I Suppose This Puts the Kibosh On Our Trip To 'Shoe Carnival'

In "The Fury of Firestorm" #6 (January 1982) an old Flash villain gets his hands around a powerful instrument.

Yes, it's the Pied Piper, Masturbator of the Pan Flute.

Y'know, I don't care if he's a musician; that outfit absolutely kills any sex appeal he might have had. Who'd he swipe the tunic off of? Woozy Winks? Not that he had many choices. I think it's interesting that back in the Olden Days of Comics patterned fabrics were only available in polka dots or in simple, grid-like plaids. No wonder the supporting characters were so square... everything they wore was the graphic equivalent of a cold shower! Only the superfolk knew how to dress for bedroom success: in the most flamboyant manner possible. To put it another way: if you were a guy and you wanted to get laid back then, you had to walk around with a fin on your head (Doctor Light being the obvious exception to that rule).

The Pied Piper was in dire need of a makeover. And he'd get several, eventually Not that I've been terribly fond of any of them. But he also got one in this very issue... kind of! Before I show you the "after," suppose you let me drop the needle on this old Bernard Herrmann record and adjust the neck on that tensor lamp just so. Okay, I'm good. BEHOLD!!!

"Do something!" Er... alrighty. Given my knowledge of Greek mythology, I'd probably jostle the deputy there and shout "Somebody get this man a wineskin, a flask of scented oil, and a slim, hairless teenage boy, quickly! Also, somebody send in a donkey covered in flower garlands! (That one's just for me.)"

Yikes, huh? I think I liked him better in the polka-dot clown costume. Poor Piper. He's got the most literal case of satyriasis in medical history. Yet in a cruelly ironic twist, his penis has completely vanished. On the plus side, this bizarre metamorphosis should keep him away from the pixie boots for awhile.

But wait! It gets worse!

Not only did he get horns and elf ears, but his case has been assigned to a gynecologist! He must have a really crappy HMO.

To be honest, they would have cured him already, but they need the cheese. (No penis! You do the math.)

Next of Ken

In "Secret Origins" #8 (November, 1986) Doll Man grapples with a serious shrinkage problem. For starters, what's he going to wear?

Wow, male back-al nudity in a DC comic! And he's not even Doctor Manhattan! I'm just not sure how the sight of a miniature adult male in a diaper is less upsetting than the sight of a miniature adult male in the nude. Let's just hope his fiance doesn't get wind of this! Oops. Too late.

As we all know, a chaste kiss sounds like "SMAK" while a deep, throat-vacuuming French-style kiss sounds like "SMAKK." It's the vibration of the tonsils as they're probed by an alien tongue that produces the additional "K" sound. Say, maybe at the wedding Doll Man can just be tucked into the best man's pocket. Or pants, just to give the kiss at the end of the ceremony some spice. "You may now kiss the bride..." *jazzy electric guitar and drum machine music begins to play as the church is lit up by red strobe lights*

In panel two, the prospective father-in-law hastily excuses himself. Because he's more comfortable watching this sort of thing through the slats of a Venetian blind.

Okay, so the idea of marrying a curio-sized man might seem exciting... to some people... at first. But that kind of relationship can't last. I mean, sure, it's kind of thrilling when you learn that the hot robo-gladiator pilot you had your eyes on is from Imsk, and the two of you invent all kinds of fun new activities in the bedroom, but soon enough you walk out of the shower and find him on top of your dresser, humping your cybernetic toe prosthesis, and you get so angry that you grab him with one hand and you squeeze him and you squeeze him and then you're holding a dead Imskian in your hand and you don't know what to do with the body because trash pickup isn't until Monday. We've all been there, right?

...No? Oh. Er, anyway, let's see how Martha copes, shall we?

Check out panel three. This is the origin of Doll Man's costume. Nobody had any idea of him being a superhero. Nope, Martha sewed that for him to wear as his everyday outfit. I think that's her way of telling him she wants to break things off. "And just imagine, dearest, once we're married you can wear hotpants, a muscle shirt, pixie boots, and a cape, every single day! Won't that be marvelous? Unless... you would want to 'take a break' from the engagement and reconsider your options... I'd totally understand, I mean, this whole doll-sized thing, that's got to be pretty stressful and you'd want to spend some time away from it all, thinking about where you're going with your life... and maybe you could even date some other women just to make sure that I'm really 'the one'... and, and, y'know what? Maybe I should date some other men, too! I mean, as long as you get to have some fun, why shouldn't I? Why is it that you get to do whatever the hell you want while I have to stay here at home like a nun with nobody but my fat four-eyes of a father to keep me company, huh? I mean, what the fuck?! You think I'm going to just stand around and do nothing while you stick your toothpick-sized pecker in every clap-ridden whore in the tri-county area? Is that what you think?! God, you can be so selfish sometimes! I HATE YOU!" *flees the room, weeping*

Or maybe she's just not very good at sewing pants or sleeves.

Masquerade Smarties

Next Jimmy's headed to the Byrne boards to really start some shit!

Everyone's favorite boneheaded, er, redheaded cub reporter has donned "The Helmet of Hate!" -- which is also the title of this reprint story from "Jimmy Olsen" #113 (Aug.-Sept. 1968). Like a lot of Superman Family stories from its era, it's filled with so many SHOCKING TWISTS and STARTLING REVELATIONS that it chokes on them, and dies an exceedingly moronic death. The primary plot element here is deception. Sure, the reader thinks one thing is going on, but it's actually something entirely different! And they'll explain with excruciating detail how everything was done! I wonder sometimes if the Superman comics were edited by Julius Schwartz or the Amazing Randi. (The closest modern example I can think of is the first couple years of the JSA comic, in which every seemingly unbeatable villain had a fatal Achilles heel -- which the JSA knew about all along! Or any Warren Ellis/Garth Ennis/Mark Millar story where the "hero" is a deceitful wiseass.)

Suffice it to say that everything that seems to be happening to Jimmy and Superman is all a ruse in order to foil an alien invasion. Got it? Swell. Now I'm free to talk fashion!

About that helmet -- I'm not sure why so many sci-fi helmets from the 50's and 60's were transparent. You'd have to make sure your hair was flawless before you put it on -- and then the weight of the helmet would smoosh it down. So you'd be screwed! The Hate Helmet doesn't seem as bad, since the glass or what-have-you is kept away from the top of your coif -- as long as you keep your hair reasonably close to your scalp. A pompadour might be a bad idea. And just imagine the grease marks all over the glass!

But Jimmy didn't just accessorize with a Hate Helmet. He's also brandishing a red Kryptonite gun! Or is he? ...Okay, he's not. Hope that doesn't spoil the story for you.



Uh-oh! The red-K has turned Superman into a devil! Not! That costume looks kind of familiar, doesn't it? I'm guessing he popped into the Phantom Zone and borrowed Mon-El's tunic.

Mon-El: Superman! At last, you've come to free me from this dreadful prison!

Superman: Um... yes! That's precisely why I'm here! But you'll have to remove your top first.

Mon-El: Sure, I-- what?

Superman: I'll need a sample of your clothing in order to match your exact molecular frequency. So hurry up and get nude.

Mon-El: I've got a button here that popped loose. Can't you just take that instead of the entire tunic?

Superman: Oh, I'm sorry, Mon-El, I thought you were serious about wanting to get out of here. But obviously you'd rather stay in the Phantom Zone getting phantom dry-humped by General Zod than enjoy untold freedom in the outside world. Tell you what -- when you grow the fuck up and decide to act like a man, you give me a call. 'Kay? Bye.

Mon-El: Wait! I'm a grown-up! I'm serious! [he hurriedly removes his tunic]

Superman [snatches the tunic from Mon-El's hands]: Yoink! See you in 990 years, sucker! [he vanishes]

Hey, pixie boots! I didn't even know they made shoes like that in Superman's size. He really went all-out on this devil costume! For him, I mean. I don't hold Superman to an especially high standard when it comes to costume design. I would have spruced it up with some nice gauntlets, maybe with talons on them, and a much longer and nicer cape. Or a cloak! I just watched Michael Powell's "The Tales Of Hoffman" this weekend, and I think Leonide Massine's "Schlemil" costume in a shade of crimson would have been nice as well. It was a military number with these big silver hawks or owls or something on the shoulders. Very striking. Superman could have used bats instead, or some kind of lame-ass Kryptonian fauna that only some nerdy loser would be familiar with. Like a rondor! (Oops.) And now for the shocking conclusion!



Oh, for--! Now he'll never be able to return those things to Hot Topic.