D-List Monsters of Super-Hero Land: The Origami Monster, Part Three

At the end of my last post, Batman had set the paleo-conservative origami monster ablaze, like so many copies of "The National Review." The monster merely reformed itself out of more 8.5" x 11" sheets of plain white paper (which were conveniently stacked nearby), and ran away, shaking its little paper fist. Meanwhile, Dr. Clayton Forrester Watley continues to preach from his bully(ing) pulpit:

The montage has spoken! That night, the sexy young brunette broods in a chair by a ginormous window. "Liberals are a cowardly and superstitious lot," she thinks. "How can I strike fear in their hearts?" Just then, a slutty black cocktail dress and a bottle of hair color in "Piss Blond" #17 crash through the glass, slicing her face to ribbons and necessitating some cut-rate plastic surgery. "That's it!" she declares. "I shall become a total bitch."

Also, Jack "the Creeper" Ryder decides it's time to confront Watley.

Wow, a statue of a gazelle (or what the hell ever) taking a dump? That is elegant! But where the heck is that smoke emanating from? Does he have a hotplate back there? 'Cause I'm telling the landlady.

Is he checking out her (admittedly ample) ass, or does he just covet that skirt? With Ryder, it's a real toss-up.

Later, at the Batcave -- which the Creeper visits so often during this story that he might as well just move in -- the jaundiced juggernaut of justice does his best impression of that clingy dude who has no other friends and tries to fill the awkward pauses in your conversation with awful jokes.

Creeper, you're pissing off The Dadgum Batman, here! Do you want him to punch you in the face? Because he totally will.

Oops, my mistake. I was thinking of the post-Crisis Batman. This one just politely asks you to stop. And if that doesn't work, he'll send you a strongly-worded letter. And if that doesn't work, he'll use his "Bruce Wayne" identity to secretly drive you to financial ruin. Also, you can stop checking your mailbox for any invitations to the Justice League, 'cause they ain't comin'.

Action sequence! Batman and the Creeper follow a bilingual and sloppily punctuated distress call ("Ayude! Help me! Ayude, por favor!") and discover the origami monster attacking either a mother and her little kid, or a hooker and a midget.

Batman shouts at the lady to vamoose. ("Vaya la policia, señora! Ahora!") The Creeper, forgetting what "Bats" had asked him to do three pages earlier, goes on the offensive.

Yeah, I don't think that insult really deserved the "SNAP!" sound effect. (Was that sound produced by the fire escape breaking off, or a really appreciative off-panel beatnik? "Crazy, daddio!" *snap, snap* Or maybe it's a road company of "West Side Story.")

The Creeper nails the origami monster in the noggin, and tears its head off, because it's only super-strong when the plot calls for it it's concentrating, like a paper doll version of Ultra Boy -- er, not that I own any of those.

Again, we see how the pre-Crisis, Dang Ol' Batman was prone to gaping like an EC protagonist at anything even slightly out of the ordinary. Once, a Denny's waitress forgot to charge him for his orange juice. He went into a fugue state and burned the place to the ground.

And now, A Shocking Twist! (If you're not Scipio or Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator, anyway.)

Wait for it...

Aw, hells no! Get the fuck out of here!

How's about you practice cramming it, huh, nerd?

Tomorrow: the stunning conclusion!

The Breakup

Last night I met with Jeremy at the nicest restaurant in Wichita (the Pizza Hut Italian Bistro on south Ridge Road) and we had a good long talk. Jeremy's not mad at me anymore, and we both agreed that I'd overstayed my welcome. With me underfoot all the time, it was hard for Jeremy to get anything done. For instance, he'd just been able to afford to buy Quark Express 7 for his computer, and with me monopolizing it all the time he would never have time to teach himself how to use it (and eventually parlay that into some extra income). Plus there are a lot of other things he needs to do to get out of this rut he's in, and I was "cramping his style" (such as it is). And the feeling was mutual, believe you me. Jeremy's not exactly a party animal. So we both decided it was time I was on my way. At the end of our talk, I grabbed his hand from across the table, looked directly into his eyes, and whispered, "Become who you are."

Yeah, I don't know what that was supposed to mean either.

But enough about Jeremy. What about my needs? I'm going to go look for my future boyfriend, ValXan, and that goofball worldship of his. And I think I'll grow out my muttonchops again, and ditch the 'stache. And dye my hair red. I just can't decide what style I want to wear it in. If you have any suggestions for a hairstyle that looks good with muttonchops, I'm all ears. Like Antennae Lad! The dumb jug-eared bastard...

Oh, and as a gesture of goodwill, Jeremy loaned me the oldest comic book he owns: "Star Spangled Comics" #36 (September, 1944). Yeah... he's never getting that back. Say, let's take a look!

Nobody could rock lemon-yellow jodphurs like Liberty Belle. She was tall enough that it didn't make her ass look big. And her hair was always gorgeous. It's just a shame about her face, huh? She was often mistaken for a thoroughbred Creamello filly, which explains the time I saw a policeman mounting her in Central Park.

You'll notice she doesn't wear a mask. Which makes zero sense, considering she doesn't wear a wig or glasses or nothing in her civilian identity. I think we can thank Roy Thomas for the mask idea. (Finally, something I can thank Thomas for.)

Golly, but her face sure looks familiar. Where have I seen it before? That harsh, bony face, that mane of blonde hair...

Holy shit! It's Super Ann Coulter!

Gah! Let's move on. And quickly!

The Star Spangled Kid's "manservant"* (WINK!) Stripesy also never bothered to wear a mask. I guess his secret identity depended upon there being a surplus of Frankenstein-skulled, slab-like, redheaded goons with bad haircuts in his hometown. (I'm guessing he lived somewhere in Minnesota. Saint Paul, maybe.)

*Yeah, yeah, comic nerds. Technically he was the Kid's chauffeur. So he really knew how to handle a stick... shift. Ye Gads, I am in a positively filthy mood today.)

Case in point:

Here, private detective and closet pervert Penniless Palmer uses a stakeout at a taxidermist's to indulge in some Furry fun. I love how his assistant is all like, "Why do I have to be the walrus? (Again?)"

And now for a snack. *reaches into glove compartment of time bubble*

Aw, yeah! Nothin' like a candy bar from World War 2, I tells ya. They're good and good for you. Just check out the label! In fact, that's the problem with you kids today -- or I guess I should say "back then" since I'm currently speeding through the 2480's -- anyway, that's the problem with you twenty-first century folks.

Not enough dextrose.

Tomorrow: more Star Spangled goodness, and I'll let you know how it goes with ValXan!

Because Nobody Wants the Thing to Reproduce

In a "Fantastic Four" story reprinted in "Marvel's Greatest Comics" #43 (July 1973) Reed Richards fits Ben Grimm with a most peculiar contraption.

Why, it's only the world's bestest birth-control device for men, you confounding corncob beast, you! Mister Fantastic's amazing ExtraTesticular* Device or ETD, gently but firmly locks into place around the testes. These troublesome organs are therefore contained, while the penis slips freely into the ETD's sleek chrome access port. At the first sign of arousal, the ETD's stainless adamantium blades spin into action, shredding the testicles into a harmless gobbets and sweeping them (and any excess liquid) into the easy-to-clean disposal chambers. Your wound is cauterized with a burst of Blastarr-hot electricity, quickly and somewhat cleanly** -- and then your member is at liberty to go about its dirty business, with no possible chance of conception. It's been tested on the Mole Man, so you know it's good! What are you waiting for? Give it a go! Try it on somebody really scary, like Thundra or Ann Coulter.

*The ETD neither removes nor produces extra testicles.
**You can expect the device to belch a wild arc of tomato-red energy, bordered by little black bubbles, and a sound like "KERRRAAAACK!!!"

Not wasting any time, are ya, Thing? You even kicked the first letter of that sound effect out of the way so it now reads "HUMP!" (Sexy!) Wait, where are you headed? No, not her! That's Nicolette Sheridan! STOP! All that silicone will clog the machine and make it--