All Fall Down

People sure faint a lot in "The Invincible Iron Man." What is this, a Henry James novel? Should they all be clutching lace hankies as they crumple to the ground? Were they really exhausted or just overcome by a fit of "the vapors?" Will Nick Fury show up in a stovepipe hat and a waistcoat, carrying a bottle of smelling salts? No, for realsies. Well, at least a story with three different characters fainting in it (one of them twice!) is so ridiculous that Young Gerry Conway would never have the temerity to resort to anything even approaching it, ever, ever again.

Oh, wait...

Gah!

And it gets worse. A jagged edge explosion balloon, in pink, no less, explaining how Iron Man feels or maybe telling him how to feel? (More "ESP"! Is Marvel Girl just around the corner? Or in the dumpster?) And a "next issue" blurb that's a non-committal as Iron Man himself? I'm surprised anybody bought the next issue. Thank God for subscriptions, huh, Marvel?

Sweet Jeebus, this thing is a mess. Like I've said before, Old Gerry Conway is a fine television scriptwriter, but his early comics stuff just gives me a bellyache. But I think my feelings about "The Invincible Iron Man" #41 can best be said in a bit of dialog by Old Jerry Siegel:

Iron Man, the Musical

Poor Demitrius is just being crushed by all those dialog balloons. It's like a punishment from the Fanboy Bible (which I have just made up):

And he that blasphemeth the name of the BENDIS, he shall surely be put to death, and all the convention-goers shall surely balloon him. (Newsaramicus 24:16)

Oh, and the "millions of chords, struck and restruck," Demitrius? You're not having a freak-out; you're just overhearing the Philip Glass concert at Kennedy Center.

"Isn't it always?" God damn but Iron Man's a douche. I hate it when somebody pulls that "I'm pretending to be empathetic but I'm secretly saying I'm way better at handling stress than you are, you little pussy" crap. Ironically, I do that to Tusker all the time. Takes one to know one, I guess.

(And what's the deal with Marianne's knock-kneed stance? Does she have to pee?)

Hard, Moist, Throbbing Reality

Pop quiz, hotshots! Do you know what caused Iron Man to rally his strength just now?

1. He popped a nitro pill (washed down with a little Jim Beam).
2. Reserve batteries (two Energizer D-Cells) kicked in.
3. The vague proximity of Marianne has energized the notorious horndog like a can of spinach does for Popeye. And that familiar steam whistle "TOOT! TOOT!" noise is issuing from Tony's wang.
4. Skrull powers, activate! Yup, that (alleged) subplot's been brewing ever since "Tales of Suspense."
5. It's the fifth panel from the end and Young Gerry Conway realized he'd written himself into a corner, so screw it.

The correct answer is number five. Duh. And sadly, this still puts Young Gerry Conway ahead of Young Geoff Johns (circa "Stars and S.T.R.I.P.E.") and Middle-Aged Peter David (circa his later issues of "Young Justice"), both of whom would just let the remaining five pages or so of one story spill over into the following issue before herky-jerkily shifting into a completely different plot. Man, what I wouldn't give to be a comic book editor in your era. All you had to do was sit on your ass drinking coffee and scarfing down donuts, and occasionally make a cryptic announcement to "Newsarama" or order some hack to redraw a character's rack/junk a tad smaller. And you know me: I wouldn't even bother with that last part. In fact, my demands would be quite the reverse. *sighs wistfully*

The Line to Punch Young Gerry Conway in the 'Nads Forms Here

Why, that whole bit about Demitrius suddenly turning into a crabclaw-tentacled giant with tits on his head was all an illusion! *commands Storm Boy to play old-timey Vaudevillian "stinger" on latest model of Electric Sousasaxotimpanibone* WHACKITY SMACKITY DOO-ooo-OOO!*

How do you like that, readers? Where's your O. Henry now? Young G. Night Shamaconway must've been beside himself with glee, musing on the cleverness of this unexpected twist. Never mind that Illusion Demitrius still managed to knock the crap out of Iron Man, rendering the "twist" both pointless and incomprehensible. But you all must admit, you didn't see it coming. Because it's STUPID.

(In the background, Iron Man spots what could very well be a small puddle of vodka next to that broken bottle, and takes measures to secure it.)

*With all due respect to Patton Oswald.

Are You Troubled by Restless Subplot Syndrome?

As if Iron Man already couldn't handle one emotionally unstable psychic whack-job, here comes Marianne! Oh, JOY.

Here's what would have made her part in this comic about a hundred times better: if Young Gerry Conway had dispensed with that scene of her having that knock-kneed brainfart at the Bates Motel or where-the-hell-ever and just had her run from the airport directly into that alley. He could have interspersed the boring "Danger! Budget Death Ray!" plot with panels showing Marianne sprinting alongside the airport shuttle bus, and then down the interstate, and through the suburbs, past famous attractions (maybe all the way up and down the stairs in the Washington Monument) until finally she arrives at the end of the comic. And the whole time she could just be having a fit, flailing her limbs and hollering, knocking stuff out of bystander's hands, Ron Burgundy-style, and generally making a nuisance of herself.

I mean, that's how I'd have written it.

Name the Source of that Irritating Racket! (AAAEE!)

• Slasher's eye-lasers
• Demitrius' poorly thought-out and grossly undefined mental powers
• Air escaping from Iron Man's armor while it melts
• Tony's self-pity, which has transcended mere words to manifest as an endless, ominpresent keening, like unto the banshee washer-women of lore. (Christ, now I'm writing like Conway. Somebody, slap me! No, belay that, you'd just screw it up. I'll slap me! ...YEOWW!)
• Marianne, all the way from her crappy hotel room
• The squealing tires of the sinister VW van, as Lucie runs their asses down and ends this stupid comic for once and for all.
• Whitepants the Brave, pining for more sweet, sweet armor-humpin'.
• Senator Stogie, ramming his "appropriations bill" through some page's "subcommittee."
• Me, as I realize I still have one-and-a-half pages left of this four-color turdburger to blog.

Let's Koo-Koo-operate!

The tensions that led to the epic Slasher/Demitrius battle have been brewing since page one, and yet the fight itself lasted a mere four panels. Suddenly, I long for decompressed storytelling! No, for realsies, 'cause I think these two ladies had it in them to go for at least a couple of issues, with maybe a Giant-Sized Special to wrap things up. And then there'd be nothing left of them but a smoldering crabclaw and a busted goggle lens.

But no. Young Gerry Conway had to get all Sesame Street on us and interrupt the titillating (and no, that's not a reference to Demitrius' forehead) carnage for a lesson in "cooperation." And so Slasher (the vivacious, orange-headed Ernie of the duo) and Demitrius (the morose, pigeon-dancing Burt) inexplicably set aside their animosity so they can finish beating on Iron Man.

But Iron Man is doing a dandy job of self-destructing, a-thank you very much, with the aid of an armor suit that's powered by a watch battery, apparently, and -- of course -- his inexplicably Peter Parker-like self-pity. (It's kinda hard to move that big chunk of machinery off your back when you're wearing it, huh, Iron Man?)

Regrets, He's Had a Few

So... what size bra do you think Demitrius' forehead wears? Granted, the bra would have tantalizing cut-outs for his "golden pincers of pure power." ...GAH! Dang it, George Tuska, did you bother to read Young Gerry Conway's script at all? Uncredited colorist, you're also due for a savage knuckle-rapping. Get in line behind Young Conway and Tuska. Jim Mooney, because I like you so much, you get to watch! No, thank you. (...Storm Boy wants to know who I'm talking to. SILENCE, FOOL!!!)

And I have to ask... does Iron Man even need a villain at this point? Because he's already paralyzed by his own whining.

And Now, the Crustacean You've All Been Waiting For

Y'know, I was going to break this sequence down into individual panels, but as you can see, George Tuska (pencils) and Artie Simek (lettering) made it damn near impossible. So screw it. And heck, it is the book's climax, and as I used to say to my dates, "I might as well show it to you in all its uncut glory."

• The very idea of Demitrius lends itself well to the kind of surreal, almost dadaist fun that superhero comics can do so well. Unfortunately, it's all weighted down by mounds of soggy, pretentious "Marvel Method" prose. Blech.
• "Creature"? "Transformed non-man"? Sure, a guy sprouts a couple of cranial lobster arms and suddenly he's a monster. Would you have used those words if you'd written the comic where Abra Kadabra turned the Flash into a marionette, Young Gerry Conway? I should think not. Young Gerry Conway is unfair to mutated proto-Serbs!
• [Setting: the interior of a brownstone in Hackensack. The Del Pieros, a retired couple, are having coffee in their dining room when someone rings the doorbell.]
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: I'll get it, honey. [She opens the door and sees a twenty-foot-tall man in green coveralls, with lobster-clawed arms protruding from his skull.] Yes...? Oh! You must be the new delivery guy my neighbor Mrs. Totti mentioned... Demitrius, is it?"
  
  UPS guy: Yea... I am Demitrius -- and I bring DEATH! [He presents her with a small cardboard box.]
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: Death? For me? But I didn't send away for any death.
  
  [Demitrius is busy punching buttons on his electronic clipboard, but acknowledges her with a shrug.]
  
  Mrs. Del Piero [calling to husband]: Honey? Did you order my death?
  
  Mr. Del Piero [raises coffee mug cheerfully]: Not today, honey! But don't tempt me!
  
  [They both chuckle at this.]
  
  Demitrius [presents her with the clipboard and his stylus]: Just sign here, and here, and here.
  
  Mrs. Del Piero [hesitates]: I don't know if I'm-- I mean, could I send this back? If it's no trouble? It's just that I not ready for death.
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Who's it from?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: Hang on, I'm talking to the delivery guy!
  
  Mr. Del Piero [louder]: What...? Who's it from? Who sent it to you?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero [frustrated]: How should I know?!
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Well, it's got a shipping label, don't it?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: Oh, for--! Fine! [she examines the box] Oh! It's from my sister!
  
  Mr. Del Piero: WHAT...?!!
  
  Mrs. Del Piero [hollers]: IT'S FROM MY SISTER! [to herself] I suppose I can't send this back to her...
  
  [She reluctantly signs the form, and Demitrius departs. She carries the little box into the dining room and sits back down with her husband.]
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Well? Aren't you gonna open it?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: Oh, I'd rather not. I guess I'll just put it away somewhere.
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Like where?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: I thought maybe in the -- [catches herself, smiles, and wags her finger at him] Oh! You're a very naughty boy!
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Almost got you! [grins, takes a sip of coffee] So what are you gonna tell your sister when she calls and asks how you like your death?
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: I'll just lie and tell her it's wonderful.
  
  Mr. Del Piero: Ah, so it'll be just like our wedding night! [then, wistfully] ...Y'know, I probably will kill you someday.
  
  Mrs. Del Piero: Get in line, darling.
  
  [They both laugh.]
  
  [Fade out.]
• Reading the captions, I have to wonder if Young Gerry Conway ever intended for Demitrius to be drawn with lobster-clawed cranial appendages in the first goddamn place. He talks about fire and lightning bursting from Demitrius's brain and grabbing Iron Man, not some kooky monster arms. I'm guessing he had pictured some kinda Kirby-kracklin' energy spewing out from a bloated noggin and not the Golden Age-styled nonsense Tuska wound up drawing. The sad part is, the story's better for Tuska's "mistake."
• Demitrius to Slasher: "And that is why you are the tool--!" Preach it, brother!
• "Mister Kline!" Ugh. Once again, this limpest of villain names ruins a perfectly good melodramatic pronouncement. It would have been exponentially cooler if Demitrius had said "Doctor Doom!" or "Kang the Conqueror!" or hell, even "Zarrko the Tomorrow Man!" Anything but "Mister Kline!"
• George Tuska's groundhog-like fear of delineating shadows makes it easy to pretend that in that largest panel, Demitrius hasn't quadrupled in size after all, but has merely leapfrogged over Iron Man, into the foreground. And as we all know, Demitrius is fond of leaping.
• Are your appetites whetted for a balls-out battle between Iron Man and Demitrius? They are? Well, too damn bad, because Young Gerry Conway thought the next panels would be best put to use looking in on Mr. Kline and his "uncluttered desk." Heh.

L'il Gerry Conway and the Eastside Boyz

Why yes, it is "KRUNK", isn't it?

Slasher really isn't into the whole "banter" thing. Mainly because it takes time away from his soliloquizing. (This just in: sources report that Slasher was wedded to the sound of his own voice this past weekend, in a grim Socialist ceremony in the crater of a smoking volcano.) Check it: in the second panel, Iron Man turns Slasher's attempted filibustering into a charming bit of overlapping dialog that wouldn't sound out-of-place in "The Philadelphia Story." Take that, "Fingers"!

Just Six More Panels 'Til Lobstertime

Luckily for Slasher, Iron Man is only in the first stage of drunkenness: the "light-hearted, irreverent life-of-the-party" stage. (That's the stage Dean Martin hovered around for most of his benighted existence.) Things might've gone a lot worse if Iron Man had chanced upon them in one of his other five stages of drunkenness. (Depending on the intelligence of the individual, one can experience up to ten distinct stages of drunkenness. Brainiac 5 is rumored to go through thirty-eight stages of drunkenness, Storm Boy has nine stages and Tusker has one-half.) I ran a computer simulation, and here are stages two through six of Iron Man's drunkenness:

Stage Two Drunkenness: "The Benefactor"

Iron Man: Hey! Hey, guys! What's up, buddies?

Slasher: You! Stand back! I'll use my eyes--!

Iron Man [picks up the transmitter, vigorously shakes it]: This broke or sumpin'? Don't worry, I can totally fix it for you. Didja know, did I ever tell you before, I gots my own technology company? I think. I'm like a total expert on these things. Say, what's this do? [presses sequence of buttons]

Slasher: Don't touch that, you fool--!

[They're all vaporized by a small nuclear explosion]

Stage Three Drunkenness: "The Lothario"

Iron Man: Well, hello there, flyboy! I got iron in my pants and I want to dance!

Slasher: You!

Iron Man [seizes Slasher and does wild "Lindy hop" with him around the alley, swinging his body around like a rag doll]: You like polka dots baby? 'Cause I know who I'd like to "polka"...

Slasher: Let go of me, you fool!

Iron Man: Hang on, gorgeous, this next move's a little tricky...

[He tosses Slasher in the air but is distracted by a shiny new nickel and forgets to catch him. Slasher lands on the transmitter, setting off a small nuclear explosion.]

Stage Four Drunkenness: "The Patriotic Homophobe"

Iron Man: Two guys in an alley... in matching jumpsuits?! Aw, hells no.

Slasher: You!

Iron Man: What the fuck kind of accent is that? What're you, a Russkie? Zero tolerance, motherfucker! [He incinerates both Slasher and Demitrius while chanting "U.S.A., U.S.A., U.S.A.--!"]

Stage Five Drunkenness: "The Bitter A-hole" (note: this is often indistinguishable from Stage Four)

Iron Man: Goddamn it, now what? I suppose I gotta fly down there now and "do something"... Christ, why does it always have to be me?

Slasher: You!

Iron Man: Yeah, "me." It's always goddamn "me", goddamn it! D.C.'s a big town; why can't they get their own goddman superhero? Huh? Answer me that!

Slasher: I must use... my eyes! [He fires laser beams at Iron Man, creating a couple of small, smoking pock-marks in his chestplate]

Iron Man [looks down at damaged chestplate, sighs]: Oh, that tears it.

Slasher: You'll never take us into police custody! So swears the--

Iron Man: Yeah, you got that shit right. [He incinerates Slasher and Demitrius. Then he stands there for a while, looking warily around at the depressing alleyway, at the Capital Building in the distance, and at the moist Washington sky.] Aw, what's the goddamn point? [He twists one of his hip-frisbees a few degrees, setting off a small nuclear explosion]

Stage Six Drunkenness: "The Vegetative Stagesman" (reserved and dignified, yet barely conscious, prone to propping self up in large chairs and occasionally waving or nodding to people)

Slasher: It's Iron Man! And he's headed right for us! Stand back, you fool! He's raised his arm and is going to use his repulsor beams! I must wait until he gets within range of... my eyes! ...He's not firing his repulsor beams! He-- he seems to be... giving us a "thumbs-up"?! He's not slowing down! Run, Demitrius! He's about to--[Iron Man plows into the alleyway, setting off a small nuclear explosion]

I.M. So Glad We Had This Time Together

Much as Carol Burnett used to secretly give a "shout out" to her grandmother by tugging on her ear, Iron Man likes to acknowledge various bystanders he's bedded with a similar gesture. Many a lass (and lad!) has spotted Iron Man weaving tipsily through the troposphere and wondered, "Does he recall that glorious night we spent in (Palm Springs/Omaha/the Motel 6/that abandoned rendering plant/a fugue state)?" And then they see Iron Man giving the "signal" (even as his metal faceplate remains infuriatingly sphinx-like). Their spirits soar, the sun seems to shine a little more brightly, and their day seems suddenly rich with promise. With beaming smiles, they return the signal... and then they see (on average) eight other people, from all walks of life, smiling up at Iron Man and doing the exact same thing.

To Be Fair, You Have No Way of Knowing Whether or Not He Winked

So... he's got his boxers in a bunch because Iron Man didn't stop to say "Hi" or something. And yet, in the middle of a building collapse (with people possibly missing or maybe even dead) he's just standing there, savoring his stogie and doing nothing to help out. But yeah, it's that Iron Man who's the callous sonuvabitch. I was trying to figure out why he even still had that damn cigar, which he had been puffing on all through Tony Stark's presentation, and then it hit me -- homely middled-aged white guy + paranoia directed towards a superhero + ever-present cigar x facile characterization = J. Jonah Jameson. Your average Young Gerry Conway story didn't feature many character types. Most could be boiled down into two categories: the whiny sadsack loser and the inexplicably hateful asshole. Let's do a quick tally...

1. Demitrius: whiny sadsack loser.
2. Slasher: inexplicably hateful asshole.
3. Marianne: whiny sadsack loser (admittedly, most of her whining is internal).
4. Christine (the gal falling off the balcony): whiny sadsack loser.
5. Danny (her Australopithecus boyfriend): inexplicably hateful asshole.
6. Lucie (she-terrorist/possible umpire): she's only had one line of dialog, but she kind of looks like an asshole to me.
7. The Dread Mister Kline: no contest. He's an inexplicably hateful asshole.
8. White-panted samaritan: hard to get a read on this guy, but since he's helpful I bet once you get him talking you'd find out he's a whiny sadsack loser.
9. Senator Stogie: as previously indicated, inexplicably hateful asshole.
10. Crandal: whiny sadsack loser.
11. Tony Stark/Iron Man: as the book's protagonist, Conway makes his character a rich tapestry of fascinating contradictions: he's an inexplicably whiny sadsack asshole!

658 Windows in the Capital Building, and He Uses None of Them

Iron Man--! Buddy, c'mon! There was a window, like, ten inches below where you tore through the roof! Is that fold-up George Jetson armor of yours so durable you can just pound through walls just to make yourself look cool? I'm having trouble buyin' that, because one piece of plaster falls on you and you freak out like Omarosa on season one of "The Apprentice." Not to mention you can't do three jumping jacks in that get-up without completely draining your batteries. Hell, the impact of your little stunt has apparently sledgehammered your skull halfway into your chest and crushed your legs until they're Posh Spice-sized. Of course, you're so jacked up on your own ego the pain receptors haven't started firing yet. But they will.

So focus up and cool it with the "mad trix", showboat.

I'm onto you.

This Just In: Iron Man Screams Just Like a Capuchin Monkey

Okay, so it's a cheap shot. I just like to imagine Iron Man saying "EEEEEEEEE!" Hell, I'd be screaming too, if I were him -- or savagely roaring or maybe just lowing like a gored bull, anyway -- because it looks like that falling debris busted most of the fingers on his left hand! Either that, or it was redrawn at the last minute by Steve Ditko.

True Senatorial Romance Stories

"Blast it -- let go of my arm. Somebody might be see us. Listen, my wife's out of town and the kids are at their aunt's... meet me tonight around -- hey! You're not a cop, are you? 'Cause you have to tell me if you're a cop."

Meanwhile, Young Gerry Conway's narration foreshadows Iron Man's imminent alcoholism with its trademark hysteria. If I were Marvel's editor-in-chief, I would have created an Iron Man spin-off called "Fragile Web of Iron Man" and shunted Conway's excess caption boxes into it, thereby leaving more room for fightin'. That's "fightin'" pronounced the good old Irish way: "foyt-in"! Also, when you say it that way you're morally obligated to immediately punch somebody in the face. Hard. Storm Boy, if you could step over here for a moment...?

Adjusting Crotch Radio...

Oh, swell... another one of these sequences. Just get your ass out there and save people already! CHRIST! And what's with all the Snap-Tite/Lego crap goin' on? He didn't have to do that last time! Young Gerry Conway, my patience with your shenanigans is growing perilously thin at this point.

Still, wouldn't it have been great if "THINCH!" had become as closely associated with Iron Man as "SNIKT!" is with Wolverine? Every comic-con would have herds of fanboys wandering around with "THINCH!" emblazoned on their too-small t-shirts. *sighs wistfully*

Marianne's Bedtime Prayer

Now I lay me down to worry
My mind's as mixed-up as a slurry
If my brain should plumb explode
Don't reincarnate me as a toad
Amen.

Downward Slide

As you may have heard, I'm having some difficulties right now. Don't you worry your sweet little noggins about it, though. *reaches through computer screen and tousles your hair, or pats the bald spot where your hair used to be.* It won't keep me from blogging about "Iron Man" #41!

Uh-oh! The Senator ran out of collapsed building photos and has now moved on to his vacation slides! It's the Senator in bikini briefs -- albeit on the motorized stalagmite tour at Mammoth Cave for some reason -- and the imagery is so shocking it's burst right through Tony's retina and has exploded out the back of his skull! And he thought he was a playa! About the disembodied hand in the lower right corner... imagine it's Crandal's and it merely makes him look shocked. But imagine it's Tony's, and it makes him look Italian. ("Madon'! Never have I seen such a pazzesco slide!")

Make Love to the Death Ray

Somewhere in the jungles of Vietnam...

Pvt. Kenworth: Death Ray Duty is the worst. I hate bein' out here alone. It gives me the creeps!

Pvt. Becker: You ain't alone, Kenworth! I'll protect ya!

Pvt. Kenworth: You know what I mean, Beck. Just the two of us, by ourselves. The rest of our unit off God knows where. Hell, for all we know, we could be surrounded by the goddamn VC right now! All them eyes, watchin' us...

Pvt. Becker: Big deal! Hell, I wouldn't blame 'em for starin'. You look like a friggin' movie star!

Pvt. Kenworth: Shut the hell up! I do not!

Pvt. Becker: No, for real! You're one good-lookin' guy!

Pvt. Kenworth: Naw! ...Honest? No, my nose has this little bump in the middle. I'm like deformed.

Pvt. Becker: I ain't bullshittin' ya, man. You have kind of a Steve McQueen thing goin' on. Real rugged.

Pvt. Kenworth: Okay, okay...!

Pvt. Becker: I bet you got a dozen gals droolin' over ya back at home...

Pvt. Kenworth: Naw, not really. I ain't never been much of a "ladies' man" to tell the truth.

Pvt. Becker: Huh. Well, those dizzy broads don't know what they're missin'. You're like sculptural, like one o' them old statues or somethin'!

Pvt. Kenworth: Awright, now I know you're pullin' my leg...

Pvt. Becker: I'm one hunnert-percent on the level, pal. You ever think about modelin'?

Pvt. Kenworth: ...Yeah. Sometimes.

Pvt. Becker: 'Cause you can make some good money that way. A guy gets in with the right photographer, he can make hisself four hunnert, five hunnert bucks a session, easy.

Pvt. Kenworth: WOW!

Pvt. Becker: Yeah, I had me a good business goin' back in the States, linin' up guys for this kinda thing. I sorta got me an "eye" as they say. For example... go lean on the death ray. *mimes that he's holding a camera*

Pvt. Kenworth: Like this?

Pvt. Becker: *laughs* Relax, for Chrissakes! Pretend like it's a '68 Camaro and you're a bigshot who owns a whole garage full o' classic cars, and you're about to take that sweet baby for a spin, maybe pick up some honeys for a little action... yeah, there ya go! Maybe smirk a little. Attaboy! See? You're a natural!

Pvt. Kenworth: This is fun!

Pvt. Becker: Now, undo some of those buttons...

Pvt. Kenworth: How many?

Pvt. Becker: All of 'em!

Pvt. Kenworth: Yeah, awright...

Pvt. Becker: The hell?! Is the heat gettin' to me or is that a goddamn orange t-shirt you're wearin' under there?

Pvt. Kenworth: You like it? My cousin got it for me at one o' them fancy boutiques in Philadelphia. Only, don't tell Sarge, okay?

Pvt. Becker: Can do, kid. But now you owe me... more posing! Really work that death ray!

Pvt. Kenworth: *salutes* Sir, yes sir! How's about this? *leans back over barrel of death ray with legs splayed wide apart and a soporific, open-mouthed expression*

Pvt. Becker: Sweet Jesus! You sure you never done this before?

Pvt. Kenworth: Well... maybe once.

Pvt. Becker: I thought so, ya big phoney! Climb on top o' that bad boy!

Pvt. Kenworth: *balances self on death ray and strikes a surfing pose* Dig me! I'm hangin' ten!

Pvt. Becker: Good, good, now get mean!

Pvt. Kenworth: *snarls, makes tiny clawing motions with his hands*

Pvt. Becker: Yeah! Show that death ray who's boss!

Ten minutes later...

Pvt. Becker: Man, you really gave that death ray a work out!

Pvt. Kenworth: I guess I did! I hope all my yankin' and pullin' on it didn't hurt nothin'.

Pvt. Becker: Are you kiddin'? This baby's made by Stark Industries! It's like the Cadillac of death rays!

Pvt. Kenworth: I guess you're right. Hell, all that posin', my uniform is soaked clean through with sweat! Maybe I should... take it off?

Pvt. Becker: Leave that part to me, killer! What I want you to do is put your hand on the back of your neck, kinda seductive-like, see?

Pvt. Kenworth: Like this?

Pvt. Becker: Christ awmighty! Now hold still while I get those pants--

*the death ray collapses into about three thousand pieces*

Pvts. Becker and Kenworth, in unison: Aw, shit.