Suits Me Fine

You know what else Iron Man should wear? A hat. Since he's doing the turtleneck thing (a.k.a. Marianne) I'd give him an arty beret.. or if it was the 1990's, even an irreverent tuke, maybe with a patch on it, like Captain America's head with a big red "X" over it. I actually have a bunch of those on hand, and I made them all myself! Not that I'm one to bear a grudge, mind you. Anyway, that's what Iron Man could wear on a date. For a business meeting or a DUI hearing, I'd recommend a three-piece suit with a nice fedora or a homburg. For company picnics? A peppermint-striped jacket with a straw boater. For leisurely yachting across New Haven Bay, an18th century British admiral's costume (with epaulettes and everything!) and a Cap'n Crunch hat, rakishly cocked. And for a European beach, speedos and a dab of zinc oxide where his nose is supposed to be.

Thank You for Flying Air Noir

Miss? ...Missus? Hello? Hello? *heh-hem* HEY, DUMB-ASS! ...Dang, she is really out of it. I was gonna point out that the plane has apparently lost all electrical power and will most likely plummet to its doom but oh well.

And Tony is too busy marveling over how the impromptu chiaroscuro lighting makes his handsome face look all mysterious and wise and shit. "I should ditch the fluorescents and just put in some of those brazier thingies like Steve Strange has in his pad," he thinks. "Then maybe I could get me some of that extra-dimensional tail!" (Seconds later, the cabin is engulfed in flames.)

Planescape: Torment

*crackle* This is your captain speaking... an overabundance of melodramatic thought balloons is increasing the plane's aerodynamic drag, so our arrival time will be pushed back about half an hour... if you have a problem with that, you may want to take it up with the self-pitying billionaire in seat 1-B... also, I'm afraid we have no more of those teeny liquor bottles, because the billionaire drank them all... the stewardesses will be coming around with small pillows that can be used to throw at or forcibly smother the billionaire... that is all... *crackle*

Earth vs. the Flying Boozehound

Before the advent of notebook computers, air travelers had to use briefcases to cover up their socially-inappropriate boners!

So, assuming he's not waggling that red pen as a symbol of his constrained dingus (a true martyr for our time!) what is he's doodling? Is he...

1. Figuring out a way to maximize his own brooding?
2. Plotting his route to the airport bar (or Marianne's vagina)?
3. Drawing a mean-spirited, racist caricature of the Mandarin? (Admittedly, the Mandarin already was something of a racist caricature.)
4. Sequencing the DNA for what will be named "Scarlett Johansson"?
5. Diagramming Marvel's "Civil War" crossover, inadvertently creating a mathematical formula which proves there is no God?
6. Inventing the world's first voice de-activated bra clasp?

I'm stumped! What do you guys think he's scribbling?

So Do All the Hookers Have to Sleep in the Barn, or What?

Contrary to popular belief, Washington, D.C. actually consists of a handful of monuments scattered about a wheat field.

Fluffy Bubbles of Pure Love

I would have broken this down into smaller panels but as you can see, the ConwaySpeak tends to overlap itself. Except for in that first panel, which must be feeling awfully lonely right now. C'mon, First Panel Demitrius! Come out from around that corner. You could be smothered in word balloons right now! (It's fun!)

I love how Slasher's blocking makes it look like he's standing up and playing an electric organ.

(And speaking of my robotic dingus, I'm reminded that it's about time for its next scheduled maintenance. Three months or three thousand bouts of torrid lovemaking with Weight Wizard, whichever comes first! Tusker, put the pita pocket down, grab a drain pan and a big can of oil, and slide yourself underneath me.)

Because You Politely Requested It

It's my 2nd Bloggiversary today! (See?) That means posting will be light while I'm feted by my entire crew... under my strict supervision, natch. (Tusker, that ice cream cake you made in my likeness is sub-par. Start over!) Anyway, this is all I have for you today.

Well, I certainly can't find fault with Slasher's headgear, now can I?

But those jumpsuits--! Black polka dots on army green? Are they an elite unit of party clowns? Did they just come back from the paintball range and they didn't have time to change? Are those just oddly-placed sweat stains? And don't try to tell me it's "camouflage" unless they're going to infiltrate a Baskin-Robbins and skillfully blend in with the mint-chocolate chip.

(Also, I can't figure out why Slasher's hotplate has a detonator.)

Pinch Me; I Must Be Dreaming

You know how I'd take care of this joker? Drawn butter, and puh-lenty of it!

Wow! Just what in th' Sam Scratch is going on here?! Was Grant Morrison interning at Marvel in 1971? Did Stan Lee's gofer slip a little something extra into his coffee? (And I don't mean "Sweet 'n' Low.") Am I imagining the whole thing, and everybody else looking at this freak is seeing the Melter or some shit?

The cover is a bit misleading, as the fellow with the crab-claw cranium is not named the Slasher and his groovy orange costume is actually a demure olive green. Which I think is George Tuska's and Jim Mooney's woefully misinformed notion of camouflage.

Welcome to the crazy mixed-up world of "Iron Man" #41 (September 1971), without a doubt one of the worst comic books I've ever encountered in my entire life. And I say this as someone who's read "Oblivion." It's written by Gerry Conway at his most hysterically overwrought. And like a lot of Conway's books, most of the characters can be divided into two categories:
1. Snide, hateful jerk-offs who talk way too much
2. Whiny, self-pitying douchebags who talk way too much

Believe it or not, there are a few nice silent panels. Sadly, they merely serve as literary "palette cleansers" -- preventing your brain from becoming numb to young Conway's hackery before assaulting it afresh. Probably 95% of the panels are so stuffed with purple prose that the characters are reduced to the size of ants. In fact this comic is so bad I'm tempted to go all "Gravity Girl" on its ass and blog it in excruciating detail. I mean, get a load of this caption box from the very first page:

"Slightly moist?!"

Cross-dressing Pajama Party!

Hey, don't judge them too harshly -- as you can see, hubby's completely smooth from the neck area on down. If that's what it takes for them to achieve intimacy, so be it. (And don't even think of asking about all the mustard bottles on her vanity.)

MTV Cribs: The Mighty Samson

Some happy day I'll create a holovision channel devoted exclusively to the faux-fur-wearing barbarian and the faux-fur-wearing barbarian lifestyle. And my first subject will be "the Mighty Samson."

Oh yeah. That's a totally fake pelt he's sporting. He tells everybody he skinned it off a "liobear" but I know for a scientific fact those things ain't magenta and their fur is impervious to dye. My guess: "the Mighty Samson" salvaged his "skins" from the floors, walls and ceiling of an old van. (It wasn't a-rockin', so "the Mighty Samson" came a-knockin'.)

Show us around your pad, "the Mighty Samson!"

And it doubles as a toilet!

Say--! What's that on the wall? How quaint, a flat-screen plasma TV! What're you watchin'? The History Channel or some-- oh.

Dang, we are a "modern stone-age fam-i-ly", aren't we? Boring! Please, tell me you at least hiding a jewelry safe or a peephole into your bath area or a cage containing the trussed and gagged body of the real "the Mighty Samson" behind that thing.

Hang on, the Mad Thinker's even lamer cousin wants to show off. Preach it, Poindexter!

Christ. He says the word "cannons" and his eyes automatically land on her chest. Which wouldn't be half as creepy if he wasn't her father.

And honey? Could you stop thrusting? Seriously. Just turn that shit off for half-a-minute. And the next time you buy a sweater, consider going a size up. Also, we need to sit down sometime and have a nice long talk about the way you've been eating popsicles and corndogs.

Well, at least the positively asexual "the Mighty Samson" isn't suckered in by such obvious ploys! Isn't that right, "the Mighty Samson?"

"...Because I just happen to own a 'French maid' costume..." *thrust, jiggle*

TURN IT OFF, I said!

(See? Auto seats! I told you he raided a van!)

Tom Morrow: What's the Deal with His Head?

In "Mighty Samson" #16 (Gold Key, November 1968), Tom Morrow and Cindia save an entire city from annihilation but they're the only two characters who appear on panel. Which leaves me really confused about his head.

I don't get it. He's got this taut, muscular body but his head is huge and infantile, with a bulbous forehead and a pug nose and pert little lips. (And yet his hair is receding at a rapid pace.) Is he a mutant? Or Irish? Is it just because he's from the future? Because that Cindia person looks just like him! Are they related? Am I reading too much into this? Does the artist merely draw everybody like that, with regular-shaped bodies and gigantic noggins? Igor Kordley did. So did Dan Spiegel and Mike Hoffman and Ernie Colon! *awaits rash of hate mail for besmirching the good name of these fine gentlemen* Fine! Bring it! See if I care!

...I'm sorry. I'm getting testy again. Where is Weight Wizard with my coffee? And of course I think all of those artists I mentioned are very talented; it's just that sometimes they drew people with really big heads.

Hmm. Maybe if I Google "Tom Morrow", that will explain everything. *taps furiously on keyboard*

Holy crap, he's supposed to be a teenager! With that body? He's ripped! How does that work? Teenage boy with an adult body and a baby's head... feh! Who does he think he is? Someone from the Disney Channel? Or Ivan from season two of "So You Think You Can Dance?" Or that baby-headed marionette from Michael Powell's "Tales of Hoffman" movie? The one who was played by a woman and who was last seen getting spanked by the puppeteer's big dopey assistant? Sorry, I couldn't find an image of that but it's "good old-fashioned nightmare fuel" as they say on MST3K. Er, but I digress.

And don't even get me started on Cindia.

Looks Like Somebody Could Use a Stronger Sunblock

Yes, it's astounding what an inker forgetting to draw in a neckline in a single panel can do to a fella's imagination.

This is "Tom Morrow" by the way, from a backup story in Gold Key Comics' "Mighty Samson" -- and by "backup" I mean "smack-dab in the middle of the book." Mighty Samson's rugged exploits were divided into two chapters with Tom Morrow's boring crap in the middle. I presume Tom Morrow served as an emotional release valve (or "heat sink") of sorts, so that Samson fans wouldn't get overstimulated and start humping one another right then and there.

S*A*S*H

Let's say it's 1968 and you're a spazzed-out, dork-a-tronic teenage nerdmeister. What's the one thing you could wear that would guarantee a savage beating at the hands of a total stranger?

Yeah, that ought to do it.

Wigged Out

...So I had Weight Wizard organize my collection of ancient romance comics the other day while I steered the ship around a pesky asteroid belt. (When is the United Planets gonna finish cleaning that shit up?! Sure, a spaceway crew was on the scene in their orange spacesuits but there was maybe one guy working while six other people were just floating there, drinking coffee.) Suddenly I hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet and sure enough it's Weight Wizard all out of breath and clutching my copy of "Heart Throbs" #130 (DC, February-March, 1971).

"Here's the dealio," he panted. "I really think you oughta buy one of these!" He presented the back cover, which had a full-page ad for...

"Give me that!" I growled. He meekly handed me the crumbling periodical and I swatted him in the nose with it. "I don't wear wigs," I thundered. "I tell other people to wear wigs!"

Weight Wizard turned pale, but with an eager smile plucking at the corners of his mouth. "But--!" he ventured.

"But what?!"

"Well... I figured maybe you could wear it on top of your cowl. Like the original Captain Marvel! ...Marvel Universe version, of course."

"...That's actually not a bad idea." I have to confess I always liked that look, with the big blond sideburns on the outside of his mask. What? Of course he wore a wig! His real hair is dark brown and curly, and it's massive. Kind of a 'fro, to be honest.

I held onto the comic and after I'd steered us all to safety I studied the ad some more.

Let's see... I already am "bewitching" and "daring". Admittedly, "winsome" and "demure" would be new ones for me but I'd just as soon not, thank you very much. And I often make a "split-second change to a new personality." Just ask Weight Wizard! ...Although now that I think about it, I'd be more accurately described as "bi-polar." Let's see... blah, blah, blah, "surprising new adventures"... "life of the party"... yeah, been there, done that. And I've never heard of this "Sarnel" fiber before. Is it any good?

Oh, it's not. You've failed to impress me, wigmaker! Still, you may show me your wares, for my own amusement. BEGIN! *imperiously snaps fingers* (I just made a split-second change to a new personality!)

Ah, the "I'm incubating a nest of possum babies in my hair and I don't care who knows it" wig.

The "OMG Carol Burnett is teh sexy" wig.

Wow. So they let Steve Ditko design a wig!

I didn't know they still had flappers in 1971. I'm guessing a grandma ordered this one and she jitterbugged in front of her mirror until she broke a hip and collapsed onto the floor, yards away from a telephone. When her family came around to check up on her weeks later, they found the granny dead on the floor with her cats lapping at her corpse and her dog wearing the wig. ...Cripes. That was morbid, wasn't it? My apologies. Let's forget this ever happened. Next!

The "Melted Beehive!" She thought she could rival the height of Night Girl's hair! Little did she suspect that Night Girl's hair has heat vision.

And finally...

Party out back, business up front. Unfortunately, the "party" is an Antebellum cotillion circa 1855, with slaves and everything. Gross.

Did She Move Into an Apartment or a Cow's Stomach?

It's the Swamp Thing's city place! In fact, he might still be there, disguised as the drapes or... Good Lord! *choke* Your purse! Drop your purse! Drop it! And run! Run! Don't look back! I'll stay here and fend him off! Don't look--!

(Are they gone?)

Heh.

Suckers. *rifles through credit cards*

There's exactly one appealing item in this room and it's the door. And I love how the mom's outfit is only barely frumpier than her daughter's. They're both huge fans of voluminous, tent-like coats. Because after all, what's sexier than looking like your legs have been amputated and jammed up inside a church bell?

Gender Reassignment Challenge: Gravity Girl to Gravity Guy

(Sorry about the delay... my internet was on the fritz from Monday evening to about forty-five minutes ago.)

From the article “Am Me Ever Peculiar!” in the mini-magazine “Funny Book Purgatory!” by cartoonist Nedra Scott on Earth B-1234)

The Supergirl of Miniberg!
Exploit Comics # 285 / NPP / June 1961 / a: CURT SWAN / s: LEO DORFMAN
Lanford Lang (who in reality is Gravity Guy) foils yet another attempt by Kendra Clark to reveal his secret identity. Kendra’s convoluted scheme – involving the town square’s “painted waters” (intensely dyed and probably toxic) fountain, a trained pigeon and a pinhole camera – meets swift retaliation, as Lanford uses his “magno-wind” powers to knock her flat on her ass in front of (apparently) Miniberg’s entire population. Kendra is humiliated (“My shirt is torn! Why, everyone can see my midriff!”) and dashes home to change clothes. She finds herself running faster and faster until she flies up into the air! She reports this event to her parents, who respond with not one, but two life-changing revelations:
1. She’s adopted.
2. She’s most likely from outer space.
Gobsmacked Kendra is informed that her mom and dad discovered her as a baby in the wreckage of a rocketship but since she resembles a human being they love her anyway. The Clarks surmise that puberty has activated “some alien organ”, allowing her to fly. Kendra declares in the very next panel that she will embark upon a career as a crimefighter, a decision which her parents support whole-heartedly. Ma Clark sews for her an ugly blue suit with red granny panties on the outside, (what might be history’s very first) go-go boots and a cape. Kendra adds a papier-mache “princess” mask to the ensemble by way of protecting her identity, modestly dubs herself “Supergirl” and flits through an open window, into her first adventure! Uh-oh! There’s a robbery in progress! Kendra discovers she has quite a large (and random) collection of superpowers. She uses “super hearing” to eavesdrop on a police scanner, “x-ray vision” to find thieves who tunneled into a bank vault, “heat vision” to melt through the door, “invulnerability” to make the robbers’ bullets bounce off her chest, “super strength” to clobber them senseless, “super breath” to blow them through the air to the police station and “super-ventriloquism” (you heard me) to make it seem like they’re confessing. Gravity Guy finds out! He’s perfectly livid. (“This ‘Supergirl’ sounds like a real wildcard! Will she use her tremendous powers for good? Or evil?”) Supergirl lends Gravity Guy a hand in tackling numerous bad guys and disasters. He ever-so-grudgingly accepts her help, all the while searching for her weakness.(“Crimefighting is a dangerous business for a girl! Even a Supergirl! If she’s not careful, she could be hurt!”) Soon enough, Supergirl starts screwing up, falling from the sky over a rock quarry and dropping a priceless emerald because it feels “hot.” Gravity Guy finds chunks of a similar green mineral in the rock quarry and deposits them in a chest, which he tricks Supergirl into opening. She yelps in pain! Immediately she passes out and starts to glow a sickly green. Gravity Guy removes her mask. Looking even smugger than usual, he flies her unconscious body to the Clark home. With zero prompting on Gravity Guy’s part, the Clarks tell him everything they know. Gravity Guy calls for his “friend” Professor Lang. The professor relates his latest discovery: the supposed emerald and the other green rocks that injured Supergirl were in fact meteorites which have a “poisonous effect” on whatever the heck species Kendra belongs to. Gravity guy gives the Clark family a good stern lecture. (“Suppose a criminal found one of these rocks and used it on Supergirl while she was saving someone! More than one life could be lost!”) Professor Lang has another surprising discovery! It’s another meteorite, only gold, and he theorizes it could remove Supergirl’s powers without (otherwise) harming her. Ma and Pa Clark give the Professor the go-ahead. (Kendra is still knocked out.) It works! Gravity Guy uses his powers of “Magno-Amnesia” (magnesia?) to re-order the blood flow in Kendra’s brain. It gives her “a tiny stroke” and wipes out her memory of the last few days. Kendra wakes up! She wants to know why she’s wearing that strange costume! Everybody laughs.

(With apologies to the great Scott Saavedra, whose writing style I kind-of, sort-of, tried to mimic there, after a fashion and in a way. It was tough, too. For one thing, I swear way more than he does.)

In a gender-reversed universe, “Gravity Guy” would be just as much of a tool as Superboy. He’d also be the big fish in his little town – the original hero – and so he wouldn’t wear a mask. “Lanford Lang” would be a bespectacled coward with bad posture and the dull-witted population of “Miniberg” wouldn’t think to draw a connection between the two 5’9, red-haired and freckled sixteen-year-olds. (Also, the mask was already ultra-masculine and it was homely as hell.) I didn’t have to do much to Gravity Girl’s costume to make it suitable for a Silver Age boy hero. The skirt is now trunks, and they’re admittedly a tad longer than Robin’s, if only because I personally loathe the combination of bare thighs and covered arms on male heroes. Still, I think I made the trunks short enough to be plausible for that time period. I don’t know what the hell that black thing on Gravity Girl’s chest was supposed to be and I don’t care to know, so I altered it into a more attractive symbol. I’m still not sure what it stands for – an atom? Some kind of road sign? The overhead view of a 19th Century Utopian community? – but it certainly looks nicer. I framed the symbol in thick black lines to make it clear that the top is a one-piece and not that effed-up “twin set” or whatever the hell Lana was wearing. And to balance the top, I added black trim to the trunks, cape, gloves, and boots. I changed the red on the belt to green; I figured as the star of his own comic, Gravity Guy wouldn’t be wearing a superpower-bestowing accessory that called attention to itself.

So Who Thinks They Want to Be a Superhero Who Can Dance With the Stars?

This panel has zero to do with fashion, but it's so resplendently awesome that there was no way I could live with myself if I didn't post it.

Gee, Your Corpse Smells Terrific

Thirty-three years ago today, the CIA's nerve-damaging chemical compound XBD-8 was first tested in the field. Today you people know it as "Axe Body Spray."

You Can't Fly!

And so the saga of Gravity Girl draws to its inevitable (for 1961) conclusion. Superboy, would you care to sing us the story's moral to the tune of "You Can Fly" from "Peter Pan"? Thank you.

Think of the burn on your arm
And of boulders doing harm
Think of splinters, think of pain
Worst of all, your stupid brain
If you only were a guy--!

You can’t fly! You can’t fly!
You can’t fly! You can’t fly!

Soon you’ll walk all around the town,
Keep your feet upon the ground
But a bicycle is no fuss
Or if riding trolleys make you cuss
Take the municipal bus

You can’t fly! You can’t fly!
You can’t fly! You can’t fly!

Fly with a belt on your waist
Crash and turn your ass to paste
Don’t take the job of a man
You can’t do what the fellas can
Now go make me a pie

You can’t fly! You can’t fly!
You can’t fly! You can’t fly!

At Last, None of It Comes Together

The belt can't repel wood? Like, for instance, a whole big pile of it? And she was able to snap the rope that tethered the balloon (with super strength!) because why, precisely? Listen, I'm not trying to be a jerk about this (although it does come naturally to me) but would it have killed them to at least honor the continuity within their own story?

Also, the belt is a rare artifact from a now-extinct and possibly extraterrestrial civilization but Professor Lang the archaeologist (who discovered the damn thing) thinks it should be destroyed. He's probably gonna head back down there right now and blow up the giant chia pet, Taliban-style!