Purple And Orange Make Lame: Blockade Boy

Hello, fashion lovers! Look who got himself a time bubble and a degree in computer hackery! That's absolutely correct... it's me, Storm Boy! You may remember me from Adventure Comics #301, when I tried out for the Legion of Super-Heroes. It, um, didn't go so well.



Oh. MY God. Would you look at my hair? What was I thinking? So yeah, I wasn't allowed entry into their little club, just because I have no natural super-powers. So? B.F.D., Cosmic Boy. (Prick.) I'd invented a machine that allows me to control the very elements themselves but NO, they keep me out and let Bouncing Boy waddle right in. Jerks. Not that I'm still holding a grudge or anything. Anyhow? The whole incident led me to two big decisions: ONE, to devote myself full-time to my first love: EYEGLASS FRAME design! And TWO: to stop bothering with exercise, which freed up more time for eating space donuts.

So then? Some jackass goes and invents anti-gravity lenses, making eyeglass frames obsolete. I'm at my wits end! UNTIL I happen to spot something totally fascinating in the historical archives of the super-hero exhibit in the Space Museum. The following is a panel from the illustrated biography of 20th century hero Mister Terrific, from volume 19 of "Sensation Comics" (July 1943), in the chapter titled "Party Crasher From The Year 3000."



Okay. Even with the primitive coloring techniques? I'd recognize that dye job ANYWHERE. See, this guy I know, a pompous hairball with rage issues, calling himself "Blockade Boy," had disappeared about a year ago and nobody knew where he'd gone. Or cared! Heh. Turns out he'd swiped a Legion time bubble and was traipsing around the multiverse. Well, anything he can design, I can design better. So I invented a device to make myself invisible to Legion security measures, snuck into their dopey clubhouse, slipped behind the controls of a time bubble and HERE I AM!

It turns out a lot of super-folk need my fashion advice, DESPERATELY. And nobody moreso than the guy who begged me for an honest critique of his deep-kissing technique, and then got all pissy and insulted my eyeglasses when I gave him an honest answer. That would be History's Greatest Monster: Blockade Boy. Here we go!

What's his deal:
Blockade Boy is a hulking, square-headed dickweed with gross curly hair on his shoulders and no fashion sense whatsoever. His super-power is nominally the ability to turn into a person-sized steel wall. But if you ask me, his real power is throwing temper tantrums and acting like he's better than everyone else.

Crimes against fashion:



Blockade Boy has a lot of costumes, all of them hideous, but this is his favorite and, coincidentally? The absolute WORST. There's the garish color scheme, the completely pointless "forearm pads" (although he DOES like to get down on all fours, if you know what I mean and I think you do) and the ear warmers. Really, the whole shebang is just a mess.

Our meeting:
The first time I met Blockade Boy was at a fashion show on Mars, sponsered by socialite whore Paris Spiffany. It was standing-room only and we were squeezed right next to each other. We wound up talking, making fun of all the haute couture abortions sashaying down the runway, and I honestly thought he was kind of funny, even if his breath was ripe. I bumped into him later at one of Element Lad's rave parties and Blockade Boy was wearing this kind of see-through tank top which did him no favors if you ask me. I mean, for the love of GOD, man, get yourself some electrolysis! But I was pretty drunk and so was he and the very next thing I know we're making out behind the abandoned android factory in the bad section of town and he gets all mushy and practically sobbing, saying shit like "I just want to please you! If there's anything I'm doing wrong, please tell me!" And like an idiot, I do tell him. In the nicest possible may, mind you, but I had to do something. It was like being french-kissed by a lamprey eel. Seriously. It was just.. ew. Ugh. I hate even thinking about it. And then he gets all indignant and says "Well, your glasses look stupid!" And I'm thinking, "What are you, five?" What the hell EVER, Blockade Boy.

I haven't met him since I got my time bubble, but I've prepared some great new costume designs for him, just in case. It's not for him so much as it is for the general public. Nobody should have to see the crap he likes to wear.

My presentation:
If we meet, I'll say something like this: Blockade Boy, we should let by-gones be by-gones. As a peace offering, here are some costume designs you should really think about wearing.



The first is a nice, simple, classic outfit. Nothing fancy. Not a lot of trim. It has the standard features: heavily insulated diapers, shoulder ruffles and a bubble helmet. Y'know. Business casual. I know how much you're attached to purple and orange, so I kept the color scheme but I muted it somewhat because it's frankly horrid the way it is now. No offense. There's your name right on the front and a little picture of a steel wall. And yes, I suppose it's very reminiscent of designers like Plastino, Papp, and Forte, but that's what makes it so timeless. The next look is very fashion-forward.



Now, this is the latest look where we come from. I saw designs like this at a runway show by Cockrum & Grell. It has a castle motif on the collar and the beltless buckle. (You'll be all set for your hot date with Grimbor the Chainsman!) I think the green will better complement your "natural" red hair *snicker* and it shows a lot of skin, so, y'know. Sex appeal. One thing, you'll have to shave that sheepskin rug you call your chest hair for the whole thing to really work. But it'll be worth it, believe me. Your current goatee is pretty sweet, but the new thing is to grow it longer, let the ends fork, and add a big handlebar moustache. It's quite simply luscious. Not as nice as my fearsome fu-manchu. But still.

Blockade Boy's response:
Who knows, but I can't wait to find out! Hmm. Maybe he'll notice I hacked onto his website and he'll post something. Here's hoping!

Hat Out Of Hell

Say what you will about Maximus the Mad. Sure, he drugged his entire family with "hypno-potions" and he tried to destroy the Earth with meteors. But the man certainly has a flair for choosing a chapeau.



"I WANT YOU! To pull my finger!" Here, Maximus has found just the right cap to compliment his jogging suit. Modest but not meek, this sporty little number is trimmed in real gold and, apparently, keeps his Rastafarian dreads in check.



Yeah, I had the exact same expression when a really bitchy salesgirl at a Coast City boutique told me my knit cap made my head look like an acorn. Anyway. That's one magnificent hat. The effect is dampened somewhat when you realize that you can see his hair through it, and that he has the exact same haircut as one of the Three Stooges. But still. It's so sleek. I bet it picks up satellite radio signals. And it toasts an English muffin to perfection. It looks like Darth Vader's spaceship. Only cooler. AND, if you look at it just right, pretending the spot where Maxiumus' face pokes through is a mouth, and the three holes just above that are two eyes and a nose? It looks like the head of Ultron's dog.

But nothing -- and I do mean nothing -- can eclipse the sheer grandeur of this hat:



Dear sweet Lord in Heaven above! It's glorious! I think I could live quite comfortably inside Maximus' hat. In fact, I think I ought to start a charity, building replicas of it for low-income families. "Maxiumus' Hat For Humanity." It would help make up a little for all the times Maximus has tried to eradicate all mankind (and he's tried it a lot.)

Fun fact: on Orando this is considered a "beanie."

Nick Fury, Agent Of F.A.B.U.L.O.U.S.

I hope Ammo's almost done beating the everloving crap out of Daredevil, because he only has two minutes to get back on stage for the finale of "The Lion King."

A few notes:

1. It's hard to tell in this scan, but Ammo is wearing those Mister T feather earrings.
2. Also, he has a rat tail. (Of hair! Of hair!)
3. Forget Daredevil, somebody call P.E.T.A. on this guy! Because I'm fairly sure his Danskins are made of endangered white tiger fur.
4. Yeah, he looks goofy to you now. But if Grant Morrison had designed this guy for his Doom Patrol comic (and he's not too far off from Grant's old sketches -- just add a tri-corner hat and a hula skirt) he'd be a fondly remembered character. There might even be a legion of fanboys calling for his return, and they'd operate under the title B.L.A.H. (Bring Loveable Ammo Hereabouts.)

Nuclear Bedhead

See what happens when you forget to wear sunblock? I bet that smarts like the dickens!

But I kid. Because I love! To hate! This is "Binary," a.k.a. one of the many ways Ms. Marvel got totally jacked up by Chris Claremont (one of the most creatively bankrupt authors in comics but I shan't go into that here.) Sure, those energy spikes look very "rad" and "groovy" and "the bee's knees" and whatever else you 20th/21st century types say about edgy fashion. But they clash with the sleek sluttiness -- er, sexiness that is -- of her white super-togs. My prescription? A perm!



There we go!

Y'know, I'm suddenly hungry for macaroni and cheese, and I don't know why.

Bland Sabbath

From "Defenders" #96 (Marvel, June 1981), this is Asmodeus Jones, whose real name is "Ozzie Palmer." I wonder who he's based on. No, don't tell me. Jackson Brown, maybe? Kidding! I know it's really Christopher Cross. Anyway, nothing oozes "Satanic" like a billowing, scale-spangled blouse with attached hotpants. And lots of shiny gold bracelets! Nice gams, though.

The comic book gets more deeply mired in fashion stupidity later on with this scene:



Nameless Satanic Handmaiden #3's use of the word "kinky" makes it abundantly clear that an orgy had just taken place, and that it was quite the depraved social affair. But look more closely at Asmodeus. Sure, the robe opens at the front for easy access, but underneath he's still wearing a shirt and pants. Still doubting me? Check out the next panel:



And the other guy was wearing a business suit! Anyhow, like all rock 'n' roll sex gods, Asmodeus Jones likes to cavort with groupies while wearing sensible slacks and a dress shirt -- buttoned almost to the neck and with the sleeves rolled down, of course. What kind of "kinky" activities took place at this orgy, anyway? "Spin the bottle?" Did they play four-letter Scrabble? Or have a very sensual taffy pull? C'mon, Asmodeus, you can tell me. Spill it, brother!



Er... yeah. Okay. You can stop staring into my very soul now, thank you very much. Gah! I feel like I need to take a shower now. In Lysol. And then dry myself off with a Swiffer.

A couple of notes, before I go and do that:
1. I'd love it if Marvel brought this guy back, older and more rickety with a wife and a couple of rowdy teenage kids, like that guy on that cable reality show... Hulk Hogan.
2. This issue was drawn by Don Perlin, who was like the Curt Swan of Marvel in terms of artistic sensibility and hell, age too, for all I know. Asking Don Perlin to depict the daily life of a heavy metal singer is like asking Jim Balent to draw a biography of Eleanor Roosevelt. You're just not going to get the desired results.
3. Yup, Doctor Strange was there, in invisible astral form. He just likes to watch.

And His Junk Is Composed Of A Series Of Ones And Zeroes

Golden Age villain "the Thinker" used to be a chubbier version of Gale Gordon from The Lucy Show with a "thinking cap" that was essentially an inverted colander with some buttons and wires on it. Observe:



He's dead now. And yet he still exists, kind of, as a free-roaming, evil computer consciousness with the ability to manifest a hologram body. That's one way to lose those unwanted pounds.



Here are just a few of the advantages of the Thinker's new digital bod:

1. His nipples have a resolution of 2560 x 1600 for a crisp, lifelike appearance.
2. His bellybutton is a functioning USB port.
3. You can illegally download current box office smash films straight from his sinuses. But they're all in some weird foreign language you don't understand. Because he's evil.
4. Each toenail has its own ringtone.
5. He belches real-time stock quotes.
6. He poops your horoscope.
7. He can block all spam e-mails just by making the "talk to the hand" gesture. And his liver is a firewall.
8. His white blood cells look exactly like Ms. Pac-Man.
9. Through methods too complicated to explain here, he's currently draining the life force from Lindsay Lohan. Seriously. I mean, have you seen her lately? 'Cause DAMN.
10. He can yank it with a top speed of 2.16 GHz.

Bonus Post: He-Looker, Now With Less Yokel

The fellow I drew wearing a male version of Looker's costume came out a bit too "Woody from 'Cheers'" but I figured he'd do. Inspired by some comments in that post, I played around with the face, making it less lean and long and making the eyes look more "Yeah, you know you want me" and less "Y'know, I could really go for some mashed puh-taters." But now he seems kind of insane. I dunno. What do you think? Oh, and I finally decided on a name for him. (Thanks for the suggestions, guys!)

Presenting: Adonis!

Gender Reassignment Challenge: Looker to ????

Sometimes I like to challenge myself to redesign an existing costume for a different purpose or gender. In the "gender reassignment" challenges, I take a very feminine superheroine costume and butch it up for a male hero, while still trying to retain as many design elements as possible from the female version. In other words, it has to obviously look like the "brother" of the original costume.

Probably one of the most infamously unattractive costumes in the last three decades belongs to the psionic-powered superheroine, Looker. Let's take a gander at her, shall we? (You may wish to don welding goggles or perhaps view the image through one of those pinhole boxes folks use to look at solar eclipses, as the sight of Looker's costume has been known to cause retinal damage.) Okay, is everyone prepared? Here we go.



How about that, huh? A bow and a chain. Give to me your leather; take from me my lace. Plus there's the massive collar, the huge white nipple pads or whatever the heck those things are, and the asymmetry, MY GOD, the asymmetry. It's also unabashedly, almost ridiculously girly. So I wondered if I could find a way of doing that same type of costume for a man. I think I figured out a way to do it. I was even able to retain the color scheme, believe it or not.



Looker, from her name onward, was meant to be a devastatingly beautiful woman. I tried to imagine what the male version might look like. I decided to make him look like something off the cover of a romance novel. The pink tights made me think of old-timey circus performers so I designed the look around what a trapeze artist in the early 19th century might wear. The cloak is of a type favored by some military men (like Napoleon), where the arms go through slits beneath the top layer. And because my guy is supposed to be from a romance novel, he's barechested. (Notice how I made sure he's covering his nipples this time. You're welcome.) That's why I gave him long gloves that cover most of his arms. When he's wearing the cloak, it gives it the feel of a complete coat, with sleeves. Looker's bow is echoed in the guy's sash. I had no use for the chain, so I didn't use it. I simplified the boots, as you can see, but they're soft-soled, like a circus acrobat might wear. And for the most part I ditched the asymmetry, because that shit had to go.

I'm just having trouble deciding what to call this guy. "Looker" sounds too girly. I was thinking of "Dreamboat" maybe. But I'm still not sure. What do you guys think I should call him? Lookie-Lou? The Crotchinator? Baron Hunkmeyer Von Prettypants? I'm up for suggestions!

Stupid Moments In Fashion: Avengers #222 (Part Two)

So, the guy's sitting up there in a green metal harness, and it's only when he takes off the chauffer hat that the Wasp figures out he's not her regular driver. That can mean only one of two things: either the Wasp is frightfully stupid, or she dresses her servants in some pretty bizarre get-ups. My theory was the latter. And it was confirmed (yay, me!) when I snuck into -- er, make that visited the Van Dyne compound. Here's a list of some of the other positions in and around the Wasp's mansion, along with which Marvel Comics villains their uniforms most closely resemble:

1. Butler: Doctor Doom
2. Footmen: Annihilus
3. Valet: Ultron
4. Head Housemaid: Titania
5. Maids: the Enchantress
6. Cook: Magneto
7. Pastry Chef: the High Evolutionary
8. Wine Steward: Baron Zemo
9. Gardener: Thanos
10. Poolboy: the Wendigo (either that or he had a lot of back hair)

Hmmm.... come to think of it, this would also confirm my first theory of the Wasp being frightfully stupid. I win again!

And now, for no reason whatsoever, here's Tiger Shark enduring history's most painful beer fart:

Stupid Moments In Fashion: Avengers #222 (Part One)

Can anybody explain the Wasp's line of thinking here? The She-Hulk is around six-foot-six. How is her figure flattered by putting her in genie pants and puffy sleeves? Is it really imperative that she look bulkier? And if so, why bother with all that fancy sewing? Why not stick her in a burqa, topped with a big, floppy sun hat? Or a beekeeper's uniform?

The She-Hulk obviously hates this costume, and I respect the hell out of her for tempering her response. 'Cause God knows I wouldn't have. The Wasp defends her sorry creation in the next panel: "You're an unusual woman, Jennifer! Your clothes should say that!" (The green hair and skin not doing it for you, honey?) "We want a complete image that'll drive men wild at the sight of you!" (And that means concealing as much of your body as humanly possible!)

The Wasp shows the She-Hulk exactly where she fits on her list of priorities (i.e. down at #732, between "Look in the Yellow Pages for a good chimney sweep" and "Get that Plantar's wart looked at") when the Masters of Evil attack. The She-Hulk rushes off to battle but the Wasp flies in front of her just as she's about to rip her way out of the puffy-yet-restrictive garment. "That outfit is an original!" snaps the Wasp. "Tear it -- and I'll never speak to you again!" So while Moonstone and the Scorpion are pulverizing The Mighty Thor, the She-Hulk has to carefully get out of her ensemble...



...and join the fray in her lacy unmentionables.



Think about it: some poor Korean gal had to wax a full square yard of bikini area. I hope she got a decent tip.

Tomorrow: more fashion-related fun from Avengers #222!

What Typhoid Mary Is Trying To Protect Her Shoulders From

1. fists
2. knives
3. gunfire
4. cannon fire
5. torpedoes
6. catapults
7. baseball bats, both wood and aluminum
8. boomerangs
9. arrows tipped with the poison saliva of rare Amazonian tree frogs
10. karate chops
11. the laughter of popular adolescent girls
12. that one really cool lightsaber in that one Star Wars movie, you know the one I'm talking about
13. sensual massage
14. the harsh rays of the sun
15. laser pointers
16. cat o' nine tails
17. pillow fights
18. grappling hooks
19. piggy-back rides
20. whatever Russell Crowe has in his hands at the time
21. spikey maces and/or extraterrestrial energy weapons
22. birds pooping on them

Number One With A Mullet

Yeah, I'm pretty sure somebody gave me a candy heart with that written on it. Probably from Storm Boy, after we made out that one time and then I made fun of his dorky glasses. "But I designed them myself!" he told me. What the hell ever, Storm Boy.

Annnyway, the image above is a great profile view of the most noble, pure-hearted mullet haircut ever to exist, and of its owner, Longshot (from "Longshot" #6, Marvel, February 1986.) Longshot only has four digits on each hand and his skin has the texture of leather (if his girlfriend is to be believed) but his most deformed feature is that haircut.

Haircuts can go out of style with astounding speed, so even if a superhero's costume is timeless, he or she might still be seen parading around with last decade's coiffure. And the mullet? Back in 1986, everybody and his brother had one of these numbers. Including, I might add, Jeremy Rizza (snicker). But soon enough the mullet moved out of the world of high fashion and into a nebulous redneck timewarp where a man can have the same haircut for two decades or more. And then he passes said haircut onto his own sons. And so on. And then the mullet haircut somehow materializes on their family crest.

It's a real shame, too, because the mullet is truly one of the most unfortunate hairstyles ever to be invented. Right down there with the "rat tail." (Rizza had one of those, too! Haw! What a jerk!) "Business up front, party out back?" Sure, if the business is selling shrunken apple-head dolls from a folding table on the side of Highway 50. And if the party is taking place in an abandoned tool shed, and it gets busted by the FBI because the deejay is a meth dealer.

And here's the kicker: Longshot not only has an ugly, wretchedly out-of-date hairstyle, but it's implied in his miniseries that his hair just naturally kind of grows that way. So he's screwed.

Naw, I'm sure he could get a better haircut if he wanted. I'm sure he's just way too busy fighting evil right now. See, Longshot? I was just givin' ya guff back there. It's what guys do to each other. (Well, it's one of the things guys do to each other. Heh.) So what do you say? Friends?



Criminy, what a drama queen!

Is That A Bowling Pin On His Head?

Yes! Yes, it is. A bowling pin with some pretty embroidery and two cow horns. Apparently the Supervillain Costume Barn was having a clearance sale. And nobody was happier about that than Maur-Kon, the bad guy from Marvel's "Shogun Warriors" #6 (July, 1979). And sure, installing a TV camera in front of the toilet made sense at the time, but who could have guessed some asshole would pirate the signal while you're trying to pass that tainted pulled pork sandwich you ate last night?



"Inside Combatra, Lord Maur-Kon is enjoying himself immensely..." Then why are both his hands in plain sight? And why is he crying? Oh, I understand now. Maur-Kon used to run with a Mexican gang, and they gave him those badass teardrop tattoos they're so fond of. And judging from the elaborate mustache, Maur-Kon also used to be lead tenor in a barbershop quartet. Man, that must have been a hectic schedule. 2:00 PM: pop a cap in Julio's ass. 2:15 PM: join the boys for a medley of Steven Foster tunes over at the Senior Citizens' Center. 2:30 PM: hold switchblade against Paco's right cheek and demand to know "why he always gettin' loud wit' me." 2:45 PM: head over to the Wal-Mart for more mesh t-shirts and mustache wax.

Naw, I'm just funnin', Maur-Kon. So, this is probably the first time anybody on the planet has mentioned you in any context at all in over twenty-five years. How does that make you feel?



Pfft. I have the feeling this wasn't your first time, honey.

And now, some vaguely inappropriate sound effects.



Er... yes. Indeed. "Doosh."

Grating Scott!

You may have picked up the few subtle hints I've scattered, here and there, that maybe, just maybe, I HATE SCOTT KOLINS' COSTUME DESIGNS!

(Ow! I think I just wrecked my voice -- and I was only typing that!)

I think Kolins as an artist is technically competent but otherwise overrated. Yes, fanboys, he draws "realistic" which God knows is a plus for readers with slim-to-no imaginations. But his characters are -- almost to a man! -- ugly. He refuses to use spot blacks, leaving that up to the colorist in even the most obvious situations -- which means that when Kolins draws a villain with eyes that are meant to be little dots of light in a pool of darkness (Grodd, Zoom) the colorist has to fill in the black part. But colorists can't do that, so they usually try to compensate with a muddy purple-gray. Which looks horrible. And here's the thing -- I've seen enough pencilled comic book pages to know that all the penciller has to do to indicate that a shape must be colored in a solid black is to draw a little "X" on it. That's it. Two short pencil strokes. Having read an interview with the guy, it seems to me that Kolins is confusing laziness with artistic flair. Sure, Kolins, there are great comic artists who don't use spot blacks. Moebius, for example. Or Geoff Darrow. Trust me. You're no Moebius or Geoff Darrow.

And Kolins' costume designs are fugly with a captial FUG. Let's take a look at some of his handiwork.



There's Magenta in the purple and silver outfit. A simple, boring, but pleasant enough outfit that's marred by the ridiculous gauntlets. Besides looking goofy, they're utterly impractical. Sure, she's a show-off with the magnetic powers, so she can float a lot of things around instead of handling them. Fine. Now let's see her eat a hoagie.

There's Murmur, with the leather fetish (yawn) costume and the hokey mask and the bad haircut -- because he's CRAZY! -- and he doesn't belong in a Flash comic at all but that's really Geoff Johns' fault. Anyway, I give Kolins points for the pointy-tipped jester clown collar, but that's it.

There's the new Trickster, who dresses like a jackass, but then he is a jackass. So good job, I suppose. That said, his costume is one of those trendy numbers that is not going to age well. Not to mention, it looked tired and out-of-date even when it first appeared.

Girder I have no problem with. And Mirror Master's costume is ugly, but that's not Kolins' fault. Aw, hell! Y'know what? I think I'll blame him for that one, too. (Fucking Kolins.)

Weather Wizard had a pretty stupid costume to start out with but Kolins' redesign is no better. The wide yellow stripes in a stunningly vague tornado shape make him look like a turtle. And check out the treads on the bottom of his jumpsuit. It looks like he's wearing ballet slippers.

But I reserve my deepest hatred for his design of Blacksmith. The costume is overdone and it's in a hideous shade of purple-gray because Kolins can't be bothered to SPOT HIS FREAKING BLACKS! (...Ow! My throat is really sore now!) Check out the huge rings on her upper arms. What are those, napkin holders? Look closely and you'll see completely unnecessary cut-outs that reveal her inner calves. It doesn't look good from a design standpoint, and it sure as heck ain't sexy, unless you're living in Iran and such a scandalous display is forbidden by the Morality Police. And then there's her face. Her ugly, ugly face.



I don't know what on God's green earth Kolins was going for here, but I'm pretty sure he failed. Miserably. In the storyline, Blacksmith has melded metal with her own flesh. And that's what she came up with for herself. Like a typical Kolins design, it's unattractive and riddled with embellishments that do nothing for the character. Sure, she's "evil." And no, I don't think all female comic characters need to be beauties. But Blacksmith's face looks cheesy cartoon evil, and as such it's not really effective. And it looked really familiar to me. For the longest time I racked my brain, trying to recall where I'd seen that kind of goofy ugliness before. It finally hit me.



It was in the Dick Tracy comics.

And it didn't look any better back then.

STUPID FUCKING GODDAMN SCOTT KOLINS!

Ow.

The Bionic Blockade Man-Boy-A-Tron

I found this ad in Marvel's "The Champions" #10 (January 1977). And let me tell ya, the similarities between myself and these two bionic hotties are startling! For instance, you see the two guys wrasslin' like that? Imagine I'm Maskatron. Imagine Steve Austin is Weight Wizard. Now imagine this happening in a candle-lit room with some house music playing in the background. That used to be a typical Friday night at my place. But wait, there's more!



I also adorn my clothes with huge patches depicting my own face!



Just like Steve Austin, I can lift an accordion with ease!



If I shave off my sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops, I look just like that guy who plays Roy on "The Office."



C'mon. I can turn into a steel wall! It's a no-brainer! Also, I can down thirty tequila slammers in one sitting, but another "shot" and ZONK! -- there go my arms and legs!



Okay, now it's getting downright eerie. A denim leisure suit is what I wear on my "special missions!" But instead of a wrist radio, I take along a roll of duct tape, a rubber werewolf mask, salad tongs, pinking shears, a can of Silly String, a helium tank, and peanut butter. Lots of peanut butter.

But perhaps I've revealed too much.

Rebel Without A Nose

"Also, I have these free copies of "The Watchtower" which I'd like to give to you..." The cube-headed irritant pictured above is "Starshine," a really poorly designed cyborg who served as the kind-of love interest for Rom: Spaceknight in the comic book of the same title. Y'see, when the Utopian alien planet Galador was threatened by the Dire Wraiths, they responded by drafting all the able-bodied young people into a cyborg army. For the longest time and for no good reason, Starshine was the only female among them. She's like an armor-plated Smurfette. And her head pisses me off to no end. Especially her face.

The rest of her is okay, I suppose, in a retro 1950's kind of way. Okay, except for the hands. Those look stupid. And then there's the skirt thing, which has a slit in the middle which runs way too high, affording hapless onlookers a great view of her vagina-free crotch region. I think I saw Bai Ling in one of those. But mainly it's her head and face that I hate. Let's start with the head in general. Rom's head was vaguely masculine in that it was a boxy deal resembling nothing so much as a toaster with eyes. Like David Boreanz! As the first female Spaceknight, they tried to come up with a ladylike version. So there's the completely pointless ponytail on top and a head shape that suggests a dainty, feminine chin and high cheekbones. But really, it's just a diamond shaped box. It looks like you could pry her face off, and there'd be a delicious cured ham inside. And then there's her face: a barely convex membrane with no nose, the barest hint of eyes, and a tiny, snippy little triangle-shaped mouth which is usually turned downwards to indicate dismay, or (more often) disapproval. Like so:


Later, she managed through sheer force of will to rearrange her cyborg body into something butcher and more gladiator-themed. (Physics in the world of Rom: Spaceknight were something of a joke.) Guess which part she forgot to fix.



Yep!

Pretension Around The Collar

Now that's what I call a bathrobe! It's a beaut. A real "Sunday-go-ta-meetin'" kind of bathrobe. You wouldn't take that thing into the john with you, no sir! And you couldn't go to sleep in it, either, 'cause you might roll over onto your side, and then the collar would shatter and the pieces would cut the holy bejeebus out of your face. And I'm pretty sure they're made of asbestos.

This delightful garment was worn by Karate Kid in "Legion of Super-Heroes" #288, (June 1982). Artwork by Keith Giffen, back in the brief, glorious time before all his characters looked like chainsaw sculptures. And yeah, the implication in that story is it's a ceremonial robe or somethin' along those lines, since his girlfriend Princess Projectra was about to be crowned Queen of the Entire Freaking Planet of Orando. But I think it was just a bathrobe, and that Karate Kid (the Keven Federline in this situation) told the higher-ups there, "Hey, I'm the future queen's boyfriend, assholes, so I'm gonna wear whatever shit I want to wear, and you are gonna suck it!" Hell, the robe probably has "PIMP" spelled out on the back. In rhinestones.

Now, maybe you think I'm being silly about this. "How can this fancy, uncomfortable thing be a bathrobe?" you ask, the corner of your mouth twitching with impatience for my shenanigans. And I would say, yes, it doesn't look comfortable! Yes, it does look like it's about to eat him alive! But check out what folks on Orando call an "easy chair."



I rest my case.

The Wonderful Neapolitan Ice Cream Suit

You know you're grasping for straws when you have to reference a Ray Bradbury story in the title of your post, and you're not even sure you remembered it right. I dunno, it's just that some days... *weeps openly* Okay, Blockade Boy, shake it off, shake it off. Put yourself in the "zone." *exhales deeply* Let's go!

This is the costume Nightcrawler wishes he had worn! But it's too late for regrets, because the suit got snapped up by one of my favorite Flash villains, the Rainbow Raider. The Raider, a.k.a. Roy G. Bivolo -- ha ha ha! shut up! -- was color blind. Bivolo's pop tried to invent a device that could compensate for that, but the closest thing he created was a pair of goggles that gave the wearer the power to drain the color and vitality from people's bodies, create solid rainbow bridges and prisons, and alter the emotions of anyone he looked at. What a rip-off! This one time, Lenscrafters tinted my prescription sunglasses the wrong shade of smoky gray, so I think I can relate.

Our Mister Bivolo ended up another victim of the violent typing fingers of Geoff "I Need A Hug" Johns. In an act perfectly symbolic of Johns' tenure on the Flash title, he had the Rainbow Raider -- a blatantly goofy but also fun, clever, and well-designed villain -- get murdered by "Blacksmith," a serious, one-note hateful villain of Johns' own creation, who had an eyesocket-scoopingly ugly character design (by Scott Kolins. OF COURSE.) The irony being that Blacksmith herself was also goofy, albeit in a completely unintentional and unpleasant fashion. And then he introduced, years later and seemingly out of nowhere, a seven-person team of color-themed villains calling themselves "The Rainbow Raiders." And to this day, I have no idea if they've ever carried a story on their own. I think they mainly just show up at funerals. Like the Vice-President. What the fuck ever, Johns.

In theory, the Rainbow Raider's outfit shouldn't appeal to me at all. I mean, the man wore a freakin' rainbow. However, the Raider did several things to balance that out. He wore enough black to compensate for all the color. He also varied the width of the stripes, to keep it from becoming boring. And he flared the shoulders, which created an interesting silhouette. So I'd say, "Lookin' sharp, Rainbow Raider! Also? Sorry you're dead now." What do you say, Mister Bivolo?



Atta boy!

Don't Look Down; You'll Poke Your Eye Out

Oops! Too late!

Meet Stellarax, who battled (and was soundly trounced by) Captain Marvel in the final issue of that hero's comic book (#62, May 1979). I first saw this guy's costume when I was a mere lad and thought it was the coolest thing ever. But then I was also seriously into Grranimals, so what the hell did I know? It's only now, as a full-grown Blockade Boy, that I can recognize it for the overdone shitpile that it is. Stellarax, buddy? Let's talk about your costume and all the things that are wrong with it.

1. The bat wings on your helmet. Normally I adore that stuff, but they're such a weird size. Proportionally, they're just off. If they were tinier, like the wings on the Flash's cowl, or if they were bigger, like the wings on Thor's helmet, they would work. But this half-ass nonsense ain't cuttin' it.

2. The built-in eyepatch. It has a hole in it. So you can see out of it. What are you, an idiot?

3. The silver-plated conch shells, er, I mean, "shoulder pads."

4. That collar! Jibbidy Jesus, what in the name of all that is holy is going on with that thing? As you know, I'm all about practicality. So I ask you, Stellarax, just precisely what are those spikes meant to protect? Are you consumed with the fear that somebody might tweak your nipples? Or did the vet put that around you so you wouldn't lick yourself? Also, I think I figured out how you lost that eye.

5. The piping. Piping is a favorite tool of bad costume designers everywhere (see also Kolins, Scott). However, piping is not supposed to be made of actual pipes. And is the hot water on your right arm or your left?

6. The hairball pattern on the gloves, boots, and loincloth. (Loincloth?!) I have one of those little sticky roller things, Stellarax. I could clean that right up for you.

7. Annnd the mace. Let's take a closer look at the mace.



Really went to town there on the spikes, didn't ya? FYI, honey, when the spikes are that close together, well, the damn thing might as well be made out of Nerf. What's that? It's actually an energy weapon? I didn't re-- hey, put that down! Let's not be rash, here. Well, of course I'll apologize! I learned 21st century Earth manners from the greats, like Santino Rice of Project Runway. How would he have put it...? Oh, yes. "I'm sorry you got angry when I explained how shitty your costume looks." Ow! OW!! Dammit, this is like the second time this week somebody's shot at me...