to buy a story about my getting a new, identical body, especially when the videotape makes it look like a cheap magic trick involving a robot and a smoke bomb.

"Blockade Boy," harrumphed the U.P. captain, "You're under arrest for acquiring a Space Piracy license under false pretenses! We have a nice cozy cell for you on Takron-Galtos!"

I cleared my throat, and on cue, Storm Boy produced a holo cartridge (from the Luck Lords know where) with our pre-arranged alibi on it. It was a message from the renowned detective, Eyeful Ethel!

Naturally, the U.P. captain was so thrilled he demanded to view it on the spot. He was seriously excited, people. He even did this thing where he held his hands out and fluttered his fingers and squealed "OOOH-ooh! Gimme!" He snapped the cartridge into a portable player from his belt and an image of the gorgeous Ethel flickered into the center of the room. She was attired in the sweet new ensemble Storm Boy and I had designed for her. Which means it's time for... Legion of Substitute Costumes!

Ethel's gimmick? A ring of eyeballs all around her head, like a cross between a goddamn hippie and a Tim Burton character. Ethel honestly had no business trying out for the Legion, since she couldn't really do anything. Like a lot of kids, she just did it just for fun. So, she wasn't too broken up when she didn't make it. She did have an interest in law enforcement, however, so she worked her way up to the rank of "captain" in the U.P. Security Agency before striking out on her own as a private investigator. It was rough going for a while. By universe-wide lottery she was matched with Storm Boy as his designated "fag hag" and they spent many tear-stained, wine-soaked nights commiserating with each other. At her suggestion, he designed an admittedly cool set of goggles for her to wear: each lens allows her to see into a different spectrum, like x-rays, infrared and the like. Thus attired, she cracked a headline-making case by capturing serial peeper Radiation Roy. She brokered her new fame into expanding her detective agency, and she's now a brand name in the security biz! Aside from the goggles, though, she still dressed kind of frumpy -- too many baggy pants and overcoats. As advance payment for getting me out of my mess with the U.P., Storm Boy and I designed these new duds for her!

The whole thing is inspired by her sweet goggles, with iridescent colors and a modest amount of straps. There's also some interlaced detail on the bodice. The haircut is edgy-cool, and it's way more practical than the long, tangled mess she used to sport. Now she's ready for the cover of Heavy Metal!

Aaaaannnyway, in her recorded message, Ethel said:

To Whom It May Concern:
These four fine individuals work for me. Also, there's probably a sixteen-legged cat-like thing somewhere, but it's just four cats in a pantomime cat suit so don't worry about it. Er, anyway, the man you think is Phyl Staad, the notorious pirate, is really his long-lost twin brother, PHYNN Staad, who looks just like him and even uses the same code name but has different finger prints and all his original genitalia, as I'm sure you can authenticate. Attached to this message is all the necessary paperwork confirming his identity. I'd like to commend my operatives -- Storm Boy, Rainbow Girl and Tusker -- for infiltrating Phyl Staad's piracy operation by pretending to be his loyal crew, when the whole time they were transmitting vital information to my headquarters.

(At this, Tusker blurted "Wait, I don't remember any of--!" but Rainbow Girl elbowed him in the gut and he dutifully shut his dumb pie-hole.)

And finally, I'd like to give a special thanks to my newest operative, the other Blockade Boy. Yes, let's all give a round of applause to Phynn Staad, who is so loyal to the United Planets that he would turn on his nefarious twin, going so far as to impersonate him, sort-of, after the latter's mysterious disappearance, in order to keep the dread pirate's spacecraft from falling into the wrong hands before the U.P. could take charge of it.

(The beauty part is, the U.P. goons really did applaud me, some of them stomping their feet and saying things like "Here, here!" and "YEAH, boy-ee!" and I'm pretty sure the U.P. captain cried a little bit.)

I will be happy to transmit all the information I've gathered on Phyl Staad to the U.P. so they may continue the investigation. But for now, I need to recall all of my operatives and those four cats, the ones in the big, unremovable cat-suit, to my agency, because I have other jobs for them. Thank you, and keep up the good work!

And as you may have guessed, our scam was a total success!

So, to the relief and sheer delight of everybody involved, my former crew and I are working as Special Agents (or some shit) for Eyeful Ethel at her headquarters on Lallor! We've all managed to remain really good friends, although our closeness seems to have driven a wedge between ourselves and Ethel's four other employees. I mean, they're friendly enough, but I don't really feel like I know them, y'know? Here they are, and I'll tell you what I know about them so far, going from left to right:

• Gadfly Lad: from Imsk; can shrink to a dainty size; gets around with an old flying harness Storm Boy had designed; has a detailed, well-researched opinion on everything, apparently; is in denial about the fact he can't grow a decent mustache (or sideburns!) to save his life
• Dentata Damsel: from Bismoll; can eat anything, and does, constantly; won't stop smiling; never blinks; constantly cheerful for no good goddamn reason; can reduce Tusker to jelly with the mere wiggle of her hips
• Nightmare Boy: from Naltor; alleged clairvoyant; Ethel's receptionist; can barely be bothered to work the whole "Goth" angle and is in fact a "smoove playa" and "ladies' man" (a role model for Tusker, maybe?); his hair always looks absolutely perfect, even when he's just gotten up; sports skull-and-crossbones birthmark situated just above his crotchal region; I'm not sure why but I kind of want to slap him
• Frigid Queen: from Tharr, ice powers, rocks a tall faux-fur hat, hard worker, way too chatty about her apparently effed-up relationship with Phantom Lad (think "Sid and Nancy" with super-powers)

The awful part is I'm not really that interested in knowing them any better, but I know that's a shitty attitude, and for all I know they're actually fantastic individuals. But I doubt it. Ah, well. Maybe I can talk Ethel into sponsoring some kind of employee bonding activity, like a fantasy moopsball league, or a pub crawl. We'll see.

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Tusker (Revised)

When I designed Tusker's last costume, I was trying to "think outside the crotch" and devise a male costume that didn't rely on sex appeal for it's primary visual impact. In retrospect, I wound up creating a garish eyesore. So I scrapped that costume -- literally, by tearing it off a startled and terrified Tusker and tossing it into the atomic incinerator while he watched with big confused tears running down his cheeks. Then I patted him warmly on the shoulder and buttocks and explained I was making him a much better costume. That cheered him up, just a little.

Tusker had trouble working those thought-controlled automatic dental tools on his old duds because, well, he's rock-stupid... so I decided to go low-tech this go-round. I also wanted a more iconic look for him. Starting with the dentist angle, the image of a bloody smock appeared in my mind, and from there I imagined a leather apron like butchers (and serial killers) use, and I finally had a concept that combined the stylings of dentists, butchers, blacksmiths and Olde Tyme executioners:

The leather is crimson instead of boring old black or brown because it stands out more, and it looks good with Tusker's pinkish skin and carrot-hued hair. And as you can see, ol' Tusker has some new mouth bling goin' on! The last time I tried to get him to replace one of his tusks with a gold-plated version he balked at the last possible second. But after Weight Wizard kicked one o' those choppers clean out of his mouth he really had no choice in the matter. I think it makes him look pretty tough! The two dental pliers can be held by straps on his belt when he's not using them to de-fang an enemy. The beautiful silver of the tools is carried through on his costume by his chrome-plated "T" symbol and his steel-toed/heeled boots. I'm taking the whole crew out on the town when we land on Rimbor and I think this new look should net him a lot of hot sexy action! And if he's lucky, some of it might even be with women! (Heh, heh...)

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Dynamo Kid

Hey, everybody? Come here. No, closer. Shh, shh... be cool! Be cool! Wait, don't-- Storm Boy's looking. Just act natural. ...Okay, he's gone. Listen, we have to keep the subject of this post under our collective hats. Why? Because today I'm designing a costume for Storm Boy's ex-husband.

Like Storm Boy, Dynamo Kid tried to con his way into Legion membership by hiding a special device on his person. He didn't count on the presence of Saturn Girl and her power of super-symbolic-emasculation!

And as Storm Boy told you, the Kid turned out to be a money-grubbing asswipe, so he probably never had it in him to be a proper hero. Still, it's not unheard of for that type of person to make a go of it. So if Dynamo Kid ever feels a whim to do something selfless, he can start on his heroic journey by purchasing this costume from me:

I took my design cue from that stupid girdle of his and repeated the cylindrical motif elsewhere on his uniform. That's not Pac-Man licking a light socket on his belt... that's the Interlac "D"... and it's about to get killed by a lightning bolt, I guess. Or else it has a really bad headache. I dunno. The belt, gloves, boots and mask all feature ribbing, which conceals the wiring for his electro-shock weaponry. (The mask shocks anybody else who tries to remove it.) Instead of a cape, I went with a scarf, just like one of my "Enchanter" designs, and just like the original version of Ms. Marvel. It's stuck to his shoulders using Colorforms technology, so nobody can cinch it tight and strangle him with it... no matter how much they might wish to! That said, the Kid can peel it off when necessary and use it as a weapon. When a special contact plate on the scarf touches another contact plate in Dynamo Kid's glove, it can be electrified for locker room towel-snapping action! And the scarf provides a loosey-goosey visual element to contrast with the rigidity of the rest of his costume. The colors are faded into one another, to keep him from looking like Marionette of "Micronauts" fame. And the horizontal shape of his punky haircut is mirrored by his sweet tailback goatee. By the way, don't worry about his ears being covered by the mask. Plenty of heroes have covered ears on their cowls, and they hear just fine. So back off, man. ...Sorry. I'm just a little wound-up lately. You understand.

Oh, and speaking of loosey-goosey, I'm experimenting with a freer, more calligraphic inking style. As you can see, I'm not quite there yet. Maybe next time!

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Double-Header

Double-Header: what is he good for? Absolutely nothin'. (Say it again.)

The Legion auditions are like your 21st Century reality shows. It's a cattle call. And alongside the talented folks who get turned away for not being good-looking dickweeds, there is another class of rejects. That would be the no-talent opportunists who know perfectly well there's no way no how they'd ever get into the Legion but they show up and make a scene so their names will get into the evening's holo-papers. Which is my way of saying that Double-Header is to the Legion what David Kenneth "Sex" Soller was to "So You Think You Can Dance."

Look, I know Double-Header. He's not a bad guy. And he's not dumb. And I've certainly never seen his left and right heads fight... like that anyway. Naw, they get along just peachy. (The left one is the dominant personality... the "Mary-Kate Olsen" of the pair, if you will.) It's an act, and Double-Header only auditioned in the first place to impress a girl. It didn't work, but he still gets called up by the media for a juicy quote whenever the Legion holds another round of auditions. I guess it wasn't a total loss.

How could I have made Double-Header a viable Legion prospect? It stumped me for a while, but then I found my hook: Triplicate Girl's Tri-Jitsu.

As seen in Double-Header's subsequent appearances, he had surgery to separate his fused skulls and give them independent mobility. So he can now look in opposite directions simultaneously. I think that'd make him a real boss martial artist. He could even invent his own fighting style! Like "Juduo" or "Kung-Two." The only catch is that he'd have to be a better fighter than Karate Kid to actually make it in! ...Or else Karate Kid would have to meet with a terrible debilitating accident. (I'm sure that could be arranged.)

Double-Header's costume incorporates the Yin-Yang symbol. I made it black-and-red instead of black-and-white because you don't see that as much, and it makes him look more like a tough customer. And yes, I suppose it's asymmetrical even though I've railed against asymmetrical costumes in the past. Criminy, I'm never going to live that down, am I? In my defense, I'd just like to say that by making the dominant color a neutral I keep the design from looking garish or clown-like, and also that rules are meant to be broken -- but only by a professional such as myself. I experimented with some hairstyles for Double-Header, most of them of the mohawk variety, but I finally decided he looked best with the shaved thing he already has going. However, I gave one head a killer biker 'stache and the other a sweet-ass goatee to help define them as individuals. Both sets of stylish shades were going to be red but I accidentally started inking one in and I decided I liked it better that way. He still might not get accepted by the Legion, but I bet he'd make for a cool bouncer at a nightclub!

Less than Zero

That's how I felt when I read all those hateful comments about myself and my awesome new threads.

Uh, Storm Boy here. Although I guess I should have started with that. See what you're doing to me? I'm a wreck! And it's all your fault! First off? YES I'm a little heavier than the other guys on the H.M.S. Exquisite. But for starters? I'm way thinner than I used to be. I'm on this amazing new liquid diet where the pounds just disappear (along with many of my memories of ever having them)! So I'm not hunkalicious as of yet. SO WHAT. And for one thing? I bet a lot of you dudes don't look so hot yourself.

...You do look so hot yourself?

Crap.

Okay. To begin with? That drawing Blockade Boy did of me? Was totally unfair. And not accurate at all. He exaggerates! And he's like, my best pal in the entire universe but the poor dope fancies himself a "social realist" like Goya when in reality he's more like Don Martin from "Mad Magazine." I mean, SERIOUSLY. Look at this guy!

I've never seen this person before in my life. I mean, that sweaty-looking space-carney up there? With the bags under his eyes and the flabby arms and the icky smirk on his face? The one who looks like Johnny Knoxville plus a hundred pounds and minus all his muscle tone? That's not who I see when I look in a mirror. No sir.

This is who I see when I look in a mirror!

CHECK IT, YO! YEAH, BOY! COME GET SOME!

The above is a sample of my own artwork, a-thank-you very much. Yeah, I like to do self-portraits sometimes.

No kidding, I see this guy in reflective surfaces a lot and I sure as shit hope it's me, because he's wearing my clothes! God damn but I look fine. Dig the hot pink power sword! Okay, so I don't actually own one of those. But I always wanted one. (Only without the ginormous human ear on the hilt. I'm not sure what that's all about.)

I anxiously await your various apologies.

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Storm Boy (by special guest columnist Storm Boy)

BLOCKADE BOY IS A BEAUTIFUL PERSON. Fact. I'm sorry if you don't "get" that. That's your problem. Myself? I didn't really "get" Blockade Boy either. At first. He's... how can I describe him? He's beautiful, but like a beautiful monster, a beautiful gargantuan gilded goblin gargoyle golem that could kill you with a flick of its tail. You know? And you shouldn't look at him. Not directly. Weight Wizard looked. And look what happened to him. He's like a puppy, that guy. Which? Was cute when he was seventeen but now that he's twenty-two? Is beginning to look a lot like madness. And who could blame him? No, seriously. Shut up. Yeah. You heard me. SHUT UP.

You just don't know him like I know him. At first I was unconsciously uncomprehending, muddling middling maddening uncertain of what I saw. I hated Blockade Boy. What was revolutionary in him, I found revolting. But. There's -- oh, how do I make you understand? -- I'm sure there's a food you like now that maybe you didn't like once upon a time. Maybe you even hated it like I hated Blockade Boy. Stomach-turning. Churning. Sphincter burning. And now? You can't get enough of it. And it's good for you! Like Blockade Boy!

Blockade Boy's eyes? See the world as it should be, which is beautiful. And his missionary position is to make it that way. Beautiful. I just didn't get it before. But now I do. But now enough. About Blockade Boy. And more. About. Me.

My first fatal post-natal memory is seeing my face in a mirror. I was already wearing glasses. And I was one. Month? Year? Decade? No one knows. All I know? Is a round face deformed undefined nose bulb rubberband mouth floppy ears GLASSES. And I saw it was bad. And the others, the children, the teachers, the parents, they saw it was bad also. And they left the clouded stormy boy alone. And the boy in his terrible tumult tore the spectacles from his face and he broke them. The fear came then. The boy had to fix the glasses, the glaring glazing lazing lens. Before it was too. Later, the boy quivered cowering glowering under the steely stare of the Parental Unit but! Nothing happened. Nobody noticed. It was all right with the world at large. The boy plucked the glasses from his knob-nose, carefully this time, and inspected them. They looked good as new. Better even. And a swell of Feeling bubbled in his gut. It was LOVE.

The stormy boy was handy with his hands, he could make anything he might make, even new eyes and glasses goodbyes. But? That would be treason. He didn't not make glasses, no. He made more glasses, alas. Yes. He got good. He made more. Not just glasses. Machines. Dreams. He imagined God, ordering storms, swirling whirling winds with his finger and so he knew how to do it too. He shrunk God, severed his hands, and trapped him in a box. He knocked on the rocket, yellow, distended, upended, from there to join. Or purloin. No boxes! they cried, for we are one-hundred-percent genetically gallant with talent and you? So proud? Are not allowed. Ejected, rejected, dejected and the hate came again and he drank and he ate and his fate was fat. And he met? A threat. A fabulous wide-awake all-night-long nightmare knight in purple and orange. (BLOCKADE BOY.) How he hated the purple and the orange!

Blockade Boy's tongue was sharper than a serpent's ruthless tooth but in truth beneath the teeth there was LOVE. The stormy boy didn't couldn't wouldn't see the love. He could only see a strange hairy horrible thing he could hate more than he hated himself. Blockade Boy was mysterious (lascivious) mercurial inimical (but not meaning it) and so he vanished. Feeling an emerging urge the stormy boy followed after. Months (Years? Decades?) slipped through the stormy boy's fitful fat fingers and fickle celebrity cuddled and caressed him. For the genetically blessed changed their minds and? They deigned to wear his designs. He was high on the hog, heroic, heady with hedonism and unheeding of the headaches ahead. Dame fashion, bored, flippantly flipped him the bird, slid the lever, clever, and the floor slid open and the stormy boy slipped down as it all slipped away. Job/Home. Money/Honey. The stormy boy's boy stormed out. Honey loved money, none other. Nope. No hope. Everything was broken and the stormy boy couldn't fix it.

Time to go. Too slow, the stormy boy jimmied open the jettison tube at the space-port and squeezed inside. One last ride. Straight up up up into space, no mask on his face, no suit, no use, just skin on cold black nothing at all, chilling zero filling spilling into his lungs scraping digging hollowing him out and there would be. No. More. Me. But a hairy heroic hand yanked the stormy boy out at just the last moment. And the stormy boy dared to look at the burgeoning baroque behemoth beast-man, squinting, as at an eclipse. It was Blockade Boy. And the Feeling welled up again in his inner gizzard. LOVE.

[later] What the fuck?!! Goddamn. I must've been drunker than I thought last night. Maybe I should edit this thing? Naw. Screw it; you all get the gist of it, am I right? I was doing great, then my designs went out of style and I lost it all. Including my husband, Dynamo Kid. I guess a shared love of small, electricity-generating devices isn't the best thing to base a marriage on. And I apparently had signed a pre-nup (which I don't remember doing at all) because he got everything. The impecunious little turd. ...Are you reading this, Dynamo Kid? 'Cause I've got a revelation for you, Dynamo: if you've got such a hard-on for money, maybe you should have spent the last three years giving half-hearted handjobs to Gold Boy instead of to me. Also? Drop dead!

Fuck. My head is killing me. What the hell was I talking about? What? How shitty my life got? Oh. Yeah. It got bad, man. So bad I wound up in the really run-down part of Rimbor (i.e. the Western Hemisphere) begging at space-ports and holding a tattered cardboard sign that read "Will repair spectacles for Space Wine." (Mmm, Space Wine!) Finally I tried to kill myself but Blockade Boy was there to stop me. And he asked me to join his crew. It turned out he's actually a pretty decent guy once you get past the back hair and the temper tantrums. He's like one of my best buddies now!

What's left? The costume? Oh. Yeah. I think it's the best thing I've done. Way better than my early stuff. Hey, I'll be the first to admit that my "taste level" wasn't always where it shoulda been. But you know. A guy's aesthetic sense matures if he spends enough time around other artists. Eventually. So. Here goes.

Dig my fearsome fu-manchu! It's fierce! You can look but don't touch, ladies! (Gentlemen, the line forms on the right.) This is based on a concept sketch by me, and of course I designed all the weather-controlling gizmos. Then I handed the drawing to Blockade Boy, or he yanked it out of my hand, I forget which, and he put some finishing touches on it. As in, he filed down all the sharp edges. Also, he insisted on putting those stylized angular symbolic wing doodlybobbers on the helmet. I think he'd wanted to use something like them on another costume but his client wouldn't go for it. (No surprise there! Hee!) But what the hell. He's been a great pal to me; I have no problem with indulging the crazy fucker every now and then. I still miss all the pointiness, though. Yeah, so I like pointiness! So sue me! (Just kidding. Don't sue me. Please.) So I designed a super-pointy kick-ass costume for Timberwolf one time and he lacerated his face so badly during the fitting he had to be sent to a hospital satellite for major reconstructive surgery! SO WHAT.

Sorry. God, it's hot as a crotch in here. Does anybody else here think it's too hot? Guys? Rainbow Girl? ...They're ignoring me.

So anyway. I still have a yen for pretty-but-impractical costumes, kind of like that one guy from around your era. Erté. Sometimes I think I'd be better off designing for the space-burlesque, where all the hot guys just pose with their arms stretched straight out from their bodies and they don't have to fight each other. Unless you pay them extra, heh, heh. Anyway, enjoy! Or don't! No skin off my nose. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for a little "hair of the dog." And I don't mean that godawful marching music my good pal Blockade Boy insists on blaring at full volume at six a.m. every Wednesday morning. *fumbles for flask* What? Oh, don't look at me like that. I can quit any time I want.

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Rainbow Girl

Rainbow Girl is my second-in-command on the H.M.S. Exquisite and she's truly my finest crew member. Granted, it's not much of a competition. Tusker is a dim-witted behemoth who spends most of his time playing fantasy magno-ball on his Omnicom, Plant Lad is a badass but completely immobile, my dear friend Storm Boy is an emotionally unstable lush (bless his heart), and my "cabin boy" Weight Wizard is really only good for "swabbing my deck" if you know what I mean and I think you do. So praise the Luck Lords for Rainbow Girl! She really rides stays on top of cracks the whip on disciplines CRIMINY! I'm mired in accidental sexual innuendo here! Rainbow Girl makes sure the other crew members ("Members"? CRIMINY!) do their jobs! She's diligent and smart and also witty, just a real charmer who can put you at your ease right away. She's also in constant need of validation, so if I let, say, three hours pass without thanking her effusively and in person for the work she's doing, she gets ticked off at me and stops working which creates a domino effect which causes the ship to grind to a complete halt.

So with her personality, I bet her Legion try-out was even more scarring than usual. Because the Legion didn't tell her why they rejected her!

That's it. That one panel's all she got. That's her fifteen femtoseconds of fame as chronicled in "Adventure Comics", the Legion's companion magazine (a profusely illustrated pamphlet in which the details of that organization's doings are heavily dumbed-down for its dumb, heavy fans). There was no embarrassing flub caught on tape, no near-death accidental misuse of her powers, no anything. Just the Legion's typical "take a belt and beat it" shove-off. The United Planets Freedom of Infotainment Act of 2973, or was it 2979, or 2981? Damn sliding timeline! Anyway, that legislation opened the Legion's bits of business to the general public and it was from those formerly sealed records that I found out why the Legion rejected Rainbow Girl. (And then I blabbed it to her). But it's complicated, so bear with me for a minute. Rainbow Girl can split into four separate energy-beings*, each a different hue. Rainbow Girl Red projects heat rays, Rainbow Girl Yellow projects a blinding light, Rainbow Girl Blue projects a freezing ray, and Rainbow Girl Green projects an enervating ray. Which is not Kryptonite, I hasten to add. But the Legion thought it was and they hustled Rainbow Girl out of their tacky clubhouse in two shakes of a borlat's tail. With no explanation and no chance for her to defend herself. But you know the Legion... they're hell-bent on protecting their own personal Mark McGuire and Marion Jones, a.k.a. a certain Kryptonian pair who are so hopped up on yellow sun radiation they can't even recognize a cool facial hair style when they see it. (I had a sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops and they called me "Pappy Yokum"! HOW DARE THEY. Besides, I've always pictured myself as more the "Earthquake McGoon" type. Only hairier.)

Wait, what were we talking about?

Rainbow Girl! Right! Thank you! So. Rainbow Girl might not have received such a hasty farewell on that fateful day if only she'd opted for a more striking costume. And hairstyle! Here's Rainbow Girl today in an outfit and coif I designed especially for her:

Once Rainbow Girl trusted me enough to take me on as her fashion adviser, I had her toss out every bit of rainbow-patterned apparel in her closet. Which was a lot. Her very noggin emits pulses of rainbow-colored light at all times so I don't think she needs anything else competing with that. Her hair doesn't have a lot of body, so I counseled her to switch to a short, layered spiky 'do which gives it more lift. I also lightened it a bit to bring out her natural purple undertones. (And I thought it looked so bangin' I decided to make my own hair that color!) The costume itself is in a silver-gray metallic fabric with hints of violet and turquoise. The silhouette features a scalloped top to evoke a cloudbank. Rainbow Girl is a helluva fighter both hand-to-hand and in her energy forms, so I designed this as a "working" costume. That means the neckline, while feminine and flattering, is also high enough that her bosoms won't pop out in the middle of a scrap. And there are no high heels or dangling jewelry. It's a business suit, and her business is kicking your ass!

*When I interviewed Rainbow Girl for the job of First Mate I asked her if she could do the work of four people. She said yes, not knowing the four people I meant were Tusker, Plant Lad, Storm Boy, and Weight Wizard.

Legion of Substitute Costumes Bonus: Plant Lad

That's what happens when you forget to water Plant Lad!

Kidding. Plant Lad is a mighty hero with the somewhat useful power of turning into any kind of plant. Which is awesome when the plant is some giant alien number that can move around and eat people, but somewhat less awesome when it's, say, one of your lame immobile Earth plants. Although I suppose that'd be useful for stealth missions. ("I don't remember seeing this potted fern here before--! Oh, well. As I was saying, the new secret codewords for our terrorist operation are...")

Historians will argue that Plant Lad never got rejected for membership by the Legion of Super-Heroes. They're actually correct. Kind of. Technically, he never even got to try out! See, many years ago Plant Lad and I were brunching at that Tartarus-style breakfast joint, the Infernal House of Pancakes. (Try ordering a "Devil's Dozen" donuts there. They'll give you four donuts, every time. Tartarusians, they're not so good with the math.) I believe I'd ordered the sulfur-roasted ham slab-wich, while Plant Lad was enjoying a nitrogen smoothie. Well, you'd never guess who tottered in, blitzed off her royal ass after a long night of partying, with her platinum hair mussed, one white opera glove missing, her magenta collar askew, and a tell-tale vomit stain down the front of her purple bustier. Yeah. Her.

So Plant Lad, bless 'im, was perpetually agog over celebrities back then -- he must have subscribed to twenty different holomags on the subject... People, Pod People, Pod People en Español, Popular Mechanics (featuring page after page of various mechanics who are popular), The Bismollywood Reporter, you name it! And before I could warn him about what a massive skank she was, Plant Lad rushed over to her and started gushing, and she was having none of it, and the words were just pouring out of his mouth at lightspeed and part of me wanted to grab him and drag him away from her before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. But another part of me wanted to grab my Omnicom, sit back, and record their conversation for posterity.

Their talk went exactly like this:

Plant Lad: --just an incredible inspiration for me, I mean I watch all your holotapes and I buy all your biographical supplements as soon as they come out and I even bought your limited edition line of shoes, like in every color and every size, of course they're not for me, I mean I don't wear them or anything, I mean I'm not a freak, ha, ha, heh, but I have them on this wall of shoes I made, because it's just a really interesting design element for my apartment, they're all like on little floating platforms, I mean "platforms" as in places to put shoes on not "platforms" as in platform shoes, heh, I guess it would be pretty silly of me to put shoes on top of more shoes, ha, uh, I mean how ridiculous would that look, although if anybody could pull it off it'd be you, you're just so elegant and regal and stylish and I think you give the Legion a lot of class which I think is so important, don't you, and by the way I'm a superhero myself, my name is Plant Lad which I guess I should have said before, heh, ha, ha, oh, er. and I can turn into all kinds of plants, and I know that sounds kind of useless, heh, um, but it's really not, I swear, like for instance there are actually a lot of plants that can move around, and they can grab things and they're like really strong and CAN I TRY OUT FOR THE LEGION?!!

Princess Projectra (bored): Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Plant Lad: Heh, ha, no, see, that was--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, I'm pretty sure you died. Who are you?! Do you work here?

Plant Lad: No, heh, what happened is I faked my own death, ha, I guess that's where you're confused, but--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, so I'd like to order the Satan Scramble with Faust Fries...

Plant Lad: I don't work here, ha, ha, but anyway I think I'd be a really valuable addition to your team, um...

Princess Projectra: ... and could you get me one of those cardboard Prince Evillo crowns? I'm gonna make my boyfriend wear one the next time we do it.

Plant Lad: Oh, heh, ha, I said I don't work here, I'm a superhero, er, oh, um...

Princess Projectra: So you're out of crowns?

Plant Lad: Heh, oh, er, huh?

Princess Projectra: Forget the food. Your service sucks. I'm going to tell my daddy to buy your restaurant and atomize it.

Then she left. Plant Lad stood there gaping for a moment, and then he s-l-o-w-l-y ambled back over to our booth. He slumped down in his seat. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" I asked.

He just stared down at his placemat for about a minute. Finally, without looking up, he mumbled, "She smelled like drain cleaner."

Poor dope. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have made it into the Legion anyway. Y'see, Plant Lad's people go through "active" cycles and "dormant" cycles. The "dormant" cycle, which lasts about four months out of every Earth year, begins with them getting kind of logy and dull-witted, and then they just stop moving altogether and become as stiff as boards. (But not in the good way.) So he's basically useless 1/3 of the time. Unless you're me, and you're clever enough to put him to work as a figurehead on your pirate ship!

But I dunno. Maybe he could have impressed certain skank-like royals (who then would have sponsored him for membership) if he'd dressed flashier. Like he does now! I convinced Plant Lad that his tall, lanky frame can pull off any look, and especially the look of a rock star! Check him out!

Oh, Plant Lad! Orange is definitely your color! It speaks of exotic orchids, clay flowerpots, and... er, pesticides. The woven midriff is based on a trellis, and I echoed that pattern with the hood and with the cut-outs on his boots. To visually round out his alarmingly equine face, I gave him oversized mirrored shades. The shades also send the subtle message, "I'm too important to make eye contact with you; inquiries can be made through my publicist." His knobby chin is adorned by a scalloped, leafy goatee of my own design, and of course the logo I created for him is proudly displayed on his left breast. Now, that's the look of a winner!

And the rest of the known universe evidently agrees with me! I'm happy to report that Plant Lad now enjoys thriving careers as an intergalactic New New Wave musician and two-time Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League champion... when he's awake, anyway. For the present, though, he's securely strapped to the prow of the H.M.S. Exquisite, scaring the holy bejeebus out of enemy ships.

Not a bad life, if you ask me.

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Tusker

How do you solve a problem like Tusker? Sure, he got rejected for Legion membership during the oppressive Dynamo-Boy Administration. And that evil little turd was rejecting some solid candidates, like the dreamy Animal Lad. "The" Tusker, however, was not a solid candidate.

The real Legion would have bounced his sorry ass out of there in a Rimbor minute with their classic "out-of-control powers" excuse. And in Tusker's case, it would actually be a legitimate complaint!

("Great stars!" gasps Overbite Kid. "His fangs are extending to fantastic length, l-like an elephant's tusks!" I suppose I should mention here that elephants can do that in my era, what with roughly 1,000 years of evolution to work with. I watched a remake of "Dumbo" the other day. It's now a horror film. Makes "Hostel" look like "Pippi Longstocking." Which is admittedly a lateral move.)

So what could I do with Tusker? And I do mean "Tusker" without the pretentious fratboy "the" in front of his name. No way I'm calling him that. And when I catch him calling himself that, I hasten to remind him that he's "a" Tusker, and that's about it. And then I give him a friendly slap on the ass to show I'm not cross with him. Anyway, how could I make the big dumb lug at least halfway cool, much less halfway viable as a superhero? I gotta admit, it was a struggle. I tried dressing him for the tundra, complete with a parka and Captain Cold goggles. No dice. At one point I actually had him walk around in a floor-length mink coat, with a big silk top hat tilted rakishly on his dopey noggin. (I kid you not, and I honestly don't know what came over me.) Finally I settled on just armoring Tusker up. Like my idea for Stone Boy, only with far less skin, therefore laser-blasting every atom of sex appeal to smithereens. Am I repeating myself? Haw! The very notion! Shame on you! Because I gave the armored suit a little thematic twist and a very special weapons system I had Storm Boy whip up during one of his rare sober periods!

The armor is painted in shades of red, the better to show off the gleaming white tusk motif. And also, it looks like the inside of a mouth. Yeah, that's what it looks like. Details? The visor is still based on Captain Cold's Inuit-styled shades. And with such a walrus-like henchman, I couldn't resist making him grow what used to be called "friendly muttonchops." Those are the kind that meet over the lip to form a mustache. Like they're shaking hands, I guess. But wait, what's that peculiar contraption emerging from his glove? It's a high-tech, thought-activated dental tool, buddy! There are different tools for yanking out different types of teeth, and they're all contained in those gloves. Now when Tusker gets in a scrap with a fabric store security guard (or whoever else is keeping me from taking the sewing supplies that are rightfully mine) he can commemorate his victory by collecting one of his vanquished foe's molars! I think Tusker is really getting into his new hobby -- not that he's been any less sullen or taciturn since I gave him the new costume, but the Tupperware containers of bloody teeth have sure been piling up in his cabin!

Legion of Substitute Costumes Bonus: Weight Wizard

The crew of the H.M.S. Exquisite has the distinction of including five individuals who were rejected for membership by the Legion of Super-Heroes and one bad-ass Brigadier who could give a space-rat's ass about those stuck-up phonies. Although the Legionnaires have purchased costumes from me and as such are valued customers. What's that, you say? Weight Wizard and Plant Lad aren't on the official list of Legion rejects? Apparently their try-outs were so embarrassing that the Legion didn't even bother to record them! I wasn't there for Weight Wizard's. I found out about the whole deal one day when I came home to find him splayed out on the divan, crying his eyes out. He still refuses to divulge all the details. The more I think about it, the more I'm sure he didn't actually try out for the Legion, he came on to someone in the Legion and got "rejected." Timber Wolf, maybe. Huh. Now I'm kinda pissed.

As I explained in my very first post, Weight Wizard wasn't wearing his costume at the Super-Stalag of Space. That was just a nice t-shirt and cargo pant combo I'd found for him at Old Space Navy. My old 21st Century buddy Jeremy sketched Weight Wizard (and Plant Lad) in some older costumes I'd designed for them.

But that was years ago (my time) and I thought you all might like to see how I'm gussying up Weight Wizard's short, stumpy frame nowadays.

"Weight" + "Wizard" = THIS. I designed it all, including the hairstyle and the nifty scales tattoo. I wanted to make him look a little like a sorceror, ergo the "Doctor Strange" by way of "Iron Fist" feel of it. ("Karate Kid" who?!) The robe hugs his torso via the latest in Colorforms Technology. Cover up the nipples? Not on your life, buddy! I need 24-hour access to those babies! The sleeves are voluminous to support the wizard theme, but the rest of the costume is tight because what little there is of Weight Wizard's body is in fine shape, and also you can't put baggy clothes on a short dude without them looking like a Jawa. And although Weight Wizard is a natural blond, I thought he looked more "mystical" and grown-up with black hair... that had a huge spiked-up purple forelock smack-dab in the middle of it. And yes, although I loves me some hairy chest, it was worth it to get rid of Weight Wizard's chest hair to make room for that tattoo. And the rest of him is still kinda hairy, so, y'know. It's a win-win for me.

I'll get to the rest of the crew over the next week. And I'm allowing Storm Boy to write his own post, which should be... fun. *rubs temples, hoping to stave off incipient migraine*

I've added the "Legion of Substitute Costumes" tag to all my old posts in this category. So instead of having to click on each item in a list, you should be able to hit the tag and pull up every "Substitute" post, including this one. I'll be working on getting every post I've done tagged up, so the tags are actually useful. (A radical idea, I know.)

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Night Girl

Night Girl has super-strength but only in the absence of sunlight. So it's no wonder the Legion of Super-Heroes rejected her.

Her costume isn't any great shakes, either. Sure, it has a certain Beatnik/Goth quality, what with all the black and such. But it's mainly a slab of one solid color with a timidly small owl symbol on the chest. And then there's the hair. It's inspired great men to write odes to it, but in my opinion it's hideous. Something needs to be done. Oh, I wouldn't dare cut it -- that would only make it mad! But maybe it could be arranged more attractively. So here's how I would style Night Girl...

...starry, starry Night Girl. I went with this Van Gogh-inspired pattern for the fabric. And because it's so loud busy eyecatching, I made the silhouette very simple. No distracting cut-outs or ruffles or anything. I tied all of Night Girl's magnificent hair back into a chignon, incorporating a matching scarf of the same fabric. I think it makes her look the Greeks of old (you know which ones I mean).

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: The Mess

I honestly did not think my Stone Boy redesign would gross out so many people. Which says more about my ability to read a room than anything else. I inked the body hair last, and for a second I considered just leaving the guy hairless. And then I glanced down at my hairy inner thighs and decided, "screw it." But I swear by all that's fashionable that I didn't set out to make it look like fetish wear. Honest and for true. And then I read the comments and I thought "Aw, shit. They're really gonna hate my Mess redesign because it looks like a fucking gimp costume." Oh well, huh? Let's go!

The Mess was rejected for Legion membership for obvious reasons. He's essentially Super-Pigpen. And if you don't get that reference, try this: he's essentially Super-Puck-From-"The Real World: London." And if you don't get that reference, you're way too young to be even reading this blog. And get the hell off my lawn! Anyway. To bottom-line it? He's gross.

Here's what I'd do with him:

My idea? Wrap the smelly l'il fucker up in a garbage sack --er, I mean, "containment suit." It would have a big vertical seam (zippered, or maybe it would use ZipLoc technology.)

I made the suit black and shiny because it's supposed to evoke a trash bag, and because I wanted to emphasize the silhouette. It's all based around the pointy, drooping cowl. Kind of like executioners would wear. And not gimps! Nope! The pointy shape is mirrored in the Swamp Thing cut-out for the mouth. The yellow goggles and the boot trim provide a respite from all the black.

I figure The Mess could keep the suit sealed up most of the time, marinating in his own funk, and then in battle he could open it now and then to paralyze his foes with whiffs of devestating stank. And assuming he's on the level about having superpowers, I bet he could practice with them until he became a black hole for garbage -- kind of like a matter-specific Chunk. He'd at least be useful for rescue missions, like finding civilians who are buried under rubble. Legion-worthy? Oh, hell no. Useful? Yup!

So keep on stinkin', The Mess. I'm sure you're good for something.

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Stone Boy

Like Polar Boy, Legion rejectee Stone Boy had complete control over his powers. Unlike Polar Boy, Stone Boy's power was almost completely useless. Except for providing a decoy target for really stupid armies.

"Seed storehouse"?! It's called a sperm bank you bumpkin! Grow the hell up already! Christ. But my rage, it's distracing me from the matter at hand: Stone Boy's costume. Stone Boy's horrendously ugly costume. Not that I blame Stone Boy himself, mind you. I figure his mom made it for him.

Y'see, Stone Mom was about to throw out that bolt of orange spandex she'd found in a dumpster behind the fabric store, when suddenly she got an idea! Also, check out paunchy Stone Dad in the background. (Special guest star: Gordon Jump!) So by the looks of things, not only will Stone Boy never be admitted to the Legion of Super-Heroes, he's also going to go bald one day. Glad I'm not him. *casually runs a hand through my lush, beautiful hair*

But don't think I'm an unsympathetic bastard! Naw, I'm a sympathetic bastard! I came up with a more handsome look for the guy, and a better idea on how he can use his powers. See, all he needs to do is go to the top of a steep slope, wait for a bad guy to show up, crouch into a ball, turn into stone, and VOILA!

I gave him some padded body armor for when he's not using his "will-force" to turn himself to stone (hey, I can do that too, sort of) and I used the shape of the pads to design a logo for him. It's a stylized "S" and "B." Because your old Earth alphabet looks so much better than Interlac. The cropped hair and stubble is a nice tough look for him, and along with his deliciously excessive body hair, it provides a textural contrast with the armor. Which is why I left so many holes in it. What?! He can turn to stone; what the hell would he need body armor for? Oh, now I'm confused. What was I talking about?

Tomorrow: Legion Of Substitute Costumes: The Mess!

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Polar Boy

Brek "Polar Boy" Bannin didn't try out for the Legion of Super-Heroes on a whim. He was serious about joining, and he should have been a shoo-in. After all, his power of projecting super-cold was no less practical than the ability to project super-heat (Sun Boy), super-gravity (Star Boy) or super-weightlessness (Light Lass). And it's not like he couldn't control his powers (which is what sinks your typical Legion applicant)...

...which is what makes his rejection seem so cruel.

"So scram, Pee-wee!" This is exhibit "A" for my theory that the Legion is a bunch of clicque-y "cool kids" who use their try-outs to humiliate all the poindexters and wannabes. Er, not that I ever tried out myself, mind you. I'm too cool for that! (Ironic, no?)

Maybe the Legion would have cut him a break if he hadn't been a shrimpy kid in a stupid hat. Well, I can't help him with the "shrimpy" part but I bet I could devise a hipper costume for the determined l'il fella! Let's see... first we'll have to lose that hat... maybe brighten up the color scheme a bit... ditch the icicle motif... in fact, you know what? I'll even model it for you all! Why not? After all, both Brek and I have white hair (now). I'll have to shave my biker' stache, of course. But don't worry, I'll just grow it back and then use my time bubble to travel back to tomorrow so it'll be like nothing happened. Ready? *cues up techno music*

*struts into your home or office and strikes various "sexful" poses for a full minute in front of your desk or couch*

Who says super-folk with ice powers have to wear blue? Not me! I designed this look around a snowflake symbol, with a tantalizing cut-out on the chest... but see, the nipples are covered! I can be conservative! The only part where I used fur was the gloves. I think fur always contrasts nicely with geometric lines. To provide balance with the fur texture, I went with a bushy surfer haircut, which also looks kind of Scandanavian to me, so... bonus!

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Animal Lad

Animal Lad was rejected for Legion membership right after Polecat (ouch) and even worse, he was rejected by Dynamo-Boy. You remember Dynamo-Boy, don't you? He's the kid who used a piece of technology to simulate superpowers. Which is against Legion regulations. Not that they bothered to check. Funny, they're usually so thorough about that sort of thing. And Dynamo-Boy didn't tell them, either. Why would he? He was evil! As a "mole" for the Space Pirate Pack he contrived to kick all the other members out of the Legion and start afresh with a 100% criminal roster. Eventually things got sorted out, but not before the Legion of Super-Villains (don't ask) stuck their nose into things. They banished Dynamo-Boy to the (even more) distant future, when Earth was uninhabited and the Sun was dying. Hardcore! So it was in the middle of all this hullaballoo that Animal Lad tried out for the Legion. It was horrible timing. And a real shame, too. Check out his powers!

You know, I also have the ability to transform a man into a Bear but it involves a lot more leather, free weights, and fatty foods. *ahem* Er, anyway, let's get to the reason why Animal Lad didn't make the cut.

Because he's too good! *swoon* Aww, the poor fella! I want to do something nice for him. Like redesign his costume. 'Cause the shit he has on now? Coveralls with a Dave Cockrum belt? Not doin' it for me.

But this is! It's workin' for me like an illegal Durlan. On Sunday, baby!

My concept? Animal Lad's powers straddle the line between man and beast. My design follows suit by contrasting the modernity of a figure-hugging spacesuit with barbaric fur elements. I think blue is a fine color for blondes so I kept it. I added a wolfish gray for the fur pieces. The clasp on the cape is a stylized "A" which intentionally harkens back to Aquaman's belt buckle. And the hard-edged "Lorna Dane" headpiece is softened by his bushy goatee and his tousled shock of hair.

Footnote: Yes, I realize that the loincloth violates my "no overpants" rule. I made an exception because -- unlike every other example out there -- it strengthens an underlying concept instead of just being superfluous. Okay, enough blather. I hope you all like it!

Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Fire Lad

As rejected Legion applicants go, Fire Lad actually has some decent powers, and they make for a neat visual; he breathes fire. The Legion turned him down because his power was "too dangerous and might cause accidental holocausts." I think that was just a nice way of telling him his costume sucked.

Designed by the Archduke of Squares, John Forte, Firelad's duds hit the viewer over the head with a "FIRE!!!" theme, including a fireball belt buckle that looks more like a pretty yellow carnation. My suggestion: dial that shit back a notch. Or two!

I've balanced out all that yellow, orange, and red with an equal amount of cool white. And I designed a nice, graphic torch symbol for him. I also like the contrast of the head-wrapping cowl and the punky haircut. It's an edgy look to go with his carnival sideshow powers.