Legion Of Substitute Costumes: Spider Girl

Here's a new addition to my burgeoning list of design challenges: recostuming anyone who was ever rejected by the Legion of Super Heroes. The idea grew from a single cartoon of Polecat that I drew while waiting with Jeremy in the DMV (he promised it would only take a minute and then when we arrived there was like, three hundred people ahead of us). So to pass the time I started sketching. Then next thing I knew, I'd devised costumes for the original roster of the Legion of Substitute Heroes and a bunch of others, besides! And here's the first one I'd like to show you. It's very nearly Halloween in your backwards, superstitious era (praise be to the Luck Lords) so in honor of that I present: Spider Girl! (Creepy!) Let's take a gander at the "before," shall we? Here's Spider Girl getting all her hopes and dreams crushed by a lame pun:



I'd feel sorry for her, but c'mon! Trying out for the Legion of Super Heroes without having even a modicum of control over your powers is like auditioning for American Idol without any singing ability. You're just asking for a snooty foreigner with huge jugs to tear you a new one. Still, Spider Girl didn't exactly put her best foot forward, now did she? First there's that nasty, dry, fly-away hair (SUNSILK!!! Sorry, I don't know what came over me) and then there's the costume. She's not exactly "dressing for success." The ultra-realistic spider web design is neither attractive nor intriguing -- it's merely gross. And the copious-yet-haphazard rusching makes her look like the world's sultriest trilobite. No sir, I don't like it. Here's how I would have attired her:



You go-go-go, Spider Girl! Except for some modishly-slicked bangs in the front, most of her hair is pulled back from her face. I also would have introduced the lady to a handy little invention called "conditioner." Now, that's the kind of hair you want to throttle you into unconsciousness. I added a mask because it's fun and mysterious, and it goes with the Halloween party feeling of the costume, and also because it's about the only thing that makes the outfit a costume and not just a dress. *nervous laughter* And what a dress! It's a charming little number in a violet-gray fabric that is slightly sheer, and worn over a darker body stocking. That way she can enjoy wearing something with a high hemline and not come off like looking like a pole dancer, Supergirl. Er, *ahem* and the entire ensemble is finished off with black silk slippers (with treads on 'em, for action!) and some fun bangles. There ya go, honey. Don't forget what I said about the conditioner.

The Curious Case Of The Crunch-Coated Cop

I think DC missed an amazing opportunity for a spin-off from this Firestorm back-up story in "Flash" #304 (December, 1981).

I bet being involuntarily costumed as an ice cream vendor was a profoundly life-changing experience for that policeman. At the least, it would have driven him stark-raving bonkers. I can just picture him quitting the force to wrestle with his conflicting need to dispense both justice and fudgesicles. He'd be DC's very own peanut buster parfait Punisher! Grimly, he'd patrol the streets of, er, wherever the hell Firestorm was living at the time, in a gloss-black ice cream truck (with all the windows tinted, but of course), death metal music blaring in a garbled, stuttering fashion from the damaged speakers. Besides the usual arsenal of high-tech weaponry, he'd lob scoops of mace-chocolate-chip at his enemies and use jagged waffle cones like ninja throwing stars. He'd burst into a crack den and machine-gun the place, giggling "How 'bout some sprinkles, bitches?!!" Maybe he'd enjoy occasional team-ups with a smaller, more refined vigilante by the name of Haagen-Dasz (a Danish* spy, perhaps?) or a pair of drug-addled underground radicals called Ben and Jerry, or maybe even a sultry, fishnet-hosed karate-chopper codenamed the Blue Bunny. Of course, he'd still wear the ice cream man uniform, only without the jacket and with the sleeves of the shirt ripped off to expose his massive, oiled/grimy biceps. And naturally he'd have a couple of bandoleros draped over his shoulders, and two ice-cream scoopers in leather holsters, like guns. Yeah... that would've been pretty sweet. *sighs wistfully*

*Although Haagen-Dasz is actually an American brand. (I hope I didn't blow your mind.)

Mento: The Lovemaker!

Y'know the best thing about my new gig with Blockade Boy? Besides the fact that we can wear each other's clothes, I mean! Which reminds me! BB, or "bro" as I like to call him, has the grooviest leather pants -- in crimson, yet! They hug his buns perfectly and since we have similar body shapes I know that I'd look good in them too. Haven't had a chance to wear them yet, but for now it's just cool watching him walk around in them. ...Huh. I feel all funny inside now. Um. Anyway! The other best thing is getting to observe the love techniques of other dimensions! Here's a real pro I've discovered from the DC Universe. His name is "Mento" and I think all you turkeys can learn a lot from him.

Okay, so you see a fox you want to do the diagonal polka with, but she's already talking to two other guys! Don't be spooked! Walk right up there and announce yourself as loud as you can without actually yelling. And don't slouch, damn it! Observe Mento here. He's in a pose I like to call "the rooster." Hands on hips, neck straight... in my version I actually flap my elbows like they're wings and do kind of a forward-head-bob thing, but Mento's style isn't bad either.

The other guys may try to distract you by inviting you to a pickup basketball game. Don't be deterred! Brush those losers off! They're just turkeys in wolves' clothing!

Okay, so you announced yourself already. Too bad, because you may have to do it again. Several times, in fact. You may have to remind your target of shlongmantic conquest of your name, over and over and over. So say it whenever possible! Talk about yourself in the third person! Like I do! ...I mean, "Like Lancelot Steele does!" Try wearing one of those old-timey mayor sashes with your name emblazoned on it! In gold! Buy a parakeet and teach it to say your name, and then give the bird to her as a gift! Spray-paint your name all over her house, and then blame the deed on an admirer! Got it? You want to burn your name in her brain. Not literally, of course. Because then you'll wind up in prison, and you'll find yourself pinned beneath some huge brawny psychopath, his long wiry beard scratching against your cheek as he whispers obscenities in your ear, his fingers probing ever deeper inside your... well, the point is that you don't want that sort of thing to happen, now do you? I know I don't. It's one of my biggest worries! I think about it all the time.

See what he just did there? He took an insult and turned it into a compliment! Like this one time at the talent agency, when I casually mentioned to Dazzler that I wasn't wearing underpants and she said, "Really? Then how come it looks like you have no penis at all? Do you keep it tucked between your legs like one of those she-males, or what?" And I said, "So you want me to wear tighter pants! No prob, babe! Say, maybe you can help me change into 'em!" And then she slapped me and walked away and sure, I had to hide in the copy room with the door locked so nobody could see me crying and Cassandra kept pounding on the door and yelling about how she needed to use the machine and how it was the third time that day I'd holed up in there and how she was going to get Harry to fire me but it was totally worth it

Yeah, man! Flirtation, Steele-style! Mento's got the right idea. Always be lifting something. In his case, a cage full of wild animals. I might have to borrow that idea. And he gets right to the point, doesn't he? That's key. Just tell the girl who you are and what you want to do to her. Focus. Even if, as in Mento's case, you really need to pee just then.

Sometimes the turkeys you shooed away from your love-target will come back, angrier and drunker, and they'll start a fight with you. They'll probably try to punch you in the babymaker -- a beautifully Darwinian move, and one I've used many times myself. The moral here? Maybe you should wear a cup. But don't worry, because your confidence will get you the girl, every time!

Oh, and it helps if you're a multi-millionaire.

Your Cheatin' Hair

Monday night's game had a strong match-up between the New York Giants and the Dallas Cowboys, and entirely too much Hank Williams, Jr. and his "Just For Men" dye job. (Fifty-seven years old and nary a gray hair? I don't think so.) The differently-hideous Tony Kornheiser, meanwhile, either forgot to have the spray-on tan applied to his pasty pink scalp (plainly visible beneath the few wispy strands of hair in his combover) or else he's inordinately fond of wearing sunhats. I didn't have a favorite team in this game, so I decided to root for the Giants on the sole basis that I find the Cowboys to be aesthetically displeasing. Especially the cheerleader uniforms. All that fringe! Tacky! And now for my extremely spotty and easily-distracted play-by-play:

• Dallas fans aren't happy about their quarterback, Drew Bledsoe, starting. Or even playing at all, I guess, since some of them are brandishing signs reading "We want Romo." Looking at Tony Kornheiser makes me want bromo, so I can sort of relate.
• New York's #18, Jeff Feagles holds the NFL punting record (1457 at the start of this game) which is even more impressive to me, since based on his headshot, he's apparently crosseyed. His first punt rolls up to the goal line. Dallas is forced to play with Bledsoe standing in the endzone, and the Giants' #55 Lavar Arrington sacks him for the first safety of Arrington's career (and the first one I've ever seen, or at least paid any attention to).
• One of the most horrifying announcements I could ever imagine (on par with "That wasn't Mountain Dew" and "I have everything on videotape"): "When we come back, Hank Williams, Jr. joins us in the booth." Oh please God no.
• An announcer deems Bledsoe "not a very mobile individual." Maybe a Hoverround would help. Four-and-a-half minutes into the second quarter and Bledsoe had been sacked four times. Seriously, he spends more time on his back than Paris Hilton.
• Kornheiser talks about that "all-star" version of "Are You Ready For Some Football?" that HW Jr. recorded, and then he asks him if he thought about getting Pink in there. *shudder* I know that guys who look like Kornheiser think about gals who look like Pink, and I also know there's nothing inherently wrong with it; hell, 99.9% of the U.S. population is pretty sorry-looking, myself included, natch... it's just that I don't want to have to think about Kornheiser lusting after Pink. Is that so terribly shallow of me?
• Hank Jr.: "I got a case with a lotta awards in it. The greatest award in the world is that ten-year-old that looks up and says 'Oh my gosh! You da man from Monday Night!'" Wait, so Hank Williams Jr. has a ten-year-old in a case?! Does John Walsh know about this?
• Late in the second quarter, Arrington gets carted off the field with a torn Achilles' tendon. Aw, now who's going to sack Drew Bledsoe? Oh yeah... everybody.
• Bill Parcells replaces Bledsoe with #9 Tony Romo for the second half. Romo immediately throws an interception... which the Giants turn into a touchdown, making the score 19-7, Giants. Dallas fans scramble to make new signs.
• With 2:33 left in the game, Giants #35 Kevin Dockery intercepts a Romo pass and runs ninety-six yards for a touchdown. Sweet! Giants win, 36-22.

Batroc The Leaper Only WISHES He Was This Gay

Sometimes it takes a queen to catch a queen.



Yes, the Web is simply drooling over the chance to get his hands on the Flipper's "loot-filled pouch." It's a veritable treasure-trove! Why, the jewels alone...! Er, *ahem.* The above nonsense is presented courtesy of "Archie's Super Hero Special" #1 ("1978 Edition" according to the indicia) and it reprints a story from Archie Comics' frankly desperate attempt to replicate the bombastic writing style of Stan Lee. Sad, really. I mean, it's not as though Stan ever ripped off the Archie Comics style. Oh, wait, he totally did.

Y'know, as much as I enjoy costumes with wide black horizontal stripes, the Flippers' duds just aren't doin' it for me. For one thing, he's a thief, and he's disguised himself with a mask, and yet he's not wearing gloves. That kind of thing only works if you've used battery acid to burn your fingerprints off, and it's really not worth it. Trust me. Then there's the upturned collar. Hell, he might as well sew a little embroidered alligator to the front of his costume, put on some penny loafers, wrap a sweater around his neck, vote Republican, and be done with it. (Say, maybe "the Flipper" is his nickname from private school! Y'know, for his uncanny ability to take a straight classmate under the bleachers for about five minutes and convince them to "change teams" as it were.) My solution for the Flipper's costume? In all seriousness, I'd give him some gloves, get that stupid collar off it it, and exchange the mask for a balaclava. It's far more mysterious that way! Also, maybe he shouldn't, y'know, talk.

The Web, on the other hand, might be beyond even my help. (Kidding! I'm a genius! Wile E. Blockade Boy, that's me!)

Dig that goofy cape! I bet if he walks through a playground he emerges with a bunch of eight-year-olds clinging to it. And then he's like "What the hell?" and he has to shake them off like they're ladybugs. Something similar happens if he strolls though a Marine boot camp. Only then he doesn't shake them off. Then there's the bat-winged Vampira collar and the sad little belt buckle. Ugh. Webs are a tricky motif for super-costumes, because they can look way too busy when used in excess -- although I believe I've come up with a great look for Spider Girl, which I hope to show you later this week. My solution for the Web? Ditch the cape and the collar, incoporate the web pattern on the top part of the costume, like, drape it over the shoulders and the torso, and change the color scheme from yellow and green to black and silver, or maybe black and electric blue. Voila. Oh, and he oughta dye his hair black. No, wait! He oughta bleach it out 'til it's completely white! Yeah, that'd rawk. Oh, and I just thought of this! Maybe he could use the cape as his signature weapon, y'know, like how the gladiators in Ancient Roman Tymes used nets (and tridents) in their matches! Suh-WEET! YEAH!!! *pounds chest, gorilla-style* Man, I'm really pumped about this now! I might have to actually draw it!

That's all for now. Get back to work, you goldbricks!

Narrow Win Stadium

Holy cats! Now, that was a football game! I'm referring (of course) to the Chiefs/Chargers game yesterday -- tied up 27-27 with 5:10 to go in the fourth, and that deadlock only broken by Lawrence Tynes' career-long fifty-three yard field goal with 0:06 left on the clock. So KC won, barely, 30-27.

• Turns out San Diego's deep back is named Michael Turner. I'm surprised he has time for a football career in between drawing all those ugly JLA covers. I also wonder if the woman who models for him really does look like an extruded version of Angelina Jolie... with her spinal column surgically removed.
• KC has suffered four veteran losses this season (so far). Here's the rundown: Trent Green (concussion), Willie Roaf (sting ray attack), John Welbourn (toenail fungus), and Tony Richardson (alien abduction -- kidding! It turns out he actually died fifteen years ago). I think KC really should have seen that last one coming.
• First quarter: we get a glimpse of Trent "Astroturf For Algernon" Green as he decides to start eating a felt tip pen. CBS cuts away before Herm Edwards runs over and slaps it out of his hand.
• An announcer, about two Chargers passes that led to fumbles: "Phillip Rivers looked high and uncertain on both of them." Well, that explains all the Grateful Dead decals on his helmet.
• First quarter: Tynes saucily hikes up his knickers to show off a little kneepad. Brazen!
• Second quarter: Fantastic fifty-seven yard pass completion by KC's #88 Tony Gonzalez, who kept pushing down the field even though three Chargers were mobbing him and had even spun him around so he was facing away from the goal. He was running backwards! He was moonwalking to victory!
• A Chevy ad: a doughy middle-aged farmer or hunter with a truck full of dogs, accompanied by the text, "This is our spokesman." That's odd; I thought their spokesman was a little cartoon boy urinating on a Ford logo.
• The Chiefs took their second time-out with 0:34 left in the second quarter. QB Damon Huard used that respite to consult with Edwards. Meanwhile, Trent Green began to lick his laminated play sheet. At a post-game press conference, he reported, "It tastes like peanut butter!" (Yes, I know this concussion=stupid gag is getting tired. Will I cut it out? ...ummmmmmmmmmNOPE.
• Announcer Rich Gannon keeps referring to players as "hats" and quite frankly he's starting to freak me out. I don't like Dadaesque play-by-play, Gannon! Also, Boo Radley called; he wants his haircut back.
• Third quarter: I'm no expert, but it seems to me that if you're going to pass the ball to a guy, it should be somebody who doesn't have his back to you, Damon Huard.
• Third quarter: Despite the Chargers' Marlon McCree signalling to the contrary, the refs rule for a KC touchdown. Man, I love it when the players try to tell the refs what to call. Honestly, has that ever worked? "Pass interference, number forty-nine, offense, five-yard pen-- what? No? Well, if you insist..."
• Fourth quarter: the Chargers' #21, LaDainian Tomlinson has the ball and fends off the Chiefs' #35, Lenny Walls, by barely touching him and yet somehow sending him flying backwards. In fact, the first time I saw it, the angle was such that it didn't look to me like Tomlinson had touched Walls at all! I was thinking, "How the hell did he do that... mind powers?!" Or maybe Walls has a greater resistance to Earth's gravity.
• On a related note, I'm thinking of changing my first name to JereMainian.
• Just once, just for a change, I'd like to see a player make a touchdown and point downwards. ("Thank you, Satan!")

The Unflattering Accessories Of Doctor Destiny!

In "Justice League of America" #34 (March, 1965), bad apple Doctor Destiny fancies himself a personal stylist and literally "dreams up" some accessories for the team.



The haunted haberdashery puts a serious crimp in the League's crimefighting efforts. But more importantly, most of it just doesn't look very good! Why, if I had been in charge of the dialog... *cue harp glissando*

Superman: These glasses -- have given me the appearance of a stocky 60's business executive at a costume party... and the urge to down like, nine martinis, while chainsmoking and pinching my buxom secretary's ass!

Batman: This high school class ring on my hand -- paints me as a loser whose only success was as a varsity football hero! And now it's ten years later and I'm working as a delivery boy for a Chinese take-out joint, and I've gotten so chubby the goddamn ring won't come off my fat finger, and sometimes I have to deliver eggrolls to old classmates of mine, and they're living in these big fancy houses with gorgeous babes hanging off their arms, and the chicks look at me with this little sneer on their face like "Who's the loser?" and I think back about how I used to give the guy she's sleeping with a "swirly" in the boy's bathroom pretty much every day and now he's banging this hottie and then he pays me with a twenty and says "Keep the change" and I try to say "no" but he puts the money in my shirt pocket like he's doing me a fucking favor and he looks sincerely concerned about me and at that point I really want to give him another swirly.

Hawkman: Ever since these gloves appeared on my hands, I can do the dishes without the harsh detergents ruining my lovely hands! Also, just by having a little more skin covered up I now realize how creepy it is for me to galavant about in public with my shirt off in the still-square days of 1965, I mean, if it was the late 90's and I was a college boy at Lollapalooza with this amazing body sure I'd probably be shirtless along with all the other short-haired pseudo-hippie frat boys buying a six-foot-tall bong with my daddy's American Express card and pumping my fists to a Snoop Dogg number and thinking about date-raping that high school girl I'd flirted with fifteen minutes ago but right now? Kinda creepy. Also, I really wish I knew what happened to my nipples... and my package!

Wonder Woman: How can I defeat my foe, when the mask I'm wearing betrays my penchant for buying glitzy crap on QVC? It's covered in genuine cubic zirconia! I'm paying for it in twelve E-Z installments of $89.95! My house is filled with junk like this! I can't seem to help myself! Please, somebody help me! I'm living on cat food!

The Atom: And what chance do I have of overcoming my foe when I look like a complete dork? Also, I have an antenna on my head! I look like a bottle of liquid soap! No, I said only I only look like -- HEY! Put me down! Don't squeeze -- AAAAARRRGGGHHH!!! *dies*

And to answer your question, Steven, I haven't forgetten about the "supervillain accessories" post. By which I mean I did completely forget about it until just now. D'oh!

Retractable Field, Retractable Victory

Sooooo... how about that game...? The football game, I mean? Bears-Cardinals? Well hell yes I mean the one three nights ago! I don't care; I wanna talk about it now! Sooooo... how about it?

• The shiny new University of Arizona Stadium has a retractable grass field! (Wouldn't it be awesome if they retracted it in the middle of a game? Like when the score is 20-0 in favor of the Cardinals, just for a random example? And if beneath the field there was a big open shark tank, or maybe a pit filled with bobcats and stalagmites and landmines?) Also, the stadium has a roof that can slide open and which makes it look like a Celestial's bedpan.
• Michele Tafoya is wearing a neutral blazer, a persimmon-colored blouse, and more gold chains than Mister T.
• Announcer: "The big stage does not intimidate [Cardinals quarterback] Matt Leinart!" I agree. I once saw him in an off-Broadway production of "Dubarry Was A Lady" and he brought the house down! He had five curtain calls! Five!
• Leinart is wired for sound, so every so often we're "treated" to his on-field remarks. Let's just say he's no Dorothy Parker. Example: "YeeeeeEEEEEAAA*voice cracking in the middle of it*AAAAAAAHHHhhhhhhh WOO!" Money well-spent!
• Cardinals kicker Scott Player's "single bar" helmet is one of the dorkiest things I've ever seen... and I frequent comic book stores! And the bar isn't even up around his mouth! Apparently Player has a deep-seated fear of being punched in the Adam's apple. And after seeing him in that helmet I want to do just that.
• Monday Night Football suddenly turns into "People Magazine" with a montage of quarterback/female celebrity couples: Leinart/Paris Hilton (ew), Tom Brady/Bridget Moynahan (who?!), Troy Aikman/Lorrie Morgan, Terry Bradshaw/Jo Jo Starbuck, and Joe Namath/Ann-Freaking-Margret. Namath wins.
• Less than 3:00 before the half, the score is 17-0, Cardinals. Booth guest Charles Barkely thinks the Bears can still win it. Tony "My First Combover" Kornheiser thinks he's out of his mind. I realize that I'm beginning to hate Tony Kornheiser. He strikes me as a know-it-all weisenheimer who isn't nearly as funny or clever as he thinks he is. And I can't stand looking at him. Get a decent haircut already!
• Leinart, wired for sound: "Are you ready for some footBAAALLLL?" I'm ready for you to shut the hell up, is what I'm ready for.
• Even though they make a turnover within twenty yards of their own goal, the Cardinals are kept from making another touchdown by both the Bears and a heaping portion of their own incompetence. They have to make do with a field goal. The score is 20-0.
• Barkley (a Cardinals fan): "I'm gonna make a prediction. Twenty ain't gonna be enough to win this game." Kornheiser is graciously indulgent with the poor, deluded Barkely.
• Third quarter: Scott Player gets knocked down by a Bear and briefly assumes the pose of an Odalisque before getting back up again. Quit showboating your ass, Player! And lose the dork helmet!
• With two seconds left in the third quarter, the Bears make their first touchdown. With the extra point and a previous field goal, the score is 23-10, Cardinals.
• According to an announcer, Cardinals #32 Edgerrin James went to his managers and insisted the team be given black shoes instead of white shoes. (Unless they're playing before Labor Day.)
• Fourth quarter: Cardinals #25 Eric Green tackles Bears #87 Mushin Muhammad by smashing into him from behind (what are you snickering at?) and the instant replay has a beautiful slow-mo view of the two of them falling on their asses at the exact same time.
• Fourth: the Cardinals intercept a pass at the start of a play. #90 Darnell Dockett gets the ball and is immediately sacked, but he manages to land on top of Bears #81 Rashied Davis, pops back up and takes off down the field seventy yards for a touchdown. He picks up an entourage of five more Cardinals before he makes it to the end zone, the bizarre spectacle looking for all the world like the finale of "The Music Man" -- but it turns out most of the Bears weren't all that keen on chasing after him because they saw his knee had touched the ground. The Bears make a challenge. Touchdown denied!
• Bears #54 Brian Urlacher scoops up the ball after teammate Charles Tillman pulls the ball away from the Edgerrin (Edward G. Robinson voice: "Where's your black shoes now? Myah!") and the Bears get another touchdown and the extra point, so the score becomes 23-17, Cardinals.
• A Bears fan in the stands has a big glowing neon circle on his chest. I bet he models for Ethan Van Sciver.
• With 2:58 left on the clock, an astounding 82-yard punt reception by Bears #23 Devin Hester ties the game. Chicago makes the extra point, but of course. Note to self: ask Charles Barkley for some good stock tips.

Set Phasers To "Stunning"

Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator asked me to design a uniform for him... just before Jeremy's computer imploded. Now that it's repaired, I can finally show you all the result!



Jon requested something formal with a button-up front -- like 19th century military uniforms (or Captain Marvel) -- in black or slate gray. I went with the latter color for the tunic and the trousers and used black for the gloves and boots. The circular insignia on the shoulders and on the helmet is from Jon's profile pic, which he informs me is Shane Gooseman of the Galaxy Rangers. That inspired me to incorporate curving lines into the front panel of the tunic and the visor of the helmet. And here's a photo of the earthbound version of Jon, which I used as reference for the head. No idea if Jon's nose actually looks the way I made it look in 3/4 profile, but he hasn't complained about it. Yet! Anyway, I'll take that as a good omen. Also, I think I'm starting to get the hang of depicting shiny black surfaces. Yay, me!

For a broader look at the fashions of the Intergalactic Gladiator's world, check this out:

Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show in space!

The Dazzler, Woman Of Steele

I'm back, turkeys! The last time, I treated you all to some primo dating advice from my great new book, "Be Steele, My Heart." (Now available on audiocassette! Buy one for the horny illiterate in your life!) I presume you all took the gauntlet I threw down and made a solemn vow to transform yourselves into slobbering he-beasts of dynamic sexual power -- and failed miserably, being nerds and all, but at least you tried and I respect that. But I thought I'd better warn you of a frightening new phenomenon I've encountered: women who act like me! These women bristle with a mannish sort of confidence, and they conduct their love affairs with a carefree breeziness formerly reserved for certain U.S. presidents and members of the Dallas Cowboys football team. Let's take a look at one of the worst offenders (and my close personal friend) the Dazzler, as she goes through a typical day in November, 1984.

Here, she leads a group of her fellow women (and a few woman-y men, if you know what I mean and I think you do) in a set of suggestive exercises which strengthen the Naughty Regions and promote more informed and therefore enjoyable intercourse. I have a serious problem with this. One of the key parts of the Lancelot Steele Bedroom Experience is the element of surprise, as in "No, baby, it's supposed to feel like that! No, no, sweetheart, no, don't cry! No, I never said it was your fault! You're just new at this, is all. Look, you get yourself untangled, maybe wipe that one part off with some of those Kentucky Fried Chicken wet-naps I keep piled by the bed, I'll go turn that Journey album over to side "B" and we'll try again." See, keeping the weaker sex "in the dark" about certain matters assures you the upper hand in the bedroom. You'll be more confident, she'll sense your confidence and get even more turned on, and that will give you yet more confidence, and so forth in a vicious, sexy circle. Heck, you might not even have to actually get it on! You could just lay there and cuddle for a while! Nothing wrong with that. In fact, I kind of prefer it!

Do the Hustle! Here, the Dazzler takes a cue from the Steele-man and scurries a potential rival out of the general area as soon as she spots a couple of hot prospects. She even stole one of my pickup lines! ("All right, you two-- hold it right there!" which I normally address to a woman's boobs but I suppose it could work just as well when talking to two people.) Look at her! She's even dressed mannishly! Y'know, it's odd, but I've never been more attracted to her. Huh.

So here's Dazzler on the Moon, and she immediately scopes out the room for suitable bed-partners... Steele-style! And she also looks for any infants she could kidnap and use in a paternity scam. She does that a lot.

But she doesn't waste too much time on that last thing. Because she's a new kind of woman. A single-minded woman. A Steele woman. A woman who's not afraid to enjoy sex!

And sure, making love to a Steele woman is like nothing you've ever known. But as soon as you're done she's out the door, and she won't call you the next day.

And that may sound like the perfect hook-up. But if you're anything like me, it'll leave you hiding out behind the gauzy drapes of your four-poster bed, stuffing Reece's Pieces into your mouth, doodling "Mr. Lancelot Dazzler" in the pages of your Trapper Keeper, and sobbing hysterically.

Married men, beware! The sacred bonds of matrimony are but as tissue paper to the Steele woman! Armed with nothing but an unblinking stare and a startling directness, she can initiate hump-making with any man at any time!

And now for some bonus advice: you know what always impresses the babes? (Except for the Steele women but we shall speak no more of them.) Technology! I have a whole wall of my awe-inspiring bachelor pad devoted to video games! I have all the computer and console monitors labeled, and when I really want to show off I play the same game on all of them at once! Dig it!

Ohhhh, yeeeaaaaahhhhhhh.

I Rembember That One Guy Stingaree By Manny Fodder, Profeshunal Henchman

Well whaddaya know Im a colunmist now! Blockayde Boy sez my letters to my dear Glynda gone over so well in the future in another dimenshun that folks over there are clammering for more and as I been thinking about riting my ottobiography anyhow I figgered why not and also when your locked up in the joint like I offen am and a guy whose way bigger and hairier than you are suddenly mateerialyzes in your cell and asks you to do something it dont matter what it is you just DO IT.

Well Blockayde Boy asked me if I ever henched for a mook name of "Stingaree"and it just so happens I did and then Blockayde Boy asked me if I wood rite down my impreshuns of working for him so here goes.

Its 1967 and me and Glynda are going thru a rough patch on account of me not being abel to spend time with Manny Jr. like a dad should on account of me spending about twennyfive percent of the year henching and the other sixtyfive percent in the slammer and as a result we got money troubels like you wouldnt beleive lemme tell you. So when I get out of prison that year I make up my mind to do rite by my wife and my kid and that means I gotta find me a SAFER hench job someplace there aint no superheroes like overseas maybe and also it oughta pay real good so I can set them outta that shack they been living in and set them up someplace more glammerus like Rockaway. So that means I gotta swallow my pride and ask that jerk Panama for a favor cause I know he got innernashunal coneckshuns up the wazoo. (Oh and I guess I should explain all us guys call him Panama cause he sure likes them hats and I hardly ever seen him without one like even in the clink he somehow finnaygled a way to wear one and the hacks dont allow no hats at ALL normally on account of that insident with Crazy Quilt and the warden and the skwirrel that got in here somehow and the bottle of rubber cement. And still somehow Panama convinsed them to let him wear a hat I guess cause he is a fast talker and hes got a lot on the ball only most of us in the hench game dont care for him cause hes a grade a knowitall and sure he talks a lot but hes mainly stating the ovvious and after a while you just wanna kick him in the nuts.) So anyhow I meet up with Panama in his "office" in the back room of this poolhall in Newark and hes all gussied up in this thing that looks like a Superman costume only it got a C on the chest instead of a S and hes wearing this gray helmet that looks like a welders helment kind of but of course the Panama hat perched on top gives him rite away. And I know he must of landed a real sweet gig this time cause hes cockier than ever and really lording it over me that I even have to ask for a job and I wanna take that stupid hat off his stupid head and cram it right down his stupid throat but what can I do I got a wife and a kid and I gotta do rite by them you know? So I grin and bare it and the next thing I know Im working for the famous crime syndicket CYCLOPS in HOLLAND and the pays pretty good I got more than plenty to send home to Glynda and Manny Jr. and still have some left over for hookers and booze on a Friday nite and if I had to complain about anything it would just be that the food aint all that good like everything is covered in cheese sauce wether you ask for it or NOT altho the coffee aint half bad oh and also this one time I went looking for a baseball mitt for Manny Jr. and when Id try to describe it to the stupid Holland store clerks they just looked at me like I was outta my goddamn mind.

So the Cyclops boss is this nut Stingaree dressed all in green with a manta on his chest and he has both a cape AND a tail and when hes talking to you the tail twitches around and lifts up the back of the cape like its trying to cop a feel on Stingarees ass and its just really distrackting. On the plus side as soon as Panama returned there with me and a coupel other new guys in tow Stingaree takes one look at that dopey hat of his and his tail SHOOTS OUT and knocks the hat right offa Panamas head and pins it to the wall and even tho Panama was wearing the regalashun gray helmet and I couldnt see his frightend puss I saw these little droplits of sweat pop out all over his fat neck. So that was pretty sweet. (And by the way? Panama was never a leader type or nothing I mean me and him essenshully had the same job title but that didnt stop him from trying to give the rest of us henchmen orders I dont know what was up with that other than him being a jackass.) After that they fitted me for a uniform and the queer little taylor guy from Armenia with the pensilled-on mustache got too touchy feely on the inseam part if you ask me but hey Id just got there I didnt wanna make no waves. Im a "go along to get along" type guy when I have to be. Oh and also they handed me the Cyclops oreentashun manyual which if Id been just starting out in the biz woulda depressed the shit outta me but beleive you me I seen it all before but if you guys in the future dimenshun are interested heres the jist of it quoted as near as I can rembember:

• Yes we are aware that the inspeckshun devise in the main coridor bares a striking resemblense to the male member. Any remark made by you about the simmilerities will result in your suspenshun or possibly death depending on what kind of mood Stingaree is in that day.
• Ditto for your brite red grapnel gun espeshully as it has that one part that looks like balls.
• Please do not play on beneath next to around or near the Liquidator tank robot it is not a toy.
• Do not make any puns involving the dikes and Stingarees sister.
• Stingaree reserves the rite to use his fearfull powers on you at the time and place of his choosing and without your consent.
• Always clean up after yourself in the breakroom your mother doesnt work here.
• Please refrayne from taunting the janitorial staff Holland hates us enough as it is and quite frankly the constent remarks about their acksents arent helping the sitchuashun.
• Even tho your face is covered up by a gray helmet Stingaree can tell when you arent smiling at him. Dont get him wrong he dont want you to get a boner or nothing but would it kill you to smile I mean its only common curtessy. And make it look sinsere.

Also I should probbly menshun my speerits werent ecksackly lifted when I got to my locker cause heres what I found written on the door:

Adelbert
Rolf
Gerardus
Pedro
Mikhail
Noushzad
Toshiro
Manny

Kind of a high turnover rate dont you think espshully when you consider they only been using that base for THREE MONTHS. And my guess is those poor saps didnt find no better job oppertunities or nothing they probbly got themselfs kacked by Stingaree.

Okay so I manage to last a hole five weeks without getting on Stingarees bad side (altho I swear maybe TWO DOZEN henchmen came and went in the meantime and Id say for sure Stingaree offed at least half of them if not more I know I persunally seen him do it on seven diffrent occayshuns) and I feel like Im really settling in there at the Cyclops base and Im making loads of dough so of course the base has to get infultrated by that weerd superhero Metal Murphy and also Elementary Girl who if you can beleive THIS used to be Stingarees FIANSAY! Dont get me wrong she got a shape on her and she kinda looks like Charro in the face but COME ON her hair is GREEN and her right leg looks like its made outta DOG SHIT plus she smells like that stuff they use to clean swimming pools but if you enjoy gallavanting around wearing a goddamn TAIL I guess your up for ANYTHING.

So anyhow we think the Liquidator will stop them but they bash it up real bad and finally the walls of the coridor close in on it and crush it while the two of them turn into smelly gas and excape and if I could just innerjeck here nobody bothered to tell ME the coridor walls were desined to do that like it aint even in the MANYUAL and youd think thats the kinda thing itd be helpful for your henchmen to know so they dont acksidennally get trapped or nothing Im just saying is all. And then Stingaree kind of halfway melts them using the sonic cannon but they ooze thru a grate and head for an air vent and Stingarees voice comes over the innercom saying "STINGAREE TO ALL UNITS METAL MURPHY AND ACKOMPLISS EXCAPING THE LAIR! THIS MUST NOT HAPPEN! EMURGENCY!" and Im standing there thinking "Yeah I know dumbass we been watching the hole thing on the survaylince cameras."

And this one guy who aint half bad Stumpy I think hes called he figgers out which vent theyre in so of course Panama yells "If we fail Stingaree will use his own fearfull powers on us! FIRE! FIRE!" and we all of us are shooting but theyre long gone by then and I turn to Panama and I say "You know what smartguy you coulda just started FIRING like the rest of us was already DOING instead of flapping your gums and then shooting a couple times after they was TEN MILES AWAY" and Panama gets all pissy and says "Dont make me pull rank on you Fodder" and I say "Oh cut the crap Panama! I dont care if you hooked me up with this gig your just a grunt like the rest of us and the next time you forget that Im knocking your goddamn BLOCK off" and I give him a shove for emfassis and it probbly woulda turned into a fistfight if Stingarees voice hadnt of come over the squawk box again telling everybody to fan out and search all the waterways and to rembember to take our grapnel guns or as I liked to call them the "shlong rifles."

So were all firing grappling hooks into the canals on the one-in-a-millyun chance we will ackshully HIT one of them but it turns out they was stuck like gum to one of the windmills the HOLE TIME and the only way we can tell THAT is cause a small plane flies in outta nowhere and Stingaree takes off after it in his fruity purple huvvercraft and Metal Murphy turns HISSELF into a grappling hook and flies offa the windmill and makes Stingaree crash. So Stingaree gives us orders IN PERSON for once and tells us to DESTROY Metal Murphy and I get that hollow feeling in my gut that I always get when I know the jig is up but I gotta go thru the goddamn motions anyhow and to top it off Panama the suck-up says "CYCLOPS commands! We obay!" and I just wanna smash his FACE in but I try to shake it off and just consentrate on switching the grapnel gun from grappling mode to flamethrower mode (the gun has something like twenny diffrent modes and you gotta work all these microscopick buttons and levers and dials and shit in just the rite order to go from one mode to another or else the gun EXPLODES honestly I dont know who desined the stupid thing but Id like to break theyr nose.)

So me and the rest of the boys are blasting at Metal Murphy but he unsticks himself from the windmill and turns into a big pink BOWLING BALL with SMOKE boiling out of it and he rolls RITE AT US and also his ugly mug keeps popping out of it and the weerd thing is I swear he was kind of EYE-RAPING me the hole time. But anyhow he flattens us just like I knew he was gonna oh and rite before he smashed into us Panama says "Our guns... they got no effeckt!" and Im thinking "Thanks for the news flash Walter Cronkite" and GODDAMN but that Panama works my last nerve. So I wind up lieing there with my leg BROKEN for like the forth time in as many years and I come to just in time to see Stingaree acktivate a speshul switch that destroys the dike and sends a wall of seawater rushing twoards us and again I'm thinking itd be nice if Id even known there WAS a speshul switch in the FIRST place and thank God Metal Murphy turns hisself into a bulldozer and rams the crashed plane into the destroyed part to plug it up. Afterwords Metal Murphy turns us all over to the local cops and after it all gets sorted out innernashunally I get my ass haulled back to America and I'm tossed into the pokey AGAIN and its like I aint never ever been away. Oh and I hear Panama got SEVERE BRAIN DAMADGE from being squashed by Metal Murphy the pink bowling ball and now hes in a home somewhere.

I wonder if he still wears the hat.

Ben There, Won That

Today I watched the Chiefs/Steelers game. Since those are the two teams I decided to follow at the start of the season, I had mixed emotions. By dint of location I'm obliged to be a Chiefs booster but I really like the Steelers. So I'm happy that Pittsburgh flattened KC, cartoon steamroller-style, 45-7. But at the same time I'm a little bummed out. Oh, and there won't be many comments about the announcers because Dan Dierdorf and Greg Gumbel were pretty straightforward and serious, and there won't be any comments about wacky fans because the Pittsburgh fans carried themselves with relative comportment. It was probably too cold for body-painting.

• The Titans/Redskins game ran long so CBS didn't switch over to the Steelers/Chiefs matchup until well into the first quarter, by which time the Steelers were already ahead by seven points. Which was on their first possession. According to one of the announcers (much later) this sealed up the win for them. Well hell, just turn off the lights and send everybody home already. I'm sure Ronnie Cruz would have appreciated that.
• The announcers described the dynamic between the two teams as "Blitzburgh vs. L.J." BLITZburgh? That RAWKS! Speaking for myself, I grew up in "MAULstead." (It was brutal!)
• First quarter: Steelers #97 Arnold "Plan C" Harrison tackles LJ himself, which is pretty good considering he's actually subbing for the injured James Harrison, who was the backup for Joey Porter, who's out with a "high ankle sprain." (Tripped over a bong!)
• With 0:50 left in the first quarter, the Steelers' Big Ben Roethlisberger makes his first touchdown pass of the season. Sweet!
• Second quarter: Steelers #39 Willy Parker has the ball and is making a heckuva run for it when he suddenly slips and falls, breaking a heel, and then Leatherface catches up with him but CBS cuts to a commercial before we can see what happens next.
• Big Ben enjoyed some big, beautiful pockets today. I swear, one of them was so big he probably could have eaten a sub sandwich and finished it off with a Big Gulp before he had to get rid of the ball.
• Here's a good example of how lost KC's defense was: in the second quarter, the Steelers' Najeh Davenport only had to avoid a single KC player and then he was flying down the field at a million miles an hour for a forty-eight yard gain, and it took KC defensive end Jared "Barry" Allen to finally tackle him. Considering the distance Allen had to travel to accomplish this I'm surprised he didn't arrive covered in FedEx stickers.
• Third quarter: LJ "tackles" Steelers #43 Troy Polamalu by grabbing a fistful of Polamalu's pretty, pretty "Jill Thompson character" hair and dragging him to the ground. Which it turns out is perfectly legal -- but after a near-scuffle between both teams and some frantic discussion by the refs, KC earns a fifteen-yard penalty for LJ's "unsportsmanlike conduct." The announcers explain shortly afterwards that it wasn't for the hair-pulling -- and good luck tackling Polamalu without touching his hair, I guess! -- but for "taunting." Maybe the fact that Johnson still had his fist tangled in Polamalu's locks when both men had gotten back off the ground has something to do with it. I saw that and I thought "Jeezum, let go already!"
• A chart detailing the eating schedule of the Steelers' Ryan Clark reveals he has a "second dinner" at 10:30 P.M. Apparently his nutritionist is Pippin Took.
• Steelers coach Bill Cowher must be practicing his napkin-folding skills, because when he'd throw a flag on a play it looked like an origami swan.
• With 1:12 left to go in the fourth quarter, the Chiefs' Ronnie Cruz is laid out with a knee injury. So he's spread out on the grass, the various doctors are hovering over him, they've brought out the cart since apparently he doesn't think he can make it off the field under his own power, and then... "Love In An Elevator" starts blasting over the speakers. Oh, for--! Wasn't the man in enough pain?

I'm Not So Sure He ISN'T The Bellboy

When it was revealed in Brad Meltzer's "Justice League" that the Cavalier had been dating "Captain Stingaree" I was shocked. Shocked, I say to you now! Because I just couldn't picture a man as stylish as the Cavalier falling for this guy:



Also I was surprised that anybody would have promoted him to the rank of "Captain." But it turns out I was mistaken. "Captain Stingaree" is actually a completely different DC villain that almost nobody has ever heard of. Instead of a pirate theme, the civilian Stingaree is based on the mischievous "clown of the sea," the sting ray. (Insert "Crocodile Hunter" joke here as soon as it stops being in poor taste.) Also, he was the leader of a "world crime syndicate." No, not the WTO. This one was called "Cyclops."

The very idea that DC had two bad guys with the name of "Stingaree" is seriously effed up... mainly because "Stingaree" has to be one of the dopiest-sounding villain names I've ever heard. I could see using it for a kid sidekick, but not a criminal mastermind. It's too cute! Like, cloyingly, ain't-I-a-stinker cute. It's self-consciously kooky -- just like the "Metamorpho" comic itself! Now, before you start hurling your custom Heroclix at me, hear me out. I know a lot of very intelligent folks love that book. But to me it, it just seems to be trying too hard. And also all the characters look either freakishly deformed or like Charro. I try to read an old issue of "Metamorpho" and I may as well be trying to decode an ancient Mayan tablet. I'm baffled. I can't figure out in the least how it's entertaining. But then I feel the same way about Tejano music, Aaron Sorkin and female strippers. To each his own, I guess. So don't get me wrong. I mean, I don't like "Metamorpho" but it doesn't really rile me or nothin'. But then you take a goofball name like "Stingaree" and pile it on top of the incomprehensible awfulness of a "Metamorpho" story and it all becomes just too much for me. It makes me fly into a rage -- a manic, tear-filled rage where I'm screaming "Why?! Why?!" over and over again until my voice gets all hoarse and I flail my arms and I pound my skull with my mighty fists and I kick over that one table that Jeremy's folks had made from a genuine hibachi and I crumple to the ground in a hairy, muscular heap and Jeremy has to clock me on the noggin with a bottle of Shiner Bock just to shut my ass up. So you can imagine my amazement and consternation when a simple Google search revealed to me that "Stingaree" really is what a lot of perfectly reasonble people call the sting ray, as well as a nightclub, a 1934 musical, and a historical "red light" district in San Diego.

Well, I still think it's a stupid name. *pouts* And thematically it doesn't even jibe with the name of his organization! You'd think the supreme leader of Cyclops would have a monocular laser-blaster or maybe a giant, all-seeing surveilance robot (with a big wooden club). Not our Stingaree, no sir, he's doing his own thing. Even the costume isn't that bad but then he had to go and ruin it with that stupid cape (not that the belt is doing him any favors, either). Why wear a cape if it's just going to get in the way of your ten-foot-long cybernetic tail? (I ask myself that same question all the time.) And the collar seems to be suffering from social anxiety disorder because it's hiding behind Stingaree's neck and it absolutely refuses to come out from there.

According to my research, Stingaree's appearance in "Metamorpho" #10 (January/February 1967) was not only his first but his last. I don't know the cause for his disappearance, but I suspect it may have been the cease-and-desist letter from the lawyer of Max Gargan.

On Monday, we'll get the insider's perspective on Stingaree, from our friend Manny!

Donna Bummer

The superheroes had no idea what they were in for. Sure, they've battled giant monsters and techno-armored dictators and armadas of spaceships, but that's nothing compared to a Dazzler concert!



So, just half an hour in that Wasp-designed fashion bungle and the heat from the She-Hulk's radioactive rack is causing the cheap red dye to dissolve and drift through the auditorium in a deadly fog. What's that strange smell? Why, it's the acrid stench of a class-action lawsuit! Say, maybe the Dazzler's attorney ex-boyfriend, a.k.a. Gerald McBrainy (from the law offices of Simon & Simon) can lend a hand!

In case you never read "Dazzler" #21 (and may the Good Lord bless you and keep you if you have) I'll just say that the Dazzler is onstage for two whole freaking hours, rollerskating and thrusting and shaking her ass and putting her legs behind her head and, not that anybody really noticed, "singing" if you can call it that. And then it's time for her to get serious and do a syrupy ballad, while all the men in the 1982 audience start to put on their Members Only jackets or maybe just awkwardly sit there and wish somebody would invent a miniature portable telephone/computer they could use to play video blackjack and check the basketball scores.



"You see, I'm totally hyper tonight..." But that's probably just the diet pills talking. The lyrics make Diane Warren seem like Trent Reznor by comparison, but at least letterer Janice Chang has done her level best to make them illegible. Either that, or the jaunty kerning is meant to convey just how dreadful the Dazzler's singing really is. I'm guessing she manages to cover several octaves with each syllable.

Middle panel: guest-starring as the Dazzler's father, it's cult film star Bruce Campbell! Behind him, I think it's that kid with the stupid "heart" power from the Captain Planet cartoons.



Best. Reaction shot. Ever. Even the most battle-hardened superhero recoils in horror at the Dazzler's singing. I bet if Wolverine had been there (the X-Men missed the concert because they were "in space"... or at least that's they claimed) there would have been a little trickle of pee running down one of his furry legs. Oh, and Hawkeye seems to have been replaced by a bad guy from a Jonny Quest cartoon. And yes, the Dazzler's backup band did indeed consist of "Beefer, Hunch, and Marx." I suppose Hardrock, Coco, and Joe had another gig. And with the final three panels, writer Danny Fingeroth transduces the script into...

hackneyed...

overwrought...

maudlin...

stomach-churning...

crap.

Muddy Night Football

Holy shit, do I really look like that?! Yikes. Er, anyhow, I watched the Denver/Baltimore matchup on ESPN's Monday Night Football. Which, judging by the opening credits, takes place in Dark City. Are ya ready for some tuning? With no previous emotional or intellectual investment in either team I decided to root for the Broncos because I kind of hate the Ravens logo. I suppose they were going for something old-school but to me it just reeks of manufactured nostalgia, and it's just plain ugly to boot.

• The show began on a titillating note, as a drop of water on the camera lens had me convinced for a half-second that they were blurring out someone doing something mind-bendingly obscene on the football field.
• And then it was time for that godawful Hank Williams Jr. production number, which I swear to God gets longer every single week. And of course, one of the announcers says "Can you hear that and not hit the 'up' arrow on the volume?" Which cracked me up since I'd just fast-forwarded through it.
• Nice twelve-yard return by Broncos #27 Darrent Williams (Jr.! HEEYAH!!!) with some awesome zig-zagging footwork. In fact, if you measured it by how much ground he covered, it was more like a seventy-yard return!
• Since it was 39 degrees and raining, the Broncos cheerleaders were covered head-to-toe and their wearing parkas and baseball caps. With the sex appeal removed, they just looked like they were a mob of ladies waiting to pick up their kids at school, and just by some strange coincidence, they had all had gotten drunk beforehand and started dancin' around.
• Broncos QB Jake Plummer's headshot looks like a yearbook photo... from a penitentiary.
• Tony Kornheiser to special guest James "Desperate Housewives" Denton: "I'm under the impression that people watch this show for the hot women! Who, exactly, is watching for you?" That question is ignorant on so many different levels it's actually kind of impressive. It's like a tirimisu of stupidity.
• I'm pretty sure Darrent Williams got the design for the sides of his haircut from the back of a McDonalds placemat.
• 3rd quarter, Broncos #24 Champ Bailey intercepted a touchdown pass. Sweet!
• Michelle Tafoya was dressed sensibly this time, but her compatriot Suzy Kolber was attired in a jacket that made her look like she was in the middle of transforming into a My Little Pony.
• Announcer: "[Baltimore's] Clayton catches, and goes down very quickly!" Well, that's one way to become popular.
• One ref seems to be wearing an onion on his belt. ("...which was the style at the time..." - Grampa Simpson)
• With the constant rain, the players were slipping and sliding all over the field, the funniest instance being when the Ravens' B.J. Sams caught the ball and the mere impact of it caused him to fall on his ass before he could even take one step forward.
• The game was tied 3-3 from halftime up until 1:55 left in the fourth quarter, when Denver finally made a touchdown, and then the extra point. So that decided it, 13-3. Just to rub it in, they intercepted the ball back from Baltimore with about half a minute left. It was an exciting game! I laughed, I cried, it became a part of me.

Ticketbastards

Before we were so rudely interrupted (by Jeremy's primitive computer) I'd promised to give you my red carpet coverage from Dazzler's glitteringly horrendous concert at New York's Carnegie Hall, as seen in "Dazzler" #21 (November, 1982). And here it is!



Conveniently cropped out of the panel: the huge banner that reads "FREE HOTDOGS."

Say, who is that couple in the front with their backs turned? It can't be... is it? Holy crap, it's Ned Leeds and Betty Brant! C'mon, it has to be! Oh, I'm so proud of myself right now. I'm guessing Ned's right hand is locked in a death grip around Betty's left wrist, as he drags her deeper, deeper into the claustrophobic concert hall where she'll be forced sit perfectly still for two-and-a-half hours while she listens to the Dazzler's nasal screeching. And all the while she'll have a grotesque smile plastered on her mug, and occasionally she'll turn around to glance at Glory Grant in the seat behind her and she'll simper, "I think it's so very important to take an interest in your loved one's needs!" And Ned will squeeze her wrist even tighter because GODDAMMIT HE WAS LISTENING TO HIS MUSIC and Betty will dutifully shut most of her brain down once more.

The Fantastic Four was the first group of heroes to arrive, but they didn't wear or say anything interesting so I won't waste your time with that panel. I was afraid the night would be a total bust. But then this happened:



Oh my yes. Sure, she could hardly pry her way out of that sartorial abomination last time, but the She-Hulk somehow let the Wasp talk her into wearing it again! Then again, this may have been during She-Hulk's "pre-costume" period. Remember when she'd ditched the white rags she' always worn in her old book, and had taken to battling crime while attired as an aerobics instructor? With ankle warmers and everything? Now, that was a golden age! Meanwhile...

• Hawkeye's right arm has been horribly dislocated but that doesn't stop him from working the crowd! Sadly, nobody has any idea who he is.
• Captain America is wearing a trenchcoat so no one will figure out that he's willingly attending a Dazzler concert. Or maybe being frozen in a block of ice has given him Heat Wave's cold-phobia and the slightest draft sends him running for the coat closet. Okay, so I'm stumped. I could see him wanting to accessorize with a floor-length mink number (hey, it was 1982! Fur wasn't murder yet) but I just don't get the trench. Oh well. Just one more reason to hate him, I suppose.
• Iron Man really should get back on the treadmill or sumpin' because the man-boobs are getting entirely out of hand.
• Thor's wasted already. Of course, if I knew I was going to have to hear the Dazzler sing, I'd probably want to fortify my nerves with a little liquid courage as well.
• And the Wasp has chosen this occasion to wear one of her frumpiest costumes ever. But she threw an untied kimono over it and, if challenged, she would design an entire line of sportswear around the concept. Mind you, she's also blitzed out of her mind right now on pain pills, as the morning's dermabrasion session resulted in her nose being sandblasted right off her face.

"I'd heard so much about Dazzler's talents, I didn't want to miss the show." In other words, he'll be echolocating the hell out of her rack from just inside a janitor's closet. That billy club's getting a workout tonight! Also... earplugs? I have to admit that's a genius idea.

First panel: man, now there's a metaphor for a closeted/out relationship if ever I've seen one. "I told you, you can only call me 'Wondy" when we're at home!"

Second panel: package for Mister Quasar! And the Angel brought his "gramma." Dude, c'mon! Has it really come to that? You're a millionaire! Where'd all the money go? Gambling? Coke habit? Italian shoes? My mind is freaking out just trying to imagine the personal ad that led to this pairing. Giving commentary from behind a sawhorse is Namorita and Vance Astro! Or maybe it's the two kids from the Space Ghost cartoon. And I have to agree, Vance. One's grandmother is never worth wearing a costume for, or, y'know, a necktie.

Breathlessly, the caption boxes descend into online fanfic quality...

"Ali would've killed me!" ("Ali" being the slim young Morroccan poolboy at his country club. Ali couldn't afford a ticket but Ken promised to tell him, oh, just everything!)

If anybody ever wanted to know why the Dazzler comic never really caught on with any segment of the human population (aside from Jeremy), I'd like to present this guy as Exhibit A. For a while, he was the Dazzler's love interest. No, seriously. And that's the problem! Y'see, Dazzler's comic was, at its core, a superheroic mutation of "Millie The Model." Lancelot Steele = Clicker (the himbo), Cassandra = Chili Storm (the acid-tongued romantic rival), Vanessa = Toni Turner (the pretty friend), and Harry Osgood = Mr. Hanover (the well-meaning boss). So despite its X-pedigree, it seemed like it was targeted more at girly-girls than at tomboys. And yet Marvel handled the idea so clumsily! (Like usual.) I mean, I'm no expert, but I suspect that typical adolescent girls of 1982 didn't really go for guys with porn star mustaches, aviator-style glasses, and man-perms.

Tomorrow: inside the Dazzler concert! And before that, Jeremy will post his comments on last night's game, along with the debut of my little cartoon headshot of his balding noggin.

Howdy You Like Me Now?

Yippee-Ki-Yay, fashion lover! Woo! Check me out! As you can see, I spent quite a bit of time in DC's Old West. Long enough for me to grow my hair back out and exchange my dashing Donegal for this bitchin' biker 'stache. Why, you ask? Simple. People were always mistaking me for a Mormon or a Mennonite or Abe Lincoln's hotter brother and after a while it really started to stick in my craw. And I noticed that all the really badass gunfighters, like f'rinstance every single one of the Earp brothers, had these sweet biker 'staches (and by biker, I mean some random dude on a velocipede). And then I remembered that the second-runner-up in my facial hair poll was the "Doctor Strange." So that cinched it. And of course, it gave me the excuse to get new clothes!

Y'know, as rugged and manly as I am, I just can't help playing the dandy. No dusters and cowboy hats for yours truly! Nope, I was going to be the swellest swell that ever swelled. I still had my hoodie stashed away, so I cut it into shreds and made it the front part of this fancy new vest! The rest of the outfit was mainly bought but I think I really can assemble an ensemble if you don't mind my tooting my own horn. I'm especially fond of the lavender kerchief. It even smells like lavender, thanks to the sachet I sewed into it. Which was handy given that your typical cattle town smells like seven flavors of ass. I fashioned a matching hatband for my derby, which I tilted rakishly, but of course. Now that I've returned to your time period, I'll probably have to design myself a new superhero outfit but that can wait for a while. I'm still digging on these Western duds!

I've got plenty of stories to tell about my Old West exploits, but I'll save most of 'em for some other time. For now, I'll just mention that I was shocked to discover that I had an Old West Earth ancestor named Stockade Boy. He had the power to transform into a 7' high by 5' wide fence made of sharpened timber. Looked just like me, too, if I had been a fur trapper who had never ever shaved. Or bathed. I was even more shocked to discover that Stockade Boy was, in fact, Chameleon Boy, playing this imaginary character as part of an elaborate ruse by the Legion to foil the Time Trapper, who himself was actually a disguised Mopee the Heavenly Help-Mate, who himself was, in fact, an evil double of Princess Projectra accidentally created by the chemical reaction of an experimental element and her lip gloss. And I'm pretty sure there was more to it but I really lost track after that. Honestly, as soon as Chameleon Boy revealed himself, I said, "Ain't no thing, pal, I'll let it slide," but he just kept talking and talking and I swear the Legion's master plan had about five hundred different moving parts and no matter how many times I tried to excuse myself he just would not shut his yapper. Luckily there was a lanky ranch hand nearby with the tightest chaps I'd ever seen, so at least I had something to look at.

Oh, and that format change Jeremy mentioned will be put into effect over the next week or so: all I'm doing is adding a few graphics to make it more obvious that this is a self-contained "team blog." That way, my associates* can post without any kind of confusing preamble from myself and they'll get their own little headshots at the start of the posts, like a byline, kind of.

*The recurring columnists of Team Blockade Boy: Myself (natch), Jeremy (sports commentary), Lenny the Marvel Henchman, Manny the DC Henchman, Lancelot Steele (our relationship expert) and Membros the Bearer of Bad Tidings. For starters. I might add more later on.

My Most Disjointed Football Post Yet

Jeremy here again. I got the scanner to work, so woo-hoo! Oh, and Blockade Boy showed up around dinnertime (like usual), covered in dust and stinking of rawhide, mesquite, sasparilla, pomade, and exotic massage oils. As a souvenir of his trip, he brought me a picture... of himself. I guess he'll post it tonight (late) which is also when he'll tell everybody about a "very, very slight" format change for the blog "which kind of already happened, months ago, really" whatever the hell that means but at least it doesn't sound worrisome. I'll find out what it is with the rest of you! Right now, BB is wolfing down baked beans, right out of the pot, with a big wooden spoon. And it's 6:30 in the morning! Gross. He never used to do that before. Huh. Why, it's almost as bad as the time he came back from Asgard craving salted cod.

...So, how 'bout that football game last night? (That's the kind of thing I can say to my coworkers now. And do. Even on Wednesdays!) Yesterday I was faced with one of those "wisdom of Solomon" dilemmas because the Chiefs and the Steelers were playing at the same time on different channels and I only really have time to watch one whole game. I chose the Chiefs since I'm apparently morally obliged to be a Chiefs fan, if you ask anybody in this state. I recorded it (in hi-def) so's I could watch it in the evening. So you can imagine my surprise and slight nausea when it turned out to be the Jets-Jaguars matchup instead. Oh, the "info" button on the remote still told me it was the Chiefs game but that sure as hell wasn't what I was seeing. It wouldn't have been so bad if I'd at least given a crap about either team.

My notes:

• Ref Tony Corrente needs to join "Toastmasters" so he can get better at public speaking. He just doesn't have any conviction. Sorry, Tony, but the way you said it, I'm just not buying that #95 was offsides.
• Bizarrely random comment from Dick Enberg (is he always like this?) on Jaguars #27, Rashean Mathis: "...With a long hair-do and... one of the outstanding players in the league." That's not edited. He really did put a Shatner-esque pause after "and."
• The Jaguars' Brian Williams' interception in the first quarter made me holler "YEAH!!!" and crystalized which team I wanted to root for. Um, the Jaguars, that is.
• That Meester guy on the Jaguars (#63) has a serious case of Dan Spiegle face: double chin, fleshy lips, teensy eyeballs and strait, bushy brows. Also known as George Tuska Syndrome, this facial deformity afflicts two in five NFL players.
• Enberg on Jaguars #32, Maurice Drew-Jones: "Only 5'7 but weighs 210. We asked him, "How big are those thighs?" He said, "about 40 each." I'm 5'8 and I used to be close to 210 pounds but I sure didn't carry the extra poundage in my thighs. Mainly my belly and my ass.
• Always an easy source of gay inuendo, that NFL: in the first quarter the viewers were treated to a rear view of the Jaguars defensive line, all crouched down with their asses in the air, and bing-bang-bong, red, numbered circles appeared over three select posteriors. Announcer Randy Cross: "Here's three... tight ends." (He learned all about nonsensical pausing from Enberg.)

Near the end of the first quarter, the recording suddenly switched over the the start of the second quarter in the Chiefs game. Only it wasn't in hi-def. "My team," the Jaguars, had been leading the Jets 14-0. Now my team, the Chiefs, was trailing the Cardinals 0-14. WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!

• A retrospective of 1st career starts for Hall of Fame quarterbacks elicits this comment about Dan Marino: "And Dan had a tremendous head of hair as well!" What is it with NFL announcers and hair?
• Sidelined with a hamstring injury: the Cardinals' #11, Larry "The Wreck Of The Edmund" Fitzgerald.
• 2nd quarter: receiving a pass from Huard, Parker pretty much hurls himself backwards, into the waiting arms of professional ballroom dancer Louis van Amstel, and the two perform a simply electrifying cha-cha to "Do You Believe In Love" by Huey Louis and the News. Judge Carrie Anne Inaba gives them a 10! Okay, so I made some of that up.
• Note to the Cardinals player who tackled Dante Hall in the second quarter. Okay, he's flat against the ground and the refs have been blowing their whistles for like a minute now. Slide your ponderous bulk off the poor guy already. Seriously. You're practically teabagging the dumb S.O.B.
• Near the end of the 2nd quarter, Larry Johnson fumbles the ball while being tackled by a slew of Cardinals. Announcer on the play: "It will be reviewed." I give it "two thumbs down."
• Spotted on the sidelines on the Cardinals staff: Flea, of the Red Hot Chili Peppers! Or maybe it's some other short, gaunt, bug-eyed guy with angry pointy eyebrows and my haircut.
• Nice synchronized tumbling from the Chiefs' Kennison and the Cardinals' Green when they both dive for the same ball. Maybe they'll break out some ribbon dancing next.
• Cool "first": KC's Jeff Webb made a 50-yard kick return in the first time he's had his hands on a football in the NFL. Jeezum Pete, you'd at least think they'd let him practice with a real football. What'd he use before? A wad of newspaper held together with duct tape?
• Also cool: the longest reception of Larry Johnson's career, right before he almost got his entire head ripped off his body. Facemask penalty ahoy!
• KC squeaked out a win thanks to Tynes' late fourth-quarter field goal and also thanks to the crummy failed field goal attempt by the Cardinals kicker, y'know the one, the guy with the Slavic eyebrows who looks like he must have to shave three times a day (and that's just his balls). So it was KC over Arizona, 23-20. There were some serious problems with this game. For one thing, the football must have been extra-slippery because everybody kept dropping it. My solution: coat in in hairspray! Also, just about every play had a flag thrown on it. Sometimes two. Or even three! (I'm not sure how that last one happened. It might have just been a kicky neckerchief.) My solution: take away their flags! Flags should be a privilege, not a right. If they want to overuse their flag, we'll just see how they like it when they don't have any flags at all! In fact, send the refs home! Who needs 'em? We'll settle all disputes through armwrestling. That way there's no loss of action when a play is called into question. Or maybe they could just rig up all the stadium seats with "yes" and "no" buttons. Yeah, that'd work.

Booting Up...

Jeremy here! I got my computer back from Wherever and it's working! I'll spare you all the boring details, except to say when I phoned the service center last Tuesday to check on it, the guy had the gall to tell me that if I didn't have my warranty the repairs would have cost me around $350.00. And then he tried to sell me an extended warranty. Hey, here's a tip, pal: don't make me go to Hell and back trying to get my computer repaired a mere four months after I bought the damn thing and then act like you're doing me a favor by not charging me. (Needless to say, I didn't take him up on the extended warranty offer.)

Yesterday I was cleaning my apartment and under one of the love seat cushions I found a 150-year-old letter from Blockade Boy informing me he'd be returning from the Old West sometime today. Why, it's almost like he knew all along my computer would crash and that he'd have all this extra time on his hands! And then he somehow arranged for a letter to wind up in a love seat that was manufactured within the last year. No small feat, especially considering he wrote that letter in an alternate universe! The DC one, to be precise. Here's an excerpt:

The people of the DC Universe Old West are a fun bunch, although with my sweet-ass Donegal beard they keep mistaking me for an especially flamboyant Quaker. Last week I traded hair care tips with Hawk, Son of Tomahawk. Turns out natural dyes like beet root are just the thing for a fun, temporary new look. I beat him in a poker game, and one of the things I won off him was this killer little manny-pack. Hand-tooled leather and simply dripping with beads and fringe. I'm saving it for a special occasion. The other thing I won... well it wasn't exactly an object but let's just say he'll have to ride side-saddle for the next couple of weeks. Oh, and the other night I had a walk-off with Bat Lash. Girl can work it.

On the artistic side, I've been working on redesigns for the Legion of Substitute Heroes and various Legion Rejects. I've even found a way for Polecat to look good! (One word: pants.) Still kind of stumped about Double Header. Maybe just a burqa for him. And I'm also readying the first installment of the New Teen Titans/Fearsome Five moral reversal challenge: Nightwing/Shimmer. Plus, I've got Rescue Me redesigns for Titania, Commander Kraken, and the Wrench all worked out. I should be able to start posting some of this stuff within the next week. Not day after day, mind you, but still.

Wow! Sounds like he's been a busy little bee. Now I just have to get my scanner software working properly. (Don't worry. I'm on it.)

Now... are you ready for some (of last week's) football? As seen by someone barely familiar with the sport? Well, too bad, 'cause I'm posting about it anyway.

10/1: I watched the Chiefs/49ers game. As a Kansan I'm somehow required to be a Chiefs fan, but I don't mind. Especially when they crush SF 41-0. My observations:

• Looking at the mugshots -- er, headshots of KC's defensive line, I'm pretty sure their heads were all warped horizontally by Kai's SuperGOO. Somebody on the production staff has a cruel sense of humor.
• An announcer, quoting SF's Jeff Ulbrich on his team's linebackers: "When they see a hole, they have to hit it up in the hole." Oh, I have a filthy, filthy mind.
• Remember those shiny leggings designed by Jeffrey Sebelia in the "Black & White" challenge on Project Runway? A lot of the players appeared to be wearing those... on their arms. Still fit, though.
• The crowd noise in Arrowhead Stadium was like listening to a jet taking off, so it made it hard for the players to hear the refs' whistles. Which led to that great moment in the first quarter when a Chiefs player knocked the ball loose from a 49ers player's hands, creating a mad, confused scramble that ended with a Chiefs player wandering around, holding the ball out from his chest like he's just won an icecream cake at a raffle but he can't eat it because he's allergic to dairy.
• An instant replay at the end of the first quarter began with a row of cheerleaders in the upper portion of the frame, with everything above their crotches cropped out. Special guest cameraman: Howard Chaykin!
• A freaky moment in the second quarter: the Chiefs' Derek Johnson basically twirls the 49ers' Alex Smith down at the 40 yard line... horizontally. When Smith hit the ground it looked like he'd been put on a rotisserie.
• 49ers kicker Andy Lee looks like the love child of Gareth Keenan and Dwight Schrute.
• Remember at the start of the third quarter when SF's Maurice Hicks fumbled the ball after a fifty-three yard return, and KC's Jared Page recovered it? I just about lost my mind, I was so pumped about that. It felt like I was personally responsible! And I was just sitting on my ass eating a pizza!
• Commentator Chris Myers on the Chiefs' Trent "My Brain Hurts" Green: "Said he tired of sitting around at home, wrote up some plays and gave them to Herm Edwards and offensive coordinator Mike Solari and they told him 'These are actually crayon drawings of you riding a unicorn. Why don't you go back home and just stay there for a few more weeks? 'Kay? Bye.'" Alright, so part of that quote may have been fabricated.
• How sweet was that sixty-yard put return made by Dante Hall in the fourth quarter? I have no wiseass remark here; I just thought it was hella cool.

10/2: The Eagles beat the Packers, 31-9. I wasn't rooting for either team especially, but my early sympathies were with the Eagles, since they have that nice soup-loving Donovan McNabb. Plus he had to prove he could still lead his team to victory without the controversial T.O. Morrow or whoever that was. Although I later felt kind of bad for the Packers' Bret "The Grizzled Old Prospector" Favre. He's a sassy senior! Now, get off the field, wipe the excess Ensure off your lips, turn off your blinkers for God's sake and finish filling out this AARP form. Some additional thoughts:

• Somebody was actually paid money to make Tony Kornheiser's hair look that way. Try wrapping your mind around that.
• Spotted in the stands: the Hulk's evil future identity, the Maestro! (Bulky guy with a bald green head and a massive white beard. Pretty disturbing, really.)
• Green Bay's fifty-four yard field goal in the second quarter: effing sweet.
• Not precisely football related (not that it's ever stopped me before) but I really have to get this one off my chest: judging from their commercials, Bud Light's key demographic is dull-witted, smarmy asswipes, ages 18-34.
• Michelle Tafoya's jacket was handcrafted from the skin of Ernie from Sesame Street.
• I did not know they were allowed to do that: in the third quarter, Donovan McNabb slid to the thirty yard line. Then he checked Bret Favre into the boards, slam-dunked the football over the goal (nothing but net!) and drove off the field in a stock car.
• One of the announcers -- the scratchy-voiced one, Theisman maybe? -- on Brian Dawkins: "[He] becomes Weapon X when he gets on the football field." I have to wonder if he even knew he was referring to an X-Men concept when he said that. Or maybe Dawkins really does slash at opposing players with adamantium claws while wearing a big chrome hairdryer with telephone cords sticking out of it.
• Missed the ironic contrast by this much: an announcer said "The Eagles suddenly look very healthy in this game" about three seconds after the camera cut away from a mob of morbidly obese fans.
• Oh, so that's a "pump fake", Steven: McNabb's "the hell with it, I'll just run the damn ball myself" maneuver at the start of the fourth quarter.

Well, that's enough babbling from me. I have to work on the scanner thing. I don't anticipate any problems. And I guarantee there will be weekday posting for the foreseeable future. Hooray!

Does Not Compute

Hey. Jeremy here. *dolefully* How's it goin'? *wan, Gwyneth Paltrow-esque smile*

My computer is still a useless lump of metal. The "official" recovery disks arrived two days earlier than the manufacturer's service folk said it would. Yay! These disks encountered the exact same error screen that my own recovery disks did. Boo! The manufacturer's solution? Send more recovery disks! I told them NO. They reassured me that these new, new disks would be at no charge! Sorry, still NO. It took several more phone calls to talk to somebody in the hardware support department. And it took two more phone calls after I was promised that would happen for them to actually transfer me. See, every time I called I would up with a different person, each of whom would ask for my case number, allegedly review the case, and then ask me to try some "fix" that two or more previous people had asked me to try. And then they'd have me run some kind of test that would take about two hours and then I'd have to call back. And I'd get somebody else. And even though I'd say I'd been promised a chance to talk to somebody in hardware they'd put me off (as in "Yes, but have you tried doing THIS?") or they'd just flat-out ignore me. Criminy. The hardware guy actually had way more on the ball than all the other service people, and he had me run some more (lengthy, excruciating) tests that told him my hard drive was fine but my motherboard was effed up. Which means it has to be replaced. So now I have to send my computer to God Knows Where using a prepaid box that they've promised to send me... and which hasn't arrived yet. But I can keep track of it on their website! Only there's no tracking number yet. Even though it supposedly shipped out last Friday. Unfortunately I can access their website on my work computer but Blogger is blocked. (Wise move!) And I don't have any friends in town who'd be willing to let me monopolize their computer for several hours a night. Go figure. Anyway, this whiny tirade is just meant to explain why I haven't been able to post in a while and why I probably won't be able to post again very soon. Dang it.

So, no Blockade Boy for the foreseeable future. He's vacationing in the Old West, or so his note says. But that doesn't mean this post is all self-pity and excuses! Are you ready for some football... commentary? Well too bad, 'cause here it is anyway.

Last Sunday I watched the Steelers-Bengals game. The Steelers is one of the two teams I'm rooting for, so this was another opportunity to tear my hair out in frustration. (The Bengals won by 8 points.)

• Pre-game trash talk from a Steeler's player (#55, didn't catch the name): "I ain't never had a problem with a bagel!" That last word is [sic], naturally. Sure sounded like "bagel" though.
• Note to self: to express frustration without saying a word, merely undo your chinstrap.
• Other note to self: purchase a chinstrap.
• With 3 seconds left before the half, according to the announcers, "Chad Johnson's going in early." Probably to touch up his roots.
• 3rd quarter: Steelers incurred a fifteen-yard penalty for "double celebration." I think I ordered that once at a Chinese restaurant.
• The announcers on Big Ben (I call him that now because we're like this) and how he throws the ball: "It doesn't come out of his hand real clean." *insert filthy joke here*
• Actual plays? I though the Steelers' reverse play in the 1st quarter was pretty cool, and also that time in the 3rd quarter when the Steelers' James Harrison managed to hold the Bengals drive to the 14-yard line. Wasn't too fond of the Steelers' Colclough bobbling a catch and then kicking the damn ball away from himself when he tried to fall on it. (Yeah, like I could do better!)

And then last night I watch the Saints pretty much destroy the Falcons, 23-3.

• An announcer on the Falcons' Michael Vick: "When he enjoys himself, we enjoy watching him!" Football, the sport of voyeurs! Also, ew.
• The Star Spangled Banner was stirring. So was the imagery of a waving American flag on those cool wraparound screens. The flag would have been even more inspiring had it not been bracketed by Budweiser ads.
• Note to self: to express happiness without saying a word, point in a random direction, swing arm around about 35 degrees, waggle my finger, and high-step like a high school drum major.
• I'm pretty sure one of the guys in the stands was also in the HBO documentary "Smashed: Toxic Tales of Teens and Alcohol." I'm glad the coma didn't stick, dude! Woo! Now put down the beer before you kill somebody.
• I'm kind of blown away by the fact that the Falcons' #5, Morten Andersen, is forty-six. Oldest player in the NFL since 1975! I'm thirty-seven, so I still have nine years to get my NFL career on track. Go, me!
• According to the text on the screen, ref Ed Honchuli is in his "17th year in NFL (15th as referee)". The first two years? Towel boy. Also, for somebody that old and leathery-faced, Ed spends some serious time in the gym. I guess that's so no angry fans try to mess with him. Me, I'd just make do with a can of mace and a rape whistle.
• Among about thirty bajillion ESPN anagram signs in the stands: "Excellence + Sean Payton = New Orleans." And lets not forget his little brother, rookie Eli Payton! ... What?!
• I didn't have a horse in the race, so to speak, so while I'm glad for the beleagured people of New Orleans that the Saints won I also feel kinda sorry for the Falcons. Especially Michael Vick. I really wanted to enjoy watching him enjoying himself.

Well, God only knows when my computer will be fixed but I'll still try to check in on Tuesdays until I can get things up and running full time. Have a good one, guys! I miss you!