International House Of Bitchcakes, Part Two

Who do you turn to when you want a foreign-born hero with an ugly costume, a stupid name, and a cliched theme? "Marvel Super Hero Contest Of Champions" #1 (June, 1982) is a good start! Second choice? DC's "Global Guardians."*** But Jeremy doesn't have any comics with those guys in them, so we'll have to stick with "Contest Of Champions."

"In Israel, Sabra repulses a raiding party with her energy-quills... only to find herself seized by the mysterious red glow!" I once repulsed a makeout party because I showed up right after eating twelve chili-dogs in one sitting. Even Polecat said, "Not cool, dude."

Sabra has way, way too much blank white space on her costume. I like the big spiny cape 'cause that's dramatic and interesting and all, but that's about it. And not that it matters necessarily, but a mask would have been nice. Hmm. Here's a puzzler: if she'd been created circa 1990 instead of circa 1980, do you think she'd have shown more skin? Like, maybe they'd have dressed her in the cape and nothin' else? (Saucy!) That'd put those sexually-repressed religious conservatives on the run, huh? They're barely even allowed to look at a woman's face, and then suddenly BAM! Sabra's glorious rack! All shall kneel before its unfettered perfection!

Also: "raiding party," huh? Nice. That euphemism is even further away from the actual truth than "militant." Even better, it contains the word "party." Who doesn't love a party? (Mean ol' Sabra, attacking a party! Boo! Boo, I say to you now.) Or maybe this is less a case of misplaced political sensitivities and more a case of Bill Mantlo realizing he almost had two different heroes fighting terrorists on the same page. Thank heavens he didn't try to -- oh, I don't know -- show one of them fighting a supervillain! Or maybe it was still too soon after the Munich games to have Islamic terrorists (there, I said it and I'd never take it back) in what was originally an Olympic tie-in book. I dunno. It's the world's least-tantalizing mystery.

According to the internet (so therefore it must be true) Sabra can lift fifty tons, run sixty miles per hour, and has superhuman reflexes, durability, endurance, and self-healing abilities. Plus that kooky cape. She's fought the Hulk at least twice, battled the New Warriors while being mind-controlled by a mystery villain whose identity -- get this! -- was never revealed, and joined Professor X's "X-Corporation," whatever the hell that is. Probably some damn pyramid scheme. But at least she's still alive, eh, Defensor?

"In the People's Republic of China, the hero with the powers of five gifted men drives off a gang of thieves... and then the Collective Man himself disappears!" And then the thieves come charging back in and continue with their looting!

Wow. What an ethnically appropriate yet undeniably butt-ugly costume! Mind you, I'm no fan of the Maoist uniform. Apparently the revolution was neither televised nor tailored! But at least the Collective Man isn't wearing one of those smushed-down train conductor hats all the Maoists have been commanded to like so much. Imagine you're at your favorite clothing store, the saleslady is ringing up your order, and she puts a complimentary trucker cap on the pile of garments. And you say "No thanks, I'd rather not take the trucker cap" and then the saleslady gets all mean, and tells you "Oh, you're taking the trucker cap! Everybody gets a trucker cap! and you say "Screw the trucker cap and screw you, honey; I don't need this shit" and then the saleslady presses a button and the next thing you know you're on a collective farm in Idaho planting potatoes for the next twenty years, wearing a trucker cap the whole time and sure, you hate it at first but after a while you get used to it and towards the end you love your trucker cap, it's like a part of your body, and you can't imagine ever not wearing a trucker cap. That's Chinese Communism in 1982.

Despite all this, I kind of like the Collective Man. He's like Duo Damsel, only two-and-a-half times better, and in reverse. Quintuplets who can turn into one super-strong dude? Rrrowr! I'll take it! Fun fact: the Collective Man likes to surprise and freak-out his romantic conquests by handing them a card post-coitally that says, "Congratulations! You've just enjoyed a six-way with the Collective Man!" The irrepressible scamp!

Apparently the Collective Man has weathered a lot of Marvel stories. Not necessarily good stories, but still--! He's alive and kickin', mostly, except for that one brother who got killed. But the Collective Man is still in business! Heck, he even managed to make the list of 198 mutants who didn't get depowered! He also got at some point a slightly better-looking costume, although I'm no fan of the high-collared, gloveless shirt thing. It makes him look too much like Billy Batson. Also, Shadow Kid once knitted me a sweater that looked almost exactly like that for Klordny Week. Don't tell him, but I pretty much immediately gave it to a homeless guy. (Future clothes!)

"In Saudi Arabia... the red glow claims the Arabian Knight!" Which is a damn shame since he was on his way to the hospital after accidentally ramming his sword through his crotch!

So, how do I like the Arabian Knight's costume? Trick question, as my answer is "I don't." He looks like yet another product of the Marvel Project Runway. "Designers, your challenge is to create a stylish outfit for a Bedouin super-hero with a flying carpet. But there's more! You must also make the carpet. You have a budget of four dollars and thirty-eight cents and you have two minutes to put it together, starting... now!" Gracious, but that's a plain, uninspired costume. Also, I've been looking at Bedouin turbans on the web and so far I haven't come across any that look like that. I suspect our "Arabian Knight" may actually be a Sikh gentleman from Mumbai who got extremely lost and is too proud to ask for directions. And check it: the carpet is solid red. That's not a hand-woven Arabian rug. That's a Stainmaster swatch from the Home Depot. Give it back, you thief!

After "Contest" the Arabian Knight joined the Pantheon, that Peter David supergroup that I could never bring myself to care about. (Wasn't there some poor dope who just had his head sticking out of a big rock, or maybe all that was left was his head and it was attached to a big rock? Jeebus.) And later on, in "Thunderbolts" maybe, he got depowered with a bunch of other folks around the globe and fell to his apparent doom. Like a chump. And Marvel reports that a "new" Arabian Knight will be fighting alongside whoever the hell the current Union Jack is, in a new mini-series. So apparently the first one didn't manage to land on anything soft. Like sand.

"And over West Germany... it spirits off the electrifying Blitzkrieg!" Not over East Germany, mind you, because the Commies would blast his freaking legs off, but over West Germany!

Blitzkrieg's costume is another one that's just "okay" in my opinion. It's your standard, boring "energy-generator's" costume, not a lot goin' on, and the chest logo looks like a pin-headed steer.

As for Blitzkrieg's post-"Contest" exploits? He was an extra in a couple of group scenes, both of them in Bill Mantlo books ("Hulk" and "Rom: Spaceknight") and then he got what probably seemed to him like a huge break: a multi-issue storyline in "Captain America!" Although for some reason his codename got changed to "Blitzkrieger." But hey, he joined a new German super-team, the Schutz Heiligruppe! That's cool, right? Well, there were a couple of problems with it. For one, it consisted of only three people, Blitzkrieg(er) included. And for another, one of the members was Zeitgeist, a.k.a. the Everyman, who was going on a superperson-killing spree. When Blitzkrieg(er) started his own investigation into these murders, Zeitgeist killed him.

Well, that sucks, huh? But at least it's better than just falling to his doom from a flying carpet.

These American ideas of foreign super-heroes are pretty lame. Which gets me to wondering, what kind of dashed-off, stereotypical American super-hero might a foreign comic book come up with? Here's some ideas:

Yankee Doodler! This hero draws energy constructs with a giant quill pen, given to him personally by the ghost of John Hancock!

Yankee Go Home! (A teleporter.)

Cow-Boy! This hot-tempered young bovine mutant leaps into every fray, guns-a-blazin', to compensate for his miniscule genitalia!

The Consumer! A Blob-like individual who absorbs, then destroys, the super-powers of all who come near!

The Fanatic! Secretly pro baseball player Johnny Baptist, this hero wallops all comers with his enormous wooden cross!

You get the idea. But if y'all have some more notions of internationally-created American heroes, I'd love to hear them! (Or any comments about this post at all, of course.)

***Except for the Olympian. Big, hairy guy with a cool, horned helmet, sweet-ass facial hair and a big fur cape? Yeah, I'd better like him; I might as well have designed the fucker.

International House Of Bitchcakes, Part One

Okay, then. Last week, I gave you the inside scoop on the clusterfuck crowd scene in "Marvel Super Hero Contest Of Champions" #1 (June, 1982) . Now I'd like to talk a bit more about the ramshackle, hopelessly stereotypical and thoroughly shoddy international heroes who were created (hastily, no doubt) for the book.

"In France... the high-flying Peregrine disappears from the azure skies!" But nobody really notices or cares!

The Peregrine's costume is a perfect example of the "eh, good enough" attitude that pervades "Contest Of Champions." The gray and black contrast with each other well. The proportions of the colors are nicely balanced. But otherwise, it's a pretty generic costume. I mean, he could have had a nice abstract bird-shape or some other logo on his chest, but all Marvel would spring for was a triangle. A triangle! Jeebus, at least cut a few notches in it, like Phoenix did. And I've seen that type of high-riding bird-head cowl before... on the Golden Age Hawkman, and it didn't make any more sense back then. The goober's entire face is visible below a rather teensy bird head. And it's not like he's wearing a mask or goggles or excessive mascara or anything. It's pointless. I don't get it.

Let's see... what else? Well, I did the barest smidgen of internet research, spending something like a whole five minutes on it... and yet I still couldn't find much on this guy outside of his "Contest Of Champions" appearance! All I gleaned was these two delectable little tidbits: He was mindcontrolled into becoming an assassin in an issue of "Alpha Flight" but before he could do any harm, Sasquatch punched him out or tore his arms off or sat on him or maybe just breathed on him with that killer taco breath he gets sometimes. And... one time Hawkeye told him he was a "reserve Avenger" (y'know, for when they run out of all the good ones) but according to Marvel editor Tom Brevoort Hawkeye had no authority to do that. So, Peregrine actually isn't a reserve Avenger after all. Which makes me think something like this happens at least once a month:

*ring, ring*

Jarvis: Avengers Mansion! To whom may I direct your--

Peregrine: Jharvees! Mon ami!

Jarvis: Oh, Lord.

Peregrine: Eet eez I, Le Peregrine!

Jarvis: Yes, I recognize the voice, Monsieur, but I really must insist you stop calling here. Particularly after midnight.

Peregrine: Ah! But 'ow am I to track zee sheeping status ahv my Ahvenjhairs membairsheep card, weeth all eets attendahnt preevilahjhees? Free 'ousing at Avenjhairs Mahnshee-own, mah own par-sonal Queenjhet, a glahmorous makeovair cartesy of zee Wasp... All zees shall belong to... Le Peregrine!

Jarvis: Once again, Monsieur, I regret to inform you that you are not, in point of fact...

Peregrine: Away weeth you, my seelly frahnd! As 'zo Le Peregrine would take zee wahrd ahv an 'umble sarvahnt! Eenahf tom-foolahry! Fetch your mahster, 'Awkeye, queeckly! Weeth zee sweeftness of a fahlcohn, ahs 'e swoops from zee 'eavahns to pluck zee lowlee fieldmouse frahm 'is meeserable 'idey-'ole! Do zees, ahn' Le Peregrine shahll put een a good wahrd far you!

Jarvis: I shall connect you right away, Monsieur. One moment, please. [leaves the phone off its hook and goes back to bed.]

"In Australia... the Aboriginal mystic Talisman is torn from his trance-state!" Which is just as well, since he was only keeping the other campers from cooking their hotdogs and marshmallows.

So the Aboriginies are big into pirate boots, huh? I don't mind the yellow/white combo. But honestly, the costume's styling is a huge mishmash of cliches, most of which seem to be African and Native American instead of Australian. For instance, I'm not sure why his head is shaved, except he's a dark-skinned man in a comic book and that sort of thing seems to be de rigeur.

All I could find about Talisman post "Contest" is that he showed up in a few issues of "Quasar." Doing what, I have no idea. I'm sure it didn't help his prospects when John Byrne gave Marvel a gorgeous female "Talisman" with great gams, a fetching evening gown and a big inverted Wonder Woman tiara. Didn't see that comin' with all your "trance-state" hoo-hah, did you, Australian Talisman? Where's your Moses now?

"In Argentina, a paramilitary group suddenly finds itself firing at a void where the mighty Defensor had stood!" And they're thankful the weirdly-dressed interloper has vacated the paintball range!

Defensor has one of the more attractive looks created for "Contest." It's colorful without being garish and it's certainly distinctive. That said, I'm going to have to shave off some points for:

• The generic and meaningless starburst on his chest.
• The lazy use of segmented metal underpants, an old Marvel chestnut (holder).
• And the goofy helmet. Why is it shaped like that? Is it supposed to resemble a Conquistador's helmet? And if so, then why does it look more like a blue, foil-wrapped Hershey's kiss that got dropped on a tanning bed? Hell, why not a helmet that's shaped like a tri-corner hat, or like one of those big Marie Antoinette wigs?

Jeremy only has the first issue of "Contest." Internet info on Defensor is -- to nobody's surprise -- practically nil. So those of you who have actually read the story all the way through will have to tell me: just what was it, exactly, that Defensor was good for? I mean, sure, he's got a shield, but big freaking deal. Unless he can boomerang it like that gym queen Captain America (and before you start furiously typing a response, yes, I know Cap doesn't have to go the the gym -- allow me my illusions, 'kay?) or clobber bad guys over the head with it, then it's strictly defensive and therefore lame. It's like this guy I once met, Prince of Space, whose main ability was to gad merrily about while repeatedly telling his enemies that their weapons were useless against him. It wasn't heroic. It was just annoying.

So. All I could find out about Defensor's post-"Contest" career was this: he got killed by a guy named the Everyman. Criminy. Tell me, Marvel, was Defensor really cluttering up your universe so badly that you needed to whack him? He was in Argentina, for Chrissakes! He wasn't bothering anybody! *growls obscenities for an entire minute* Oh, and here's the clinker: Everyman was in his super-secret-triple-reverse-undercover identity as "Zeitgeist" when he killed Defensor. Which means Defensor was murdered by a guy dressed almost exactly like the Clock King. (And at that moment, young Brad Meltzer knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life.)

"In Northern Ireland, a group of schoolchildren stare as their lives are saved from a terrorist's bomb... an instant before their rescuer, Shamrock, disappears!" No wonder she's "the most sought-after hairdresser in all of Europe!" Shamrock, where are you?

I covered both Shamrock's post-"Contest" exploits and what I thought of her costume in an earlier post, so I'm not going to waste any more time talking about her. I will say that her panel here exemplifies another way in which Marvel half-assed it with their new international heroes: none of them were shown fighting supervillains. Of the eight heroes shown on the page from which I took the above scan, four of them were fighting non-super threats, three of them are just flyin' around, and one is kneeling in front of a campfire. At least Sabra and the Arabian Knight had appeared in some of Bill Mantlo's "Hulk" stories, so they didn't necessarily need a splashy intro. But the rest of them? They're not exactly grabbing me by my lapels. The Soviet Super-Soldiers get a whole page-and-a-half where they fight the Red Ghost and Sunfire's measly panel shows him in the grip of a big green robot hand. That's excitement, people! Not that every single hero who got kidnapped was in the middle of a fight, but you'd think the newbies could have been introduced with a bit more pizzazz. That's one thing that "Planet DC" got right. Sure, it was yet another round of pointless character introduction for them, but at least they created some international villains to go with their international heroes. The "Flash" annual especially had a great deal of depth to it; remind me to cover that one day!

Tomorrow: it's gall around the world with more international heroes!

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Five

June, 1982! Before the days of the company-wide crossover series, the closest you could get to that kind of encyclopedic grandeur was "Marvel Super Hero Contest Of Champions." That's the one where every Marvel hero (and I!) was crammed into a floating, cosmic soccer stadium (or whatever) and... stood around, chatting. Yeah, they hadn't really gotten all the kinks worked out yet. Also, the Marvel heroes turned out to be stuck-up bitches who wouldn't pay me no nevermind, so my only option was to walk around by myself, gathering top-notch gossip material. For you!

Additional dialog by Dwight Schrute! "Somebody put us here! But who? And to what purpose?" Really, the dialog here is very Silver Age DC, where heroes would dutifully line up and take turns speaking aloud various segments of a single train of thought. (See also: Donald Duck's nephews.) The spoil sport here is Wolverine, but of course, who's just aching to go buckwild in the most Comics Code-straining manner imaginable. Cyclops laughably attempts to assert some authority, little realizing that back in their own comic he was soon to be written as the Daffy Duck to Wolverine's Bugs Bunny.

So, left-to-right, kind of, we start with Iron Fist. Fun fact: the thing on his chest is the gay cousin of the thing on Doctor Strange's tunic. They only see each other when their family gathers for pagan holidays. Things were a bit tense when Iron Fist's tattoo first "came out" but the thing on Doctor Strange's tunic has finally come around and it's just like old times!

As a great woman of your era once said, "Romper stomper bomper boo!" I see Iron Man, who could be flying around, doing recon, but is too wasted and ridden with STD's to keep from crashing into shit. I see Hawkeye, who smells like grape Robitussin twenty-four hours a day and whose costume I've always thought was stupid (and I always will). I see Power Man, who won a bar bet back in '72 by twisting a hunk of steel around his head and now he can't get the damn thing off but figures what the hell. I see the Black Panther, who is secretly plotting your downfall even as we speak and looks great doing it. I can only see the back of the Falcon's head, which makes him the Nichelle Nichols of Marvel. I see Talisman, who in later years would get sick of people asking if he was "Gateway" from the X-Men comic. I see Brother Voodoo, who was already sick of people helpfully pointing out that he "seems to have something on [his] forehead." I see Sunfire, who is indulging one of his weird Japanese fetishes by sniffing the Beast's underpants. I see Black Bolt the Boring, who has a kick-ass costume but a blah personality, and who is wondering how he can get in on some of that Beast's-underpants-sniffing action. I see Hercules, the ultimate drinking buddy, about to express his moral outrage over Sunfire's behavior, and who is also miffed at the severe dearth of scantily-clad young women and/or bare-chested, hairless young men in the arena. (Leaves me out!) I see Werewolf-By-Night, who -- I shit you not -- was once popular enough to star in forty-three issues of his own comic! I know, I can't believe it either. He's just so damned boring! Especially visually! I mean, get yourself some extensions or some highlights or sumpin'. ...Hang on. Jeremy's jabbing me in the ribs. What now, kid? Oh, Jeremy says that in the 80's, Werewolf-By-Night would sometimes get more wolf-like, with a big wolf-head and everything. Well, let's see it! Oh, he's scurried off to get some of his old "West Coast Avengers" comics. *hums selections from "Wonderful Town" while I'm waiting* Okay, he's back. Huh. I dunno, he still looks pretty dorky to me. He's no Man-Wolf, that's for sure. Okay, where were we? Oh, yes. I see Doc Samson, whose costume was pretty cool, except it didn't go with that lime green mop of his at all. Would it have killed you to change up the color scheme to something more pleasing? Like yellow, black, and green? Or failing that, to dye your hair? (Red's a good choice. I mean, just for an example.) I see Wolverine, looking oddly Munchkin-faced here. Heh. He's like the world's deadliest Campbell's Soup Kid. I see Nighthawk, whose costume I kind of liked, except for the big, stiff wings with the air nozzles or whatever on them. Carter Hall never would have settled for that nonsense. I see Cyclops, whose costume is so boring it defies all attempts at embellishment. Even when you slap a stupendously enormous wraparound "X" on it, it still looks boring. I think he needs to start over from square one. In fact, I think I ought to come up with some costume designs for him! Only not right now. Maybe in a week or two. Daddy's tired.

Shanna the She-Devil? Well, there's someone for Hercules to ogle! She's turned away from you right now because you're a gross nerd and she wants nothing to do with you, and also somebody from PETA has just sloshed red paint all over her. Let's see, I've covered everybody else in this panel before, except... Mockingbird! She was way cuter with the longer hair, wasn't she? And without the "rat tail." Fun fact: in your year of 2006, the Thoroughly Eighties "rat tail" can still be seen, on rednecks and lesbians. Another fun fact: it only looks good on actual rats. Mockingbird's costume hasn't aged well. Especially the huge, weapon-concealing sleeves. Although they do impart an avian flair to the ensemble. My biggest problem is the wide stripe of white, which ends just below her bosom. Mockingbird is tall and well-proportioned, but it makes her look like she has a stumpy torso and ridiculously long legs. Like Judy Garland. And MGM's costume designers struggled with ways to make Garland's waist look like it was sitting a good fifteen inches lower on her body -- y'know, like on a normal person. They finally found a solution, but it involved a quantum math that opened a portal to a nightmarish Lovecraftian dimension. Drove half the department stark raving bonkers. The other half vanished without a trace. There were reports of cannibalism. And you don't even want to know what Hair and Makeup went through!

Nothing much to say about that final panel, except... "What awesome power is this at work??" Jeebus, Doctor Strange, you're the freaking Sorceror Supreme! Why don't you tell us? Actually from what I hear, that's all he's good for, lately. Explaining things.

Next week: even more Contest of Champions crap!

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Four

June, 1982: Presaging the FEMA Superdome debacle, the Grandmaster crammed every available Marvel hero (and yours truly) into hideous, spacebound Facehugger Arena. The assembled ultra-tools didn't know how to react to a fabulous-yet-manly future hero with sweet-ass facial hair, so they pretty much left me alone. Fine by me. I went into purple-and-orange "stealth mode" and evesdropped the hell out of them!

Looks like Ben Grimm found himself a backup boy toy! (Note how Quasar cringes at the Thing's touch. Speaks volumes.) Ever wonder what the Thing's "rocks" look like beneath the blue Underoos? I overheard the Human Torch and Quasar gossiping not long after this panel. Turns out our Mister Grimm is normally smoother than a slab of peanut brittle. But beware! He's a "grower," not a "shower." Also, his member has its own voice box, and it sounds a lot like Godzilla. Ew. Fashion-wise? I've never been a fan of the Fantastic Four's costumes. *dodges various bits of debris* They're pretty boring (and if some fanboy tries to tell me "They're supposed to be boring!" I'm going to reach through the monitor and pimp-slap them). Attempts to change them have usually resulted in making them even more boring. A good rule of thumb is, the smaller the logo, the more boring the costume. I'm constantly surprised by how many wonderful artists forget that. Quasar over there has a more interesting costume but it also happens to be pretty ugly. Nice headband, jerk. It could definitely use some streamlining. To the front of the panel, the Hulk is entering menopause. About his pants... I think it's freaking ridiculous how he (almost) always managed to glom onto a pair of fresh purple pants -- in a stretch fabric, no less! -- during his vagabond period. Jeremy has an issue of the Hulk comic where Bruce Banner digs in a garbage can and finds a pair of purple slacks... that used to be owned by the 3-D Man! As if that flattopped, hornrimmed square would ever wear anything that interesting. Behind the Hulk is undersea underwear model, the Sub-Mariner. I gotta hand it to him: no dialog, but the body language immediately tells you everything you need to know about his personality. Crammed in the lower right-hand corner is Doctor Strange, Lounge Lizard Supreme. (I wish he'd brought his robe with him. So I could've swiped it.) Doc's costume is one of the few old costumes out there that really doesn't need improvement, in my opinion. It's quirky but it works. Individually, the parts are quite dodgy -- liverspotted orange gloves, blue footy pajamas, undoubtedly greasy pencil-line mustache, a cape that Liberace would have dismissed as "too gaudy" -- but I'll be darned if those disparate elements don't all harmonize like the Beach Boys. Something I just noticed about the cape, by the way? It's the source of the original Byrne Doodles! You know, the scribbly crap Byrne puts all over clothing because he's too damned lazy to draw an actual pattern? Byrne's Krypton was lousy... with Byrne Doodles. Or "Ditko Doodles" I suppose I should call them. Way in the back (where she belongs) is Patsy Walker, Hellcat. Funny, I don't think of a "hellcat" as being annoyingly perky or reeking of desperation or vaguely slutty in a "high school cheerleader" kind of way, and yet Patsy somehow manages to be all of those things. Her costume is one that almost works for me, but not quite. My main gripe is that it needs something more to break up all that yellow spandex besides the obligatory 70's sash. An interesting super-logo on the chest would be nice. C'mon, Patsy, there must be dozens of teenage girls across your great nation who would send you their ideas for a logo! ("Patsy's luscious logo designed by Roberta Fleugalblatt of Parsippany, New Jersey.")

Of all the weird categories that the Marvel Folk portioned themselves into, the weirdest -- and smallest -- was the Bald Telepath Contingent. As you can see, Moondragon is trying to bullshit her way into importance with a lucky guess as to the arena's locale. ("My mental scans have done no more that ascertain that this arena is somewhere in space, Professor Xavier! Also, there are a lot of windows and I can see through them!") I gotta ask -- was that emerald swimsuit deal she wore the idea of those Titanian monks who raised her? No, honestly. It's a legitimate question, because Marvel has a rich tradition of spiritual leaders making young women dress like prostitutes. Meanwhile, Professor X, dapper as always, is subtly influencing Moondragon to remove her bra. Next thing you know, he'll ask her to wear a red wig.

Still more Contest of Champions dish tomorrow!

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Three

So there I was, kidnapped to floating, space-bound "Exposition Arena", and none of those stuck-up Marvel super-bitches would give me the time of day. Eh, screw 'em. I'm perfectly happy just wandering around and eavesdropping. Perfectly happy! And I'll fight any man who says otherwise! *fists clench anxiously*

Even a youngster like Kitty Pride can detect the smoldering sexual undercurrents in the conversation between Colossus and... whoever the hell that other guy is. I'm thinking it might be Major Ursus, a.k.a. Ursa Major, the Russian guy who turns into a big bear-monster. (Dang it, I forgot to ask for his number.) "Perhaps I feel I can best serve the Motherland by serving the world... as an X-Man!" Oh, kind of like how American freedom is somehow protected by bombing the holy bejeezus out of a foreign land. When I was younger, I really liked Colossus' original costume, but later on I decided it was too busy. Especially with those three random triangle-things on the knees. I liked the John Romita, Jr. red-and-white redesign better -- although it could definitely use less buckles. But it was the 80's. All new super-hero costumes were required to have a minimum of eight buckles. It was in the Comics Code! Kitty is wearing the old, boring original X-Men uniform, which I kind of hate, but I see she's tried to spice things up by flat-ironing her hair. Not that it worked too well. It's about a half-percent change in humidity away from sproinging back into its normal shape. In the background, Texas Twister (sweet handlebar!) lights a celebratory cigar after giving Razorback a thorough, blood-spattered rogering behind the refreshment stand (Razorback's ass gets so much action he might as well give it a velvet rope and a couple of bouncers). Texas Twister's costume is flashy but I think it works for him. It's hard to go wrong with an Old West theme. Ursa Major (or is it?) is wearing the Marvel version of a standard Soviet military uniform so it doesn't count as a costume. So I shan't speak of it.

Hey, Captain America! Do you interrupt all foreign monarchs, or just the African ones? If you read my "Miss America" post way back when, you'll recall that I utterly loathe Captain America (mock my whiskers, will ya! Grrr...!) so I'm not going to talk about his costume, either. I've always liked the Black Panther's duds -- simple, but classic. It's got a good silhouette, too, which is important. In the background, there's muy macho Gorgon, whose costume I like just fine, although I'm mystified by the horned chrome goggle things on his forehead. Can he see though those? And if so, does that make Gorgon one of those tools who walks around with their sunglasses pushed up on their foreheads, even when it's overcast? Well, that would explain the sweater tied around his neck. I think that's the Torpedo in the back, between Black Panther and Cap. The Torpedo had a cool helmet but that was about it. Plain blue super-suit, no logo or styling of any kind on the chestal region, and the goofiest jet-gloves I've ever seen -- and I've seen a lot of jet-gloves. (I'm from the future!) And in the far right corner of the panel... the Silver Banshee?! But she's from DC! And she wasn't even created yet! And why is she wearing a Saturn hat? Hang on, Jeremy is tapping me on one of my brawny, muscular shoulders. What's that, child? Hmm? ...Oh. He says it's actually the Night Rider. Yeah, I never heard of him.

Why, here's Spider-Woman, who has one of the best super-hero costumes ever designed, and Spider-Man, who has one of the worst (although many would disagree, right, Steven?) As you can see, Spider-Woman's glider-wings (which have the magic power to appear and disappear from one panel to the next) have chosen to remain invisible. They're quite fickle, those glider-wings. Oh, and on a more vulgar note: that's not a web line.

The Son of Satan and Doctor Druid are swapping eyebrow-shaping tips! They should have asked Sasquatch. He's considered an expert by those "in the know." Actually, Daimon Hellstrom's eyebrows are naturally Satanic -- he gets them from his dad! Doctor Druid resorted to a mystical bargain to achieve those awesome Spock-brows. The price? The rest of his hair. There's a shadowy demi-god out there right now with a thick, wavy pompadour. It was totally worth it, though. I mean, who's going to hire a magician who has eyebrows like Whoopi Goldberg?

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part Two

Picture it: June, 1982, outer space. Pretty much every Marvel super hero in existence -- plus myself -- had been teleported by an unknown person (the Grandmaster) to an unknown place ("Exposition Arena," TM the brilliant Bully). Inexorably, the assembled Marvel super tools self-segregated according to body type (robot, manimal, godlike), powers or general geographic location. It was like a junior high cafeteria, minus the tater tots. In fact, I said that exact thing to the Texas Twister right before he excused himself and moseyed over to where Razorback was standing. Then the two of them did an awful lot of whispering and giggling, with the occasional gesturing in my direction. I caught up to Razorback later that year in a truck stop men's room. I didn't hear any laughter then.

So I was the "odd man out" in Exposition Arena. That's okay; I'm used to it. Plus, it gave me a chance to do some stealth-mingling and spy on everybody! Y'know, scope out what they were wearing and what they were talking about! And then gossip about it to all of you guys, now!

For someone so vehemently anti-American-culture, it's funny how much Vanguard's hair makes him look like the lost Duke of Hazzard. That shit was shagged out and feathered to the last molecule. Also, as you can see here? He'd just dug a huge booger out of his nose and was trying to hide it behind one of his massive thighs. I'm not a fan of Vanguard's costume, by the way. It's awfully busy, and the combination of a Victorian-modest collar and gigantoid arm holes (which threaten to expose some nipple if he turns just so) is insane. Maybe a full, military-style jacket would have worked in this situation. The Crimson Dynamo, with his teeny little Dubya mouth and his pointy metal hat, also looks like a big loser. And the fact that the whole shebang is painted bright red? It's harmful to my eyes and other living things. He needs to tone it down, pronto. Throw some black on that shit. I do admire how he took the opportunity to give Tony Stark a nice verbal pimp-slap. "Obviously a sporting arena, Iron Man!" (Iron Man: "I only asked because I thought your oppressive, underhanded government might have a hand in this, but if thinking I'm stupid helps you forget how your shitty little country is falling apart, be my guest. Dickweed.") Not in this issue: a panel showing an awestruck Iron Man, with the thought bubble "This place is immense... are we in my briefcase?!"

Shamrock and Captain Britain (Crip and Blood, respectively) combine international and religious tensions with sexual tension as Captain Britain ogles Shamrock's ass... suspiciously! I did some research on Shamrock to see if she'd appeared anywhere after this and I was surprised to learn she showed up in a whole lotta comics! She even got an origin and everything! But then she broke her left foot in a slip-and-fall accident and decided it meant that her good-luck powers had run out and that she should give up super heroing. (Cut to Barbara Gordon, saying "Whiner!") As an only-in-the-comics consolation prize, she showed up in Excalibur as "the most sought-after hair dresser in all of Europe!" Swell. Now, get your bitch ass in the kitchen and bake me a pie! Oh, and leave it to Claremont to make even a tertiary character "the most sought-after *blank* in all of *blank*" No "Joe Lunchpail" types for the 'Mont! See that janitor back there? He's the most sought-after janitor in all of South America! And he's a master of Capoeira, to boot! Costume-wise, Shamrock was just kind of meh. My big gripe is with the cowl. I don't think full-head cowls are flattering on women. I prefer the kinds where at least some hair is showing. Even the half-cowls, where the women kinda look like Stephen Wright (or for you comics nerds, Vulko) is preferable to the kind that makes them look bald. Captain Britain's original duds? I liked them okay, except for the covered mouth on the cowl. What's the point? Did he have a halitosis problem? Hmm. I've seen him really tear into the fish and chips, so maybe he did! Plus, he was, y'know... English.

Hey, Iceman, I like Darkstar's new costume, too! Her old one was just a puffy-sleeved gray blouse, some tight pants, and some boots. It was very "Rhoda goes to Safeway" but not very "superhero." Iceman's costume can't be seen under his thick layer of ice -- which makes it rather pointless -- but at this point in time it was a hideous powder blue-and-white affair. I guess it's just as well we can't see it. As for the dialog, I have one word for you all: Ewww! "Thank you, Iceman. I've thought of you often -- and fondly -- since then. Why, just the other day I took a freezey-pop and jammed it right up my..."

In the dankest, loneliest corner of Exposition Arena, the Vision and Machine Man enjoy a highly efficient pity party. ("The Vision: My wife does not understand me!") The Vision's costume is one I've always hated. It's way too gaudy, given his name and personality. That big stripey girdle of his is the absolute worst. What, does he have a hernia? Oh, and I think he at least should have ditched the goofy "widow's peak" cowl -- the one that attaches to his solar gem (or whatever the hell that bindhi doohickey on his forehead is supposed to be) and which conceals his handsome crimson skull. I know it's an unpopular opinion, but I preferred his pallid, yellow-white "dead skin" look from West Coast Avengers to his so-called classic costume. I didn't agree with the whole "deprogramming and marriage break-up" deal but I thought he at least looked better then. Machine Man? Boring! For starters, he needs some kind of interesting logo on his chest. If Ikaris is a case of Kirby trying too hard, then Machine Man is a case of him not trying hard enough. That's the Shroud in the background, by the way. Looks like somebody yanked his cowl down over his eyes again! That's always happening to him. (Shroud: You guys--! Quit it! Mo-o-o-o-mmm!") Poor dumb shmoe.

Tomorrow: Part Three! (This is going to go on for a while.)

Marvel Super Hero Uncomfortable Cocktail Party Of Champions, Part One

Did you know that I was part of the "Marvel Super Hero Contest of Champions?" (Above panels from issue #1, June, 1982.) That's the time the Grandmaster kidnapped what appeared to be every single super hero alive on Earth-Marvel and forced a mere handful of them into Olympic -- er, scratch that! I meant to say -- "gladiatorial" combat. (Yup, it's that super-sized special originally intended to coincide with the 1980 Olympic Games, chopped up and redone as a limited series.) I was just in the wrong dimension at the wrong time. What do you mean you don't see me anywhere? I'm that one guy in that one panel in that one crowd scene, way in the back... in silhouette.

I'll admit, the situation was giving me some nasty "Super-Stalag of Space" flashbacks but I managed to keep myself together. Before we heroes found out why we were there, we mainly just milled around and made awkward smalltalk. ("Aren't these vast, windowless rooms phony?") Sadly, there was no alcohol available to make them seem funny or interesting to me. So, I just kept my mouth shut and made notes on what everybody was saying... and wearing!

Ikaris is wearing more than the minimum amount of "flair", which is sure to please his manager, Zuras. By the way, is he wearing pantaloons? I haven't seen "overpants" that baggy since Lightning Lad's day-glo orange depends! This has to be one of Kirby's worst costume designs, which is saying something. Orion's costume may be plain and ugly, but that's better than complicated and ugly. You already know how I feel about Thor's costume, so we'll skip him -- other than saying that's got to be one of the queeniest "landing poses" I've come across in quite some time. In the background, meanwhile, Rom: Spaceknight puts the moves on Jocasta ("Oh, I'm not all robot, baby! Wanna feel?") Christ, I hope Starshine and Ultron don't run into each other at Cinnabon and put two-and-two together. By the way, I always liked Jocasta's look and I thought it was a shame when she got blown to pieces. But Rom's supposedly high-tech cyborg armor is one step removed from being a Halloween costume.

"Uh-oh! Alpha Flight!" Subtext: "I hope these losers aren't going to latch onto my awesomeness and follow me around the whole time we're here. Let's see, how can I ditch them...?" I really liked the original Alpha Flight costumes -- okay, maybe not Shaman's, which had the hideous color combo of orange and green -- but for the most part they were a good example of how to carry a design theme throughout a super-team while still keeping them looking like individuals. Behind Guardian you can see the taut buttocks of Northstar, who was totally checking me out. Sorry, pal, I don't date prettyboys.

In the final panel today, the Beast and Sasquatch argue about which one is going to be the top, before going on to share grooming trips. Sasquatch swears by "Mane N Tail" horse shampoo, and uses "Clubman" mustache wax for those tricky handlebar eyebrows. The Beast was considering changing his hairstyle. But then A Flock Of Seagulls released "And I Ran" that summer, so that delayed things quite a bit. In the background you can see Iron Fist (love his costume -- LOVE IT) standing next to... a mummy? Nope, that's just Janet "Fashion Skank" Pym, who was getting a seaweed wrap at the spa the moment she got zapped over there. Aw, now she'll never tone up those flabby arms.

Handi-CAPE-able

How do you know your supervillain costume is over-the-top?

When even your midget henchman is laughing at you. (Why do you think Doctor Doom prefers to employ robots?)

The tool in the metal underpants is named Kogar (from "Master of Kung Fu" #68, September 1978). Kogar has his own army and his own city and he doubtless fancies himself master of all he surveys. But he dresses more like a "Masters of the Universe" action figure. That goofy prosthesis even has different interchangeable bits he sticks on the end. I wonder if it has an electric toothbrush attachment. That'd be kinda cool.

Let's break this shit down into its component parts:

1. Eyepatch, which only partially conceals a long, curving scar with clumsy Frankensteinian stitching. Feh. I would have at least gone with a Phantom Of The Opera mask. Or if I had Kogar's ugly mug? A cloth sack thingie with one eyehole -- the Elephant Man made that thing rock.
2. Off-the-shoulder Captain Marvel cape. How very Viennese operetta of him. Hell, why not go with a lovely knitted shawl, or a gauzy chiffon wrap, or a stylish mink stole? Seriously, I would have just scrapped the damn thing entirely. Kogar's got a great body (aside from the head part... and the "missing one hand" part) so he might as well show it off.
3. Big honkin' orange harness with conspicuous rivets. What's the point of this? Is he going to pull a locomotive on ESPN2?
4. Segmented crotch armor. Look, Kogar, if you want your midget henchman to stop punching you in the nads, all you have to do is ask.
5. Clunky toy-like prosthesis. I know it has James Bond appeal, since it's motorized and you have a drill-bit attachment which you can hold against the temples of brawny, handlebar-moustachioed sailors, forcing two martial artists to fight to the death. But honestly... how practical can it be? All that machinery is resting against a busted stump of an arm. Isn't it kind of sensitive? How much force can you really apply with it? My guess is "not very much before you start wincing and screaming for Mommy."
6. The boots are unremarkable. But at least they match, Gareth.

And of course, there's the little matter of his hair. Let's take a gander at it from the back, shall we?

Hairstyle by Krispy Kreme! Say, what if it really is a donut? That damn midget henchman! Can't you just see Kogar stomping around at the daily Motivational Morning Meeting Of Evil, demanding to know who took the last chocolate-covered donut, and meanwhile the other henchpersons are laughing their asses off because Sklar the wiley midget henchman had just stuck it to the back of Kogar's bald pate?

About Sklar: okay, so he's not really a midget. But he is rather petite. And in this issue he has an inexplicably prolonged giggle fit, which only ends when a brawny, handlebar-moustachioed sailor nails him in the face with a beer bottle. Ouch. Nice hat, though.

Shoot-Out At The "I Can't Believe It's Yogurt" Corral

In "DC Challenge" #2 (December, 1985) Jonah Hex discovers three would-be bankrobbers trying to make off with a mysterious slab of rock. He stops them -- by shooting them stone-cold dead, natch. Oh, relax. They'd drawn their guns and it was Ye Olde Weste so that makes it completely acceptable on a moral level. Thinking the rock to be valuable, Hex tucks it in his shirt. That turns out to be a mistake. Let's go to the expositoritastic word balloons for the play-by-play! Jonah, in your own words, tell yourself what's happening.

"This chunk'a rock they wuz stealin' -- alluvasudden, it's glowin! An' it's got some kind'a writin' carved all over it -- lahk one'a them museum pieces--! Think mebbe ah'll jest hold on tuh this fer a while -- till ah can find out who owns it--! Might be an extra ree-ward in it fer me if'n ah-- ah -- ah ain't feelin' so good--! Startin' tuh get cold-- dizzy--!"

Really, couldn't all that wordy mess have been conveyed in thought bubbles or in caption boxes? Okay, scratch the caption boxes. When they're busy vomiting bombastic, hackneyed dreck like "Welcome to your nightmare!" they're obviously not up to the task.

So, we have a western character soliliquizing, but it sure doesn't sound like David Milch. But it does sound like Len "Remember how much you enjoyed Swamp Thing?" Wein! Wein is at his Weiniest in this comic: overbaked prose, "humor" that never rises above the level of a "Three's Company" episode and an overall cloying, elbow-jabbing, infuriatingly smug tone. So it's like Peter David, only stupider. Much, much stupider.

But of course, you come here for the fashion talk. My reservations about Wein's writing aside, I have to agree with him that the year 1985 is indeed a nightmare for time travellers. It was a time of Quantum Fashion, in which the old rules no longer applied. Women's necklines plunged, but only over one of their shoulders. Vast herds of mullets roamed the earth. Fluorescent pink was the new black. Everything was way too baggy -- except, for some reason, at the ankles. And you couldn't even get into a fancy restaurant unless you were moussed, gelled, or scrunchied to within an inch of your life. Those were dark days. So you know how I feel about 1985. And the caption box just told you how Jonah Hex feels about 1985.

But how does 1985 feel about Jonah Hex?



Christ, another Vibe wannabe? America was simply crawling with those guys in 1985. Worse than the pseudo-Madonna girls. Oh, and "nice threads?" He's a gun-toting redneck running stark-screaming bonkers through New York while dressed in a Confederate Army uniform. Sure, Len Wein, who wouldn't love that?

"That horse -- mah only chance --!"

Oh, Jonah--! Sodomizing a horse won't help you forget your troubles! Believe me. And anyway, if that perspective is to be believed, the animal is about twenty-five feet long and it's guarded by a seventeen-foot tall policeman. I know you're the baddest hombre in Ye Olde Weste but I have the feeling those two could seriously eff you up.

MacGyver, He's Not

Dirt in his hair? Ah, he's disguised himself as Jude Law.

Accidentally sent to the future by Superman's backwash (of air! What were you thinking?) Jimmy finds himself a hated fugitive thanks to a historical misunderstanding. ("The Boy Who Killed Superman," the above panels scanned from the reprint in "Jimmy Olsen" #113, August-September 1968.) Jimmy's complete disguise consists of the aforementioned dirty hair, a referee's uniform, hotpants (but of course), bright blue boots (not shown) and a Members Only jacket. My mind is boggling right now, trying to imagine the previous owner's lifestyle.

Unluckily for our Jimmy, he's captured in the very next panel by a "human magnet... tuned to killer Olsen's personal wave-length!" I guess he needed more dirt. But then he manages to escape and has a series of wacky misadventures until he's finally caught "for reals" this time and placed in a line-up with three other hotpants-wearing gentlemen -- some of whom don't really have the figures for hotpants. I'm specifically referring to you, circus strongman-looking guy on the far left. Jimmy's fingered by Brainiac (ew) -- no, not that one, just a generic thinking machine -- and the future folk punish him by sending him back to his own time. Phht. I think cyanide tablets would have been far more effective.

On a more personal note, I wouldn't say this to just anyone... but I like to think of myself as a "human magnet." And I'm tuned to your personal wave-length. *cue mellow jazz music as the lights in your room dim romantically*

I'm A Bad, Bad Man

Because I'm late again! I was waylaid by one of your primitive 21st century sinus infections. Honestly, I don't know how you people can even bring yourselves to get out of bed in the morning. In my day, your planet has signed a peace treaty with all viruses, bacteria, mold spores and pollen: they were given their own country (The Post-Nasalia And Drippe Republics, formerly Switzerland) in exchange for their not killing all that many people every year. Of course, that was before Infectious Lass, a.k.a. "Patient Zero" showed up. But I digress. I'll make up for my lax behavior by posting again later on today. Then I'll be all caught up! We'll start with these two knobs from "Star-Lord: The Special Edition" #1 (Marvel, February, 1982).

Three days earlier, in the "Banana Quadrant" clothing store on the fourth moon of Phobos 19...

Gareth (scrutinizing himself in the three-way mirror): ...I'm not sure.

Clerk: Oh, trust me, the asymmetrical look is totally hot this year. And see? (zips left boot up so it looks the same as the right boot) With our patented "freebooter," you can switch from "pirate" to "privateer" in one easy movement. Two looks in one! But most men prefer to go both ways, if you know what I mean.

Rruothk'ar (glancing up from his USA Today): He does.

Clerk: I just adore them. I have two pair of these at home!

Gareth: Oh, you mean like one in each color?

Clerk (mystified): No.

Gareth: Huh. Well, I still don't know if this is me.

Clerk: That's because you haven't seen it with the sash yet! (hurriedly wraps a swath of fabric around Gareth's waist)

Gareth: A sash--! I'm sorry, but that's completely impractical. Where would I put my rapier?

Clerk: It goes on the sash, silly! We sell the spaghetti-strap rapier sheath accessory for only five credits more! They're so great. I have four of them at home!

Gareth: Oh, you're into fencing?

Clerk (uncomprehending): Why would you say that?

Gareth (looks back at his companion): Rruothk'ar, honey? What do you think?

Rruothk'ar (not looking up): Leave me out of it.

Gareth (scoffs): This is partly for your benefit, you know. Don't you want me to look sexy?

Rruothk'ar: All I care about is how fast I can get all that mess off of you. And to be honest, we appear to be nearing my libido's cut-off point.

Clerk: It's really very easy to remove! Check out the blouse. Don't you just love the sleeves? You can shimmy it off in five seconds flat! I think they're great. Why, I have twelve of these at home!

Gareth: But... it only comes in three colors.

Clerk (baffled): And your point is...?

(Gareth and the clerk stare blankly at each other for a full minute.)

Clerk: Okay, never mind all that. You have to see it with the cape.

Rruothk'ar: Jesus. A cape, too? Why don't we just nail you into a crate and send you off to Planet Not Gettin' Any?

Clerk (bustling): Ignore him. (drapes the high-collared cloak over Gareth's shoulders)

Gareth: Oh my! (turns too and fro, admiring himself) Woo! Check me out! I totally have a "Dr. Strange" thing going on.

Rruothk'ar: And you don't mind that it makes the entire upper right quarter of your body look like a melted candle?

Gareth (to Clerk): He always gets cranky when it's Molting Season.

Rruothk'ar (peeling a long section of skin from his neck): That's a damn lie!

Clerk: Did I mention the cloak is on sale? Ten for the price of one!

Gareth (to himself): At last, the pieces of the puzzle are falling into place.

Clerk: Pardon me?

Gareth: Nothing. (turns to Rruothk'ar) Please, honey? For your snugglebear? (his fingers play along the ridges on Rruothk'ar's snout)

Rruothk'ar: Aw, Christ. You guys take Visa?

Or at least, that's what I figure happened. Whaddaya say, Gareth? Did I guess right?

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Some People--!

Me: Spider-Man of 1986, if you had a nightclub act about your black costume, how would it go?

[in the distance, a piano vamp begins -- softly at first, but steadily growing louder]

Spider-Man: Well, y'see, I'd pretend I was home getting dressed for patrol. I'd take some mousse and mousse my hair. I'd take some web fluid, smell it, and put it in my web shooters. And then I'd spot the audience!

[a full orchestra kicks in as he sings, to the tune of "All I Need Is The Girl" from "Gypsy"]

Once, my look was garish.
That shit? Fanboys* cherish.
Reds so bright they glow,
Blues that shock you more than Electro.

So I had to update,
Maybe yellow -- but wait!
Spider-Woman 2
Has class up the wazoo.

Goodbye red!
So long blue!
Black and white's the thing to do!

Now I'm stylin'.
Chicks are smilin'.
I'm a 5'10 dream-come-true!
And the Black Cat
Says I'm "all that."
Sure, the first try turned out to be a symbiote;
That's been my luck since I was a zygote.

Spandex:
What I used next.
If you ask me, it's a beaut!
And fanboys*
Often lack basic hygiene, style and poise

Which makes all of their insults moot.
All I really need's my black suit!

This isn't a popular opinion, I know, but I really hate Spider-Man's red-and-blue suit. It's just too busy. All those webs? It's an ugly mess. That's why I prefer his old black-and-white number from the pre-Venom 80's. It has the most important costume elements of the original -- Mexican wrestling mask eyeballs and the spider logo -- and scraps all the extraneous detail. (Why the hell would a spider have webs on its own body? That'd be like Hawkman covering his costume with little nests.) And the bright colors didn't help support a recurring plot-point in the book: that many New Yorkers describe Spider-Man as "creepy" or "inhuman-looking." Really? The muscular wisecracking guy in the bright red-and-blue costume is "creepy?" (I hope the Silver Age Atom isn't reading this; he's already feeling bad enough about himself.) Whatever, people. At least the black-and-white suit looks a bit more grown-up and intimidating. (Cue up clip of Spider-Man emerging from behind a changing screen, wearing his black-and-white number for the first time, mask in hand, and catching his reflection in a full-length mirror. His lips curl in a tentative smile, and then joyful tears begin to stream down his face. "I'm handsome--!" he gasps. "I'm a handsome superhero, Marvel...!")

By the time "Web Of Spider-Man" #17 (August, 1986) appeared in stores, Spider-Man had gotten rid of the alien symbiote and had taken to alteranating between a fabric reproduction of the alien suit and his hideous old duds. I'd hoped he'd finally decide to stick with the black-and-whites. But then David Michelinie put an end to the costume controversy with the "nuclear option" of plotlines: creating a supervillain who wore the alien version of the costume, and then having him assault Mary Jane. So much for Peter Parker ever wearing black again, huh? (Jeebus. It's like a candidate in a Presidential debate using a shotgun on his opponent.)

Of course, the Spider-Man franchise has had myriad problems since the late 80's *coughCloneSagacough* so an ugly (yet inexplicably popular) costume really is small potatoes when compared to all the rest of it. Still, I really miss that costume.

*Not you guys! You guys are great!

I, Robed

*sigh* Late again, but I have a good excuse. I'm recharging the batteries on my time bubble, which takes forever. So, for want of anything better to do, I drove down to Arkansas with Jeremy, his brother Steve, his sister-in-law Sarah, and his 3-year-old niece Olivia to visit Jeremy's folks. They have internet access, but one mustn't be rude... so I couldn't do any blogging until almost midnight, when everyone had fallen asleep... at which point I needed a little shut-eye myself. Fun fact: on the car ride down there, we learned that Midnight Oil's "Beds Are Burning" is Olivia's new favorite song. So, spurred on by Steve and Sarah, Jeremy busted out a spot-on impression of the lead singer (multi-talented, that boy). Olivia's reaction: eyes squinched shut, lips pursed like she'd just eaten a lemon, and her hands over her ears. Everybody's a critic! Okay, that's enough chit-chat. Let's blog!



Remember that bathrobe of Doctor Strange's that I thought was just the bee's knees, as the kids in the ghetto say nowadays? Well, my feelings for this one are quite the reverse. Those unlucky dopes (like Jeremy) who bought "Web Of Spider-Man" #6 (September, 1985) got the above image as the splash-page: hot telephony action starring the squeezably corrupt Kingpin, who has inexplicably decided to highlight his major figure flaw by wearing something even more padded than himself. While I simply adore the color combo, something about this robe just gives me the creeps. Because it's being worn by the Kingpin. I have the feeling all that magenta silk is covering a rigid, intricate framework of suspenders and corsets. And it's probably bulletproof. And reeks of cigar smoke and bratwurst. And the color-coordinated sandals are a bit much, huh? Hell, why not some fluffy bunnyslippers? He's the Kingpin, for fuck's sake; who would dare to make fun of him? To his face, I mean. I think the Kingpin should wear the bunnyslippers and an old-timey floorlength nightgown with a floppy, pointed cap. Like Ebenezer Scrooge. All the time. Because he's a dick, and it would therefore be hilarious.

I guess all the excitement on this splash page comes from wondering what this important telephone call could be (and whether or not the Kingpin is cinching that belt or -- *gag* -- disrobing). Here were some of my guesses:

1. Custom pizza order made directly to the C.E.O. of Little Caesar's.
2. Prank call to Silvermane.
3. Request to local radio station that they play Starship's "We Built This City" -- or else.
4. Colecovision technical support.
5. Conference-call phone sex with the Enforcers.

Your turn!

Dead Wood

The American West: a rugged, unforgiving environment fit only for gaunt, sophisticated, slim-ankled fifty-something bachelors. Or at least, that's the order of things according to this Lee Riders jeans ad from"Adventure Comics" #390 (March-April 1970). I agree; nothing says "roughing it" quite like sitting in a faux wood-paneled basement, reading aloud from "Us Magazine" and making catty remarks about Lindsay Lohan.

Man. It's like they want to role-play but they just can't muster the enthusiasm for it. "You look like a real cowboy, Lee." "And you look like Noel Coward, 'Uncle Frank.' No, 'Uncle Frank,' I really don't feel like wrestling with you right now. Maybe after I finish this crossword puzzle. And probably not even then. But I still get to keep the five hundred bucks... right, 'Uncle Frank?'"

And now, a worrisome juxtaposition of images from the end of the advertisement:



It's like an instruction manual for illiterate serial killers.

The Unpalatable X-Men

Yup... I put Jeremy's copy of "The X-Men" #3 (January, 1963) on a flatbed scanner. It was a lot easier to work with once I folded the spine backwards. ...What?! Oh, p'shaw. It says right on the cover it only costs twelve cents.

In this issue, the X-Men (no "Uncanny" in the title... yet!) meet the monstrous Blob... who nowadays looks more svelte than your average Wal-Mart customer. But do you know what I found truly horrifying in this comic? The clothes.



The Angel's pants are cut quite generously in the ass region, aren't they? What's his cover story when some curvacious debutante asks him why his butt looks so big? Bee sting? Unfinished liposuction? Adult diaper? But of course he never gets in that kind of jam. Through the Magic Of Comics, as soon as those voluminous trousers are belted, a good third of that lumpen mass vanishes and he looks like he has no wings at all! As for the Beast, I know what I'm buying him for Christmas 1963: an iron. Also a 9x12 "glamour shot" of myself but that's a whole 'nother story. (There's a panel in this issue showing him wearing only pajama pants, and he's shirtless and furry-chested and he's holding a calculus textbook... with his feet. Heaven. Pure heaven.)



Quick! Choose the most disturbing aspect of this panel:

1. Middle-aged Professor X confessing to the reader via thought-balloon that he's deeply infatuated with the teenage Marvel Girl, a.k.a. his pupil.
2. Professor X's belief that the only things standing between himself and Marvel Girl's hymen are his job (night manager at Taco Bell) and his handicap. (Apparently it's not just the legs that are paralyzed.)
3. Cyclop's suit.

The correct answer is #3, of course. Purple plaid, with pants to match, and a narrow little tie to go with his narrow little pursed-up mouth. You wouldn't think purple plaid could look dowdy but Cyclops manages to pull that off. Kudos, tightass! (I would have rocked that purple plaid suit back when I dyed my hair red, but then I'm just cool that way.)

Gah! I never thought I'd say this about the Blob, but he needs to strip back down to his underwear, pronto! Maybe the problem here is his color combination. He looks like an ambulatory Virginia ham... that does magic tricks. And the scoop neckline of the shirt paired with the high collar on the cape... it elongates his neck in such a weird way, like we're not even seeing his real head. Like it's one of those fakey Mardi Gras papier mache heads, and his own head is even more itty-bitty and hidden inside... like you could peer up one of his nostrils and see a teensy eyeball glaring back at you. The whole thing just gives me the heebie-jeebies.

Hey, bonus scarrage!

In the 30th century we call this position "the asteroid swarm." It's illegal on three planets! I've never seen it done fully-clothed before. (Kinky!) It's tricky for beginners, but I've found it helps if you place a trampoline on both sides.

Hammer Pants: The Mighty Thor

Greetings, gentle readers. It saddens thine most favored costumer, aye, with grievous groans and rendings of his brightly-hued garments, that his post should be late. Know only this: mine trip to Asgard was of long duration, owing to differences in the passage of time 'twixt that fabled land and lowly Midgard. Mayhap thou hath noted also that my speech be wondrous strange. Mine sincerest apologies be thine, but I was compelled to enter Asgard 'neath a false identity and the shedding of certain aspects of that masquerade hath proven to be most difficult indeed. Still, 'twas in the service of that noblest of goals: to redesign the costume of the Odinson himself, the Mighty Thor!

What Doth Be His Deal:
Doth thou jest? I speak of the Mighty Thor! All who breathe sing of the glorious form of the Thunder God. And those unfortunates who live in miserable ignorance of the Odinson need but consult the font of all knowledge, the Wikipedia.

Foul Deeds 'Gainst Fashion Itself:
Some superhero costumes withstand the changing tastes of the inexorably passing decades because they be true classics, without need of improvement. Thor's raiments belong not in that category. Like most costumes, Thor's hast limped along with either minor or temporary alterations because of a sickly nostalgia among the Odinson's fans. The changing of the merest stitch be enow to set the pasty, unwashed horde to howling like nigh unto terrible Fenris. Their gibbering electronic protestations to the contrary, Thor's costume sucks donkey balls.

I take umbrage firstly with the boots, with their ace of spades/cow-catcher tops and their strappy/stripey middles. Thor's pre-Christian muscle shirt also sticks in mine craw. 'Twould look most appropriate on a body builder from Long Island circa 1988 -- but it be not worthy of the Thunder God. Thor's winged helm finds disapproval in mine eyes, as the shape of it flatters his divine features not a whit, and resembles not so much as a silver-plated stocking cap... with wings glued on. His overly-starched cape, attached without fanfare to his muscle shirt, is likewise a point of contention. But of all the many abominable qualities of Thor's garments, the six yellow discs 'pon his midsection vex me the most. What, pray tell, are they meant to be? Frisbees? Pancakes? I knoweth not -- and if thou claimeth to have the answer, I call thee a filthy liar, good sir. Truly, Thor be in need of mine artistic talents.

When Titans Meet!
Having attained the most divine fur and leather raiments from a Renaissance Faire booth (whilst the propriator's back was turned) I reinvented mineself as an Asgardian costume maker with the noble appelation of "Bloga the Impeding." Then, 'twas a simple matter to distract Heimdall ("Hey, but look yonder!') and sneak past him over Bifrost into gleaming Asgard.

The Odinson I found in brooding reverie (i.e. trying to get the tiniest synapse in his brain to fire) in the back of a tavern. I ordered two steins of mead and then took the foamy beverages to Thor's table. I announced mineself with mine deepest, most booming voice: "Thor, great friend! Oh, Bloga the Impeding hast found thee at last!" Mine eyes detected in Thor's visage the strenuous calculating of his feeble brain as he attempted to recognize the handsome figure before him. I pressed on. "Surely thou must know thine old compatriot, Bloga the Impeding, most fashionable of the gods! Mayhap thou hath seen mine needlework in the stylish garments of your friend, Fandral the Flaming."

"Fandral the Flashing," Thor mumbled, his speech slurred by many tankards of ale.

"Precisely," said I, and hurriedly sat beside him.

Behold: Mine Presentation!
"Thor, mine brother-in-arms, very much should I like to regale thee with mine many blood-curdling adventures whilst away from Asgard's comforts -- but it shall suffice to say thine friend hath learned even greater skill in his chosen trade of fashion design. And thou, should it please thee, are to be mine next client!"

The dimmest of lights gleamed in Thor's drowsy eyes. "Art thou,' he queried, "as skillful as mine Midgardian friend, the Wasp?"

The untalented harlot's name caused mine anger to rise with startling swiftness but I restricted mine comments to this: "That mine talents surpass the Wasp's there can be no doubt, as mine many successes can attest! Why, only recall how I hath arrayed thine good friend, Fandral the Fabulous!"

"Flashing," said Thor with a hint of annoyance in his low, gurgling voice. He seized the stein and drained it in one gulp, regarding me with great suspicion.

"But of course," I stammered. "Mine absence from this great land hast been of, um, such a duration... er, certain names escape mine, um... MORE MEAD HERE!"

A buxom Asgardian barmaid speedily presented us with an entire pitcher, which the Odinson drained forthwith. With a casual gesture of his tree-like forearm, he swept every item from the table: the pitcher, the steins, a half-eaten turkey leg, several cocktail napkins emblazoned with amusing runes, and an inebriated pixie. I laid mine drawings before him.



"Regard!" I exclaimed. "This sassy, streamlined little number takes thine image boldly into the twenty-first century! Thine perplexing yellow discs hath been mightily reimagined as a series of large, gold studs on a navy-and-red leather costume. Thine most kind and considerate friend hath also taken it upon himself to simplify thine boots, and to give thee gloves to match. So as not to overpower thine handsome new costume, 'twould be wise to trim thine golden hair a smidge. A Donegal beard wouldst be just the thing to frame thine strong jawline and add a touch of the warrior spirit.

"But if this ensemble catches not thine lordly fancy, feast thine eyes on this!



"Here thee may behold a costume steeped in tradition -- half leather, half chainmail and all kick-ass! In this ensemble, thine long-lost friend Bloga the Impeding hast replaced the blinding blue-black of thine current raiment with somber tones, the better to highlight the gleaming gold detailing and the bold crimson cape. With a stylized helm and a thick blonde beard, thou wilt be a potent vision of Norse masculinity! What say thee, Odinson?"

All Shall Tremble At The Words Of The Mighty Thor:
Thor grasped both drawings in his mighty hands and peered at them for quite some time, holding them at various distances from his red-rimmed eyes, as though unable to focus properly upon them. At length he flung them back on the table and slurred, "Thou hath confounded the Odinson, Bloga the Impeding. I thought thou said thou had more talent than the Wasp...?"

T'was at this juncture, gentle readers, that thine fashionable friend totally lost it. "Now see thee here, Miss Thang, Bloga the Impeding suffers not the mead-soaked insinuations of--!" But mine protestations were interrupted by a lengthy belch from Thor's beautiful lips as he forthwith lost all consciousness. He slumped to the floor, his divine noggin rebounding off the oaken table with a terrible noise. For mine own part, I managed to get out of the tavern without paying mine tab ("Hey, but look yonder!") and high-tailed it back to lowly Midgard and Jeremy's lowly apartment.

Enjoy thine stupid yellow pancakes, thou jerk.

Time-Travel Challenge: Grunge To Rockabilly

Welcome to the third of my time-travel design challenges, in which I select a comic character who is mired in his or her decade's trends and imagine how they'd look if they had been created in another era. This time around I selected Grunge, whose name doesn't even have anything to do with his powers. He may as well have been called "Polka" or "Viennese Waltz." From his original "Kurt Cobain by way of Fantastic Sams" haircut to the overabundance of leather straps to that stupid winged skull tattoo on his chest, Grunge was a transparent attempt to lure readers by lumping together a bunch of fads.

But comic book writers have pulled that crap for decades... as you'll see when I pluck Grunge from the depressing 90's and drop him down in the paranoid-yet-peppy late 50's. Behold... Rockabilly!



From "Sunshine Superman: Popular Music Trends In The American Comic Book" by Professor Nicolas Kim Coppola, published on Earth-4/4:

"In December of 1957, Elvis Presley received his draft notice. He entered the Army on March 24, 1958. That same week, in 'Blackhawk' #122, editor Jack Schiff introduced a pompadoured, super-powered guitar player named Percival Chang. His superhero codename: Rockabilly.

In that original story, Rockabilly is introduced in civilian garb as the American nephew of the book's repulsively stereotypical Asian character, 'Chop-Chop.' (The interaction of Rockabilly and Chop-Chop was visually jarring -- Rockabilly was depicted with a reasonable amount of realism, 'Archie Comics' eyeballs aside, while Chop-Chop was afflicted with a lemon-yellow hue, a massive overbite, and what can only be described as a 'Ringling Brothers Barnum & Bailey' penoir. ) In the midst of Rockabilly's visit to Blackhawk Island, the villainous Killer Shark attacks. After Rockabilly and Chop-Chop scurry for cover, the Blackhawks are mystified by the appearance of a mute 'Metal Man' who helps them to vanquish their foe. Near the end of the story, the Metal Man reverts to human form, revealing himself as Rockabilly. On the last page, he explains the origin of his powers. It turns out he had been practicing his guitar in a jalopy in the middle of a desert, not realizing until the last minute that it was the site of an A-bomb test. He found a foxhole but its sole inhabitant -- a spindly, bespectacle scientist -- panicked and pushed him back out of it just as the bomb exploded. Instead of killing him, the radiation gave him the ability to take on the property of any inanimate substance he touched. To this end, he had taken to carrying about various minerals in his pockets.

Rockabilly proved popular enough that in 1959 he was granted his own series, 'Romp With Rockabilly.' It was here he first donned his memorable, gem-bedecked belt, gloves, and boots. Alas, he wasn't so popular that he could survive the seeming demise of rock 'n' roll music that occurred prior to the advent of the Beatles, and a mere fourteen issues later, the book was cancelled.

Rockabilly's appearances were few and far between after that. In the 70's, Denny O'Neil used him for an issue of 'Black Canary/Black Orchid' (under the moniker 'Rocker') and Bob Rozakis included him as a member of 'Titans West' in two issues of the fading 'Teen Titans' comic. In the 80's, he played at Donna Troy's wedding in 'The New Teen Titans.' Also that decade, Phil Foglio starred him (under his original codename of 'Rockabilly') in a four-issue miniseries that revealed his third cousin to be the Wonder Woman villain, Egg-Fu. His last appearance -- and certainly his least illustrious one -- was in the background of a single panel in the "Kingdom Come" miniseries. There, literal-minded painter Alex Ross, never one to resist an obvious joke, depicted him in his old age as resembling the 70's Elvis: paunchy, bloated and stone-cold dead... on a toilet."

I liked the general idea of doing a 50's version of Grunge but Jeremy has barely any comics with him in them, none of which are "Gen13." So my fictional backstory for him has zip to do with his real-world ficitional backstory. Sorry.

Anyway, I gave him a nice wide belt for his fancy rocks, plus Western-style flared gloves and cowboy boots. Note the very 50's collared cape. And I translated that dopey tattoo into a logo combining wings, a guitar, and just for the hell of it, a heart. I think it works okay.

I'm not a big fan of trendy characters. I wonder how Grunge will fare in the coming years. At the very least, a name change is in order. I don't think even Dazzler would have lasted this long if her named had been "Disco Belle."

Rescue Me: Steeplejack II

Hey there, everybody! It's me, Blocked Boy... er, I mean, "Blockade Boy." Sorry this took so long. I was worried I was starting to repeat myself with my costume designs, and it took forever to push through my creative block. So this will be a catch-up weekend for me. I'll post my Grunge-to-Rockabilly design either tonight or tomorrow. My big Thor post will be Monday. They're already designed, so all I have to do is draw them. After that I might back off the artwork posts a tad -- say, only once or twice a week, with my old wise-ass commentary on the other days.

So, by the special request of commenter Simon, I tackled Steeplejack 2. How could I have guessed he'd be my biggest design challenge ever? I knew right away I wanted to get him out of that stupid green bodysuit. And the Golden Age Flash rip-off helmet was a goner (just like Steeplejack 2, heh-heh) along with the meaningless pocket-tastic harness doohickey. But beyond that? My first instinct was to armor the bejeezus out of him but I've done that way too much lately. And I liked the bearish vibe of the meaty, slablike original, but I didn't want to just copy that look, either. I was stuck.

And then I remembered how much I liked the Wrecking Crew. Particularly Bulldozer. And I decided to put him in more of a regular supervillain costume, but with my trademark Blockade Boy twist.



I love to combine old-fashioned super-costume elements with street clothes -- as you can see from my current costume. Steeplejack 2 was a perfect candidate for that look. So I dressed him in a leather outfit that simulates the look of rusting, riveted steel. The trousers have that plunging waistline I like so much. (I just can't seem to help myself on that score.) Then I gave him a genny-ine hardhat and a flannel shirt with the sleeves ripped off, to give him the flavor of a regular "Joe Lunchpail" type.

But I see some of you have raised your hands. To answer your unspoken protests, yes, I know this Maxwell Plumm person is a sleazy businessman and about the furthest thing away from a working stiff, like, ever. Relax. I got you covered. I've an idea that would have reinvigorated the Steeplejack concept and given it some longevity. Howsabout... he "gets religion" and becomes a hardcore, radical socialist? And his modus operandi becomes violent "home invasions" of sky-high penthouses, wherein he takes small valuables like jewelry and then trashes the place before he leaves? He could put the loot in a lunchbox with a magnetized base so it stays stuck to the girder. And then he uses the money to fund various radical causes. Voila. Instant Captain America villain. Think of the havoc he could wreak at a WTO protest! Oh, and howsabout... he travels around on a flying girder? (pauses, waits for delighted applause to die down) He could use the girder to smash through windows and to batter his foes. How would that work, precisely? It could be controlled with hidden foot-pedals, or maybe he has a psychic link to it or it's just magic (paging the Enchantress!) or sumpin'. Y'know, if he was in the DC universe it would be a snap -- the girder would just be constructed of Nth Metal or whatever the hell Braniac 5 made those flight rings out of. For Marvel? I dunno. I just think it would be an incredible visual -- plus it would be quirky and interesting enough that your typical idea-starved Marvel editor would think twice before deciding to off the guy.

But I guess it's too late for that, huh?

Because It Made Me Look Like A Goddamn Leprechaun, That's Why

Do-over!

Sorry, no Steeplejack 2 post yet. I just haven't figured out an interesting redesign for the guy yet. My best effort so far wound up looking a lot like my Shellshock design. I don't want to fall into a body armor rut. But I'm gonna keep trying. If I can't come up with something I absolutely love for him tomorrow, I'll go ahead with my Time Travel post.

In the meantime I've redesigned my costume again. Because I decided to cut my hair. Because as much as I love my new Donegal, when seen in concert with my youthful Shoney's Big Boy haircut I look like I'm an extra in a gay porno version of "The Shoemaker And The Elves." So I razored my hair super-short and sewed myself a vaguely more badass costume. (It's as badass as pro wrestling, anyhow. Hey, that means new duds for Boris "The Steel Wall" Arkady! Whee! Oh, badasses don't say "whee." I meant to say "HELL YEAH!")



I redyed and slightly altered my boots from my last costume (frugal!) and I combined them with some tights, a wrestling belt and a spankin' new hoodie I sewed up to create a sort of hip-hop/Tekken 2 look. And although it caused me deep, spiritual pain to do so, I shaved my chest. The costume just looks better this way. I take my one consolation in the fact that my arms still look like an ape's, praise be to God. I love the goggles. They add some 21st century superheroic flair, since they're a bit like a mask, and they also give some needed color to my "head shot" now that I've foregone hair dye. And the bubble shapes on the hoodie were inspired by comic book thought balloons, since assisting other comic book folk is my stock in trade. Also, they soften the look and help keep it from looking all grim 'n' gritty.

This costume is based on one I'd designed in case the "Wolverine" look had won the poll. I did three costume designs for the poll choices -- one for the two mustaches, one for the muttonchops and one for the Donegal. Here they are:



That's right, my initial costume sketches are little cartoony guys, about two inches tall! Sweet Jesus, but I'm fascinating.

The original Donegal costume was going to have black tights and shoulder patches with side-by-side orange and purple on the top and boots. Once I drew it full size, though, I realized it looked like something Duo Damsel would have worn for cardio boxing. That darned bustier shape on the top...! I might as well have worn a sports bra, too. So I decided to switch to my muttonchop design. Which was just okay. It didn't seem to go that well with my ultra-dramatic Donegal though. And the more I thought about it, the more I didn't want to have to see it on my blog page every day. I'm pretty happy with this new one, though!

(For now.)

All Glory To The Highfather!

Dig my sweet-ass Donegal!

When I closed the polls -- nominally at 10 PM last night, although it turned out to be barely 10:01, with somebody getting in one last vote at that time, the "Highfather" vaulted into a decisive lead over the second-place finisher, the "Doctor Strange." Here's the voting breakdown:

• 1st: The "Highfather," 75 votes, 38% total
• 2nd: The "Doctor Strange," 55 votes, 28% total
• 3rd: The "Wolverine," 36 votes, 18% total
• 4th: The "Dum Dum Dugan," 31 votes, 16% total

So that's 197 votes in all. (Coming from probably five people... heh, heh!) Now, I love all these looks -- or else I never would have offered to grow them -- but I will admit that y'all surprised me. I had a feeling that the "Dum Dum Dugan" would be a front-runner, after all my gushing about it in my earlier posts. But somebody out there was hell-bent on my growing the "Highfather." And I'm more than happy to oblige. It's a splendid beard, if I do say so myself: luxuriously long and thick, yet beautifully trimmed and shaped, and it looks boss as hell. I have a real "circus strongman" thing going now. I only hope Brother Bicep doesn't get too jealous.

I sketched various costumes to go with the different facial hair configurations. For the "Highfather" -- which is actually a Donegal, and here's a page showing a rather handsome young man wearing one -- I went with a low, square neckline and short sleeves. With such a gloriously leonine beard on display, I thought it would be best to show a little skin. It goes with the strongman/tough guy/fantasy barbarian feel of the beard. (I've taken to monopolizing Jeremy's churchwarden pipe, since I look so much better smoking it than he does.) And the costume is purple and orange. But of course.

Thank you, everyone who voted. Have a terrific day!

Rescue Me: Bird-Man 2

Quite some time ago, the vigilante Scourge embarked upon a mission to rid the world of super-villains -- provided they were kind of lame and didn't have terribly illustrious careers. Oh, and it helped if their costumes sucked. That's the kind of villain Scourge really enjoyed shooting... in the back.

I'm no fan of Scourge, or of his editorial purpose. Personally, I think a good story can be written with any character. It's just takes enough imagination and effort. And in the case of Scourge's victims, I'd start by giving them better costumes.

Bird-Man 2 was one of the Ani-Men. And that's about all I could find about this guy on the web. I couldn't even find an image of him. I know he succeeded the first Bird-Man, a.k.a. Henry Hawk. Not to be confused with Tony Hawk. Whose nickname is "Birdman." (My head; it is spinning.)

Okay, so I did find out that at least one of the Bird-Men got his powers from his costume. And Count Nefaria had his scientists mutate the Ani-Men into naturally super-powered people. And there were antennae on the sides of the Bird-Man helmet for some reason. I hope that The Thing That Walks Like A Man, who seems to be really into Bird-Man, can explain it all to me.

As you can see from the link, the Bird-Man costume is kind of stupid. Not a big surprise to me, since I hate bird costumes. I can only think of a few that I like: Frank Quitely's Owlman design, the G-Force teens, Hawkman (natch... hairy chest time! Woo!), er... the Blue Falcon and Dynomutt... okay, I'm done. Anyway, it's hard to design a bird costume for a super-character and keep him from looking like a college football mascot. Or some drama major cavorting in front of a fast-food joint. So this was a helluva challenge for me just by its very nature. As an added challenge, I promised myself I'd include the antennae, and I'd keep them on the helmet. So here goes:



Yes, everyone's beautiful at the ballet. But seriously, I was trying to think how I could make the antennae look like a natural part of the helmet design instead of just jamming the damn things on the sides of it, like whoever did that with the old costume. And yes, I understand that the antennae were a unifying visual element for the Ani-Men but we're not talking about all of the Ani-Men now. We're talking Bird-Man, solo. At first I tried a "great horned owl" theme but it looked way too much like Quitely's Owlman. And then I came up with the peacock idea, with the antennae as the feathers in his crest. So we have the peacock helmet, the cloak that looks like a peacock's tail, gorgeous iridescent blue on the gloves and trousers, some purplish-silver metallic boots, and because I just can't help myself sometimes, a bare chest. (I know, I know. Sue me.) The cloak isn't attached to the wrists, because that would be stupid. But I'm sure it billows like a mofo when he's flying. That would look kinda cool.

Now, if I only knew the first thing about him--!