Prophecy and Loss

Friends, I extend to you the warmest of greetings. My name is Leopold "Sturdy" Sturdevant, also called "Stockade Boy" by my fellow mountain men. I may also have been called by another name, in another place, and perhaps some day I shall learn it.

The man and woman who reared me were not my true parents. They told me I was found as a babe within a great hole in the ground, near the ruin of a cyclopian Engine, the origin of which they dared not guess. In childhood I was blessed with a miraculous gift: through mere thought, I could transform my body into any manner of wall, be it sod, plank, log, stake, or even brick! At twelve years of age, I looked to all who saw me like a man of twenty-one, and so I left my rustic home to make my way in the world. At fourteen I met an Indian soothsayer who told me I would one day espy a double, and that another day I should come to his aid, when my journey would at last lead me to a realm beyond the tread of mortal man. In this manner, quoth he, I should be of service to his own people, who called themselves the Wolf Clan. Much of his prophecy has already come to pass; the remainder will very shortly occur.

I saw my lookalike, your captain, six years ago, through the window of a telegraph agent's. He was attired as a dandy and conversing with a band of adventurers from another Era, one of whom had seen fit to imitate me. This mimic was of a garrulous disposition, and despite his many skills as a storyteller, he could not long hold the attention of your Captain, who doubtless possesses as active and restless a mind as myself. Indeed, his gaze wandered with great frequency from the mimic's clownish gesturing and gamboling to the buttocks of a ranch hand, namely a young Mister Oswald "Acorn" Oakley. In this I cannot blame him, for Acorn's firm, taut posterior has oft brought great comfort to myself as well, albeit in more intimate circumstances. It occurred to me that I should introduce myself to your captain, but alas, a sudden cramp in my bowels forestalled me. By the time I'd sufficiently recovered, he had vanished. Today I am able to give him my aid, and I do so joyfully, for to help those in need is my dearest pleasure.

I should perhaps explain at this point how my voyage to this distant age was accomplished. My life's path brought me often into the company of the Wolf Clan, and through my good deeds they came to accept me as a friend. At the last they bestowed upon me the greatest honor they can offer to one not of their blood: I was to join a host of Spirits, thereby to assist in the selection of the tribe's new Saganowahna (or "Super-Chief" as the white men call him). I was made to remove my weapons, buckskins and furs, and my hair and beard were alike unbraided and stripped of their many charming adornments. In this plain fashion I was led into a lodge, there to join in the chanting of their most holy and reverent elder, and to draw frequently from a ceremonial pipe, so as to prepare my senses for the Spirit Realm. After a period of time unknown to myself, my Soul slipped my rude, hairy form and flitted into the Ether, there to search for its new vessel. The earthen floor below my feet spun like a child's top and dropped away, the firmament swept over me in a shower of sparks, and peculiar beings paraded themselves before my newborn eyes. Again I saw my double, now a jolly brigand, piloting his craft between the stars themselves, and I saw within him a cancer. I looked ahead, precisely one year beyond your own, and I saw him dead, eaten from within by this metal blight. And so I sent my Soul within him, both accelerating and devouring the disease, until only this shell and the invisible spark of his own Soul were left.

I will now take the shell into the Infinite, thence to test the mind and mettle of the prospective Saganowahna and, the Fates willing, enjoy many further adventures. As repayment for your captain's suffering, I give to him my own fleshly form, and he may take it with my compliments, to do with however he pleases.

Farewell.

...And from what they tell me, tobacco smoke poured out of the metal body's mouth, filling the room. When it cleared, the metal body was gone, and there I was, in a daze, lowering an ancient pipe from my mouth, bare-ass naked. Er, not that you could see anything, what with the hair and the beard. Meanwhile, everybody else was hacking up their lungs.

Storm Boy broke the tension by shouting "Huzzah!" and although I was still kind of out of it, I instinctively slapped him -- albeit kind of weakly. It didn't even make any noise! (Damn it.)

As for the business with Weight Wizard... well, you'll excuse me if I don't feel like talking about it right now. I don't blame Plant Lad for what he did, though. I mean, it was one of those situations where it's him or you. Except I was already kind of dead. I don't know. Sorry. I'm not making a ton of sense, am I?

One thing's for sure, I'm hella thankful to have a 100% genuine organic body again, and the fact that it's from my home planet is just gravy. And Stockade Boy was right about that time way back in Ye Olde Weste. Chameleon Boy was so long-winded and that ranch hand was so hot that I missed the part where Cham said he'd been imitating a real person. Go figure, huh? I'm sorry I didn't get to meet him. He sounded like a cool guy.

I do have some issues with the ridiculously impractical length of my new hair and beard but I don't want to cut them until I can figure out what my bangin' new look will be. Which could take a while. My brain's kind of a total mess at this point.

Still, Cootie seems to enjoy the long beard. She climbed into it and she's asleep right now, just above my knee area.

And I'm standing up!

Everything Comes to a Head

[Excerpts from the transcripted video logs of the iFul Security Services cameras aboard the H.M.S. Exquisite, the morning of 29/08/2987 between 12:02 and 12:18 AM]

CAMERA A-1, CARNIVALE DECK, CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS: RECORDING ERROR, CAMERA MALFUNCTION

CAMERA A-2, CARNIVALE DECK, CORRIDOR 1: CABIN BOY EMERGES FROM CAPTAIN'S QUARTERS, DRAGGING LARGE PURPLE VELVET SACK. SACK'S CONTENTS BOTH ANGULAR AND BULBOUS. IDENTIFICATION IMPOSSIBLE. 12 SECONDS AFTER SUBJECT IS BEYOND RANGE OF CAMERAS, RED LIGHT FLASHES THROUGH LOUVERS OF VENT IN CORRIDOR WALL.

CAMERA B-1, BONDI DECK, MONITOR ROOM: WALL OF MONITORS INDICATE THAT 30% OF CAMERAS ON BOARD ARE NOT FUNCTIONING. SWAB SITTING IN CHAIR WITH BACK TO WALL OF MONITORS AND FACING OPEN DOOR. SWAB TOSSES HUMAN BICUSPID IN AIR, GRABS IT WITH SAME HAND AND TOSSES IT AGAIN IN SEEMING IMITATION OF COIN-FLIPPING GANGSTERS FROM "BROADWAY MELODY" SEQUENCE IN 1952 EARTH FILM "SINGING IN THE RAIN." AFTER TWO SUCCESSFUL ATTEMPTS, SWAB DROPS TOOTH ON FLOOR.

SWAB: Balls.

CAMERA B-2, BONDI DECK, CORRIDOR 1: CABIN BOY PASSES BY OPEN DOOR OF MONITOR ROOM.

SWAB: Who goes there?
CABIN BOY: Shit. Hey, Tusker.
SWAB: Whatcha doin'?
CABIN BOY: Oh. I, um, couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd do a little housecleaning.
SWAB: That's a big pile of garbage!
CABIN BOY: Yes... yes, it is!
SWAB: Need any help?
CABIN BOY: No, I've got it handled.

CABIN BOY PEERS AROUND SWAB AT MONITORS.

CABIN BOY: So, it looks like Rainbow Girl's on the bridge. But where's Storm Boy? I don't see him on any of these monitors...
SWAB: I think he said somethin' about makin' some adjustments on the solar collectors. Or maybe he did that already. Or he could be in his quarters. Or the galley. I dunno. Half the cameras got fried when we had that meltdown.
CABIN BOY: What about the room with the big metal compactor and the airlock access door in it? Does the camera in there work?
SWAB: Sanitation? Oh, hells yeah! Actually it's got three cameras, coverin' the whole joint, and they're workin' just fine. Well, I s'pose I'd better get back to watchin' these stupid monitors.
CABIN BOY: Oh, hey! You know what? The vending machine on the Hula Deck is busted and it's spitting out an enormous pile of free taffy!
SWAB: Awesome! I am so there, dude! ...Wait a minute! Are you tryin' to distract me?
CABIN BOY: Light.

CABIN BOY LEAPS APPROXIMATELY TWO METERS INTO THE AIR.

CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CABIN BOY SWEEPS FOOT INTO SWAB'S FACE, BREAKING OFF ONE OF HIS TUSKS. SWAB FALLS TO FLOOR, UNCONSCIOUS. CABIN BOY RESUMES DRAGGING SACK DOWN CORRIDOR.

CAMERAS B3, B-5, BONDI DECK, CORRIDORS 2 AND 4: CABIN BOY DRAGS SACK DOWN CORRIDOR. AS CABIN BOY PASSES EACH VENT, RED LIGHT FLASHES THROUGH IT, ONCE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY DRAGS SACK INTO ROOM. CABIN BOY EMPTIES SACK'S CONTENTS ONTO FLOOR IN FRONT OF METAL COMPACTOR. IDENTIFICATION OF CONTENTS: LIFE-SIZE METAL PUPPET IN LIKENESS OF SHIP'S CAPTAIN WITH ORANGE CLOTH BINDING ITS MOUTH. ERROR. RE-IDENTIFY. SCANNING. SHIP'S LOGS IDENTIFY SUBJECT AS SHIP'S CAPTAIN, TRANSMOGRIFIED BY UNKNOWN MEANS INTO MOSTLY HOLLOW METAL BEING. CABIN BOY CROUCHES DOWN IN FRONT OF CAPTAIN, REMOVES GAG.

CAPTAIN: What th'--? Weight Wizard? Honey, what are you doing?
CABIN BOY: Think of it as a breakup. Only it's forever.
CAPTAIN: Oh, for Pete's sake. I'm too tired for this right now. Look, just take me back to my cabin. You don't really have to do anything to piss me off this time. We'll just pretend you did, instead. When I'm all better, I'll go ahead and whup your ass just the way you like it. Okay? Okay. Great. Let's go, kid.
CABIN BOY: I'm not shitting around here. You and me? We're over.

CAPTAIN ROLLS EYES, EMITS DRAWN-OUT GUTTURAL SIGH.

CABIN BOY: No, I mean it this time. I'm sick of it! Not just the whole pirate dealio. It's everything you do. And every time we get back together I just feel sicker and more numb inside, and the worst part is I can hear everybody laughing at me, oh, there's the little pussy who needs Blockade Boy to protect him. As long as I'm with you, I'll always be that shrimpy toddler who needed the big freak to watch his back. And it's not just me -- you feel that way too, I can tell, I mean, you're always calling me "kid" and "boy" and we're the same goddamn age! I feel like I'm stuck in my teens and I'll never grow up! When I'm around you, it's like, it's like I'm nothing. Nothing!

CAPTAIN: Yeah, okay, so I spent twenty years of my life taking care of you. Although it feels more like forty-five for some reason... damn sliding timeline! But don't blame me for holding you back. You could act like an adult if you wanted to. We both know I gave you plenty of chances. And hell, look at the state I'm in. Now it's reversed. You can take care of me. That's what a real relationship is all about. Two people taking care of each other.
CABIN BOY: That's... not what I want. At least, at least... not with you.
CAPTAIN: So leave! At the next planet you can go fake your death. Just like you always do.
CABIN BOY: That never works. You know that. Every time I think I've finally done it, I've finally made you angry enough to just leave me the fuck alone, you come looking for me or worse, I go looking for you again. We always find each other, sooner or later. And I've been so weak, I always let it happen. I've got to stop this. And the only way I can do it is to get rid of you. Permanently.

CAPTAIN MAKES SCOFFING SOUND, LAUGHS.

CAPTAIN: Oh, bitch, please. Are you kidding me? Sure, okay, you're going to kill me. C'mon. There's no way! I know you, sweetheart. You don't have the heart for it. Or the balls.
CABIN BOY: Look in my eyes and say that again.

CABIN BOY LEANS DOWN, HIS FACE INCHES AWAY FROM THE CAPTAIN'S. SILENCE: 11.2 SECONDS.

CAPTAIN: ...Damn.
CABIN BOY: Damn right. Y'know, I was just going to dump your useless carcass in the compactor but screw it. I'd rather do it myself.

CABIN BOY STANDS UP, RAISES FOOT OVER CAPTAIN'S HEAD.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: UNIDENTIFIED ITEM OR SUBJECT OUTSIDE OF SHIP'S HULL MOVES AWAY FROM PORTHOLE #568 WHENEVER IN RANGE OF CAMERA. VIEW OF SPACE DEBRIS THROUGH PORTHOLE #566. ANALYSIS PENDING.

CABIN BOY: Any last words, baby?
CAPTAIN. Special sauce.
CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CABIN BOY CRUSHES CAPTAIN'S HEAD WITH FOOT.

EXTREME DISTORTION OF HEAD AND TOTAL LACK OF FLUIDS INDICATES HEAD IS NOW DEVOID OF ORGANIC MATTER.

CABIN BOY: Wait, what? Special sauce?!

CAMERA C-17, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: SHIP'S MASCOT, IN DIVIDED FORM, MELTS THROUGH VENT, FLIES IN DIRECTION OF CABIN BOY.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: SHIP'S MASCOT, RED FORM, ATTACKS CABIN BOY'S LEFT LEG. YELLOW FORM: RIGHT LEG. GREEN FORM: LEFT ARM. BLUE FORM: RIGHT ARM.

CABIN BOY: Ow! Damn it! Ow! Shit! Get the fuck off me! Light! Light!

CAMERAS C-17, C-18, C-19, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY BOUNCES AROUND ROOM, SHAKES MASCOT/S FREE OF LIMBS. CABIN BOY'S LEFT LEG IS ON FIRE. CABIN BOY ROLLS ON FLOOR, TRYING TO PUT OUT FLAMES. SHIP'S MASCOT, BLUE FORM, POUNCES, WRAPS SELF AROUND CABIN BOY'S NECK, CONSTRICTS.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: ANALYSIS OF SPACE DEBRIS COMPLETE. IDENTIFICATION: BUNGEE CORDS.

CAMERA C-17, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: AIRLOCK ACCESS DOOR IS FORCED OPEN BY AMBULATORY CARNIVOROUS FLOWER/CREATURE, APPROXIMATELY 3 CUBIC METERS IN SIZE, INDENTIFICATION: VORNIAN GREATER LACERATING ROSE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: DIVIDED FORMS OF SHIP'S MASCOT RETREAT INTO VENTILATION SYSTEM. ROSE SEIZES CABIN BOY IN ITS TENDRILS. SERRATED PETALS OF MAMMOTH FLOWER HEAD FLEX, PULSATE. CABIN BOY TREMBLES, WETS SELF. CABIN BOY CLOSES EYES.

CABIN BOY: Heavy.

CRACKS APPEAR IN FLOOR BENEATH CABIN BOY. COLLAPSE OF DECK IMMINENT. WITH CONVULSIVE MOTION, FLOWER ENGULFS CABIN BOY'S HEAD, SEVERS IT FROM HIS BODY, EJECTS IT.

CAMERA C-19, PANNING MODEL, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: CABIN BOY'S HEAD REBOUNDS OFF OF WALL, ROLLS BACK IN DIRECTION OF ROSE.

CAMERA C-18, RIVIERA DECK, SANITATION FACILITY: STANDING IN PLACE OF ROSE IS SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: That's how we roll in the Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD SPITS ON CABIN BOY'S SEVERED HEAD, KNEELS DOWN BESIDE BODY OF CAPTAIN, CRADLES IT, SOBS.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: Oh, no. Oh, Luck Lords, please, no... I'm sorry I didn't get here in time, buddy. You were so good to me. You knew I could be better than I was. You believed in me, even when I didn't, and--

CAPTAIN'S BODY SPASMS, SLIDES ITSELF AWAY FROM SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD, SITS UP. BODY'S HEAD BULGES OUTWARD INTO ITS FORMER SHAPE. DENSE WHITE SMOKE CURLS FROM ITS MOUTH AND NOSTRILS.

SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD: What in--? Blockade Boy...?

CAPTAIN'S BODY SLOWLY SHAKES ITS HEAD, RISES TO ITS FEET. BODY MOVES TOWARD CORRIDOR 11, MOTIONS FOR SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD TO FOLLOW.

................

CAMERA E-4, HULA DECK, SHIP'S LIBRARY: 1ST MATE ENTERS, FOLLOWED BY CAPTAIN'S BODY, BOSUN, SWAB, AND SHIP'S FIGUREHEAD. 1ST MATE LEADS CAPTAIN'S BODY TO COMPUTER TERMINAL, ACCESSES AUTHORING SOFTWARE, INDICATES KEYBOARD TO CAPTAIN'S BODY, TAKES ITS FINGER AND PRESSES DOWN ON A BUTTON. CAPTAIN'S BODY NODS, PRESSES BUTTONS RAPIDLY. MESSAGE APPEARS ON SCREEN.

I Hereby Order You To Love a Parade

Happy Independence Day, 21st Century American readers of this blog! But to the rest of us, it's just another Wednesday. Which to the crew of the H.M.S. Exquisite means just one thing: my Weekly Mandatory Parade! We Amadans, we know how to RAWK a parade! My favorite is the one my planet holds every week to commemorate its liberation from the Waxing Tyrants of Depilatory Seven. Picture, if you will, the Amadus Shirtless Hairy Bearded Men's Bass Drum and Electric Guitar Corps (three hundred strong!) marching proudly through the labyrinthine streets of our capital and blasting away at our favorite military anthem, Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog" -- which you may know better by its chorus ("Now you're messin' with a son of a bitch"). Just thinking about it brings a tear to my eye. It also produces some other secretions but we shan't talk about that now. When I was a mere Blockade Tot the noise of it scared the bejeebus out of me, and as a Blockade Tween I would scoff and jeer at how the adults would get all worked up whenever the parade passed through town. That was before my terrifying ordeal in the Super-Stalag of Space!

I have a profound appreciation for the concept of liberty nowadays! So to honor the brave souls who perished in order that Amadus might preserve its way of life, I like to gather the crew and hold a little parade of my own!

As I mentioned before, I have Weight Wizard play a side drum, and I have a side drum of my own, only bigger (of course) and Rainbow Girl expertly plays her fife (which Weight Wizard is not allowed to touch after what we found him doing to the last fife). We play "Hair of the Dog", naturally, and some other classic marches, like "Takin' Care of Business" and "Bad Moon Rising" and "Barracuda." Tusker follows behind, waving and bowing to nobody in particular. As a courtesy we pass by Plant Lad a few times but of course he's in a dormant state so he can't really see us. Sometimes Storm Boy will clamber up from the hold and drunkenly raise a bottle to us... and sometimes he hurls the bottle at us and then I have to break ranks and smack his ass up. But either way it's a festive occasion!

Have a terrific day, everybody!

Legion of Substitute Costumes: Rainbow Girl

Rainbow Girl is my second-in-command on the H.M.S. Exquisite and she's truly my finest crew member. Granted, it's not much of a competition. Tusker is a dim-witted behemoth who spends most of his time playing fantasy magno-ball on his Omnicom, Plant Lad is a badass but completely immobile, my dear friend Storm Boy is an emotionally unstable lush (bless his heart), and my "cabin boy" Weight Wizard is really only good for "swabbing my deck" if you know what I mean and I think you do. So praise the Luck Lords for Rainbow Girl! She really rides stays on top of cracks the whip on disciplines CRIMINY! I'm mired in accidental sexual innuendo here! Rainbow Girl makes sure the other crew members ("Members"? CRIMINY!) do their jobs! She's diligent and smart and also witty, just a real charmer who can put you at your ease right away. She's also in constant need of validation, so if I let, say, three hours pass without thanking her effusively and in person for the work she's doing, she gets ticked off at me and stops working which creates a domino effect which causes the ship to grind to a complete halt.

So with her personality, I bet her Legion try-out was even more scarring than usual. Because the Legion didn't tell her why they rejected her!

That's it. That one panel's all she got. That's her fifteen femtoseconds of fame as chronicled in "Adventure Comics", the Legion's companion magazine (a profusely illustrated pamphlet in which the details of that organization's doings are heavily dumbed-down for its dumb, heavy fans). There was no embarrassing flub caught on tape, no near-death accidental misuse of her powers, no anything. Just the Legion's typical "take a belt and beat it" shove-off. The United Planets Freedom of Infotainment Act of 2973, or was it 2979, or 2981? Damn sliding timeline! Anyway, that legislation opened the Legion's bits of business to the general public and it was from those formerly sealed records that I found out why the Legion rejected Rainbow Girl. (And then I blabbed it to her). But it's complicated, so bear with me for a minute. Rainbow Girl can split into four separate energy-beings*, each a different hue. Rainbow Girl Red projects heat rays, Rainbow Girl Yellow projects a blinding light, Rainbow Girl Blue projects a freezing ray, and Rainbow Girl Green projects an enervating ray. Which is not Kryptonite, I hasten to add. But the Legion thought it was and they hustled Rainbow Girl out of their tacky clubhouse in two shakes of a borlat's tail. With no explanation and no chance for her to defend herself. But you know the Legion... they're hell-bent on protecting their own personal Mark McGuire and Marion Jones, a.k.a. a certain Kryptonian pair who are so hopped up on yellow sun radiation they can't even recognize a cool facial hair style when they see it. (I had a sweet-ass goatee and muttonchops and they called me "Pappy Yokum"! HOW DARE THEY. Besides, I've always pictured myself as more the "Earthquake McGoon" type. Only hairier.)

Wait, what were we talking about?

Rainbow Girl! Right! Thank you! So. Rainbow Girl might not have received such a hasty farewell on that fateful day if only she'd opted for a more striking costume. And hairstyle! Here's Rainbow Girl today in an outfit and coif I designed especially for her:

Once Rainbow Girl trusted me enough to take me on as her fashion adviser, I had her toss out every bit of rainbow-patterned apparel in her closet. Which was a lot. Her very noggin emits pulses of rainbow-colored light at all times so I don't think she needs anything else competing with that. Her hair doesn't have a lot of body, so I counseled her to switch to a short, layered spiky 'do which gives it more lift. I also lightened it a bit to bring out her natural purple undertones. (And I thought it looked so bangin' I decided to make my own hair that color!) The costume itself is in a silver-gray metallic fabric with hints of violet and turquoise. The silhouette features a scalloped top to evoke a cloudbank. Rainbow Girl is a helluva fighter both hand-to-hand and in her energy forms, so I designed this as a "working" costume. That means the neckline, while feminine and flattering, is also high enough that her bosoms won't pop out in the middle of a scrap. And there are no high heels or dangling jewelry. It's a business suit, and her business is kicking your ass!

*When I interviewed Rainbow Girl for the job of First Mate I asked her if she could do the work of four people. She said yes, not knowing the four people I meant were Tusker, Plant Lad, Storm Boy, and Weight Wizard.

Legion of Substitute Costumes Bonus: Plant Lad

That's what happens when you forget to water Plant Lad!

Kidding. Plant Lad is a mighty hero with the somewhat useful power of turning into any kind of plant. Which is awesome when the plant is some giant alien number that can move around and eat people, but somewhat less awesome when it's, say, one of your lame immobile Earth plants. Although I suppose that'd be useful for stealth missions. ("I don't remember seeing this potted fern here before--! Oh, well. As I was saying, the new secret codewords for our terrorist operation are...")

Historians will argue that Plant Lad never got rejected for membership by the Legion of Super-Heroes. They're actually correct. Kind of. Technically, he never even got to try out! See, many years ago Plant Lad and I were brunching at that Tartarus-style breakfast joint, the Infernal House of Pancakes. (Try ordering a "Devil's Dozen" donuts there. They'll give you four donuts, every time. Tartarusians, they're not so good with the math.) I believe I'd ordered the sulfur-roasted ham slab-wich, while Plant Lad was enjoying a nitrogen smoothie. Well, you'd never guess who tottered in, blitzed off her royal ass after a long night of partying, with her platinum hair mussed, one white opera glove missing, her magenta collar askew, and a tell-tale vomit stain down the front of her purple bustier. Yeah. Her.

So Plant Lad, bless 'im, was perpetually agog over celebrities back then -- he must have subscribed to twenty different holomags on the subject... People, Pod People, Pod People en Español, Popular Mechanics (featuring page after page of various mechanics who are popular), The Bismollywood Reporter, you name it! And before I could warn him about what a massive skank she was, Plant Lad rushed over to her and started gushing, and she was having none of it, and the words were just pouring out of his mouth at lightspeed and part of me wanted to grab him and drag him away from her before he made an even bigger fool out of himself. But another part of me wanted to grab my Omnicom, sit back, and record their conversation for posterity.

Their talk went exactly like this:

Plant Lad: --just an incredible inspiration for me, I mean I watch all your holotapes and I buy all your biographical supplements as soon as they come out and I even bought your limited edition line of shoes, like in every color and every size, of course they're not for me, I mean I don't wear them or anything, I mean I'm not a freak, ha, ha, heh, but I have them on this wall of shoes I made, because it's just a really interesting design element for my apartment, they're all like on little floating platforms, I mean "platforms" as in places to put shoes on not "platforms" as in platform shoes, heh, I guess it would be pretty silly of me to put shoes on top of more shoes, ha, uh, I mean how ridiculous would that look, although if anybody could pull it off it'd be you, you're just so elegant and regal and stylish and I think you give the Legion a lot of class which I think is so important, don't you, and by the way I'm a superhero myself, my name is Plant Lad which I guess I should have said before, heh, ha, ha, oh, er. and I can turn into all kinds of plants, and I know that sounds kind of useless, heh, um, but it's really not, I swear, like for instance there are actually a lot of plants that can move around, and they can grab things and they're like really strong and CAN I TRY OUT FOR THE LEGION?!!

Princess Projectra (bored): Aren't you supposed to be dead?

Plant Lad: Heh, ha, no, see, that was--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, I'm pretty sure you died. Who are you?! Do you work here?

Plant Lad: No, heh, what happened is I faked my own death, ha, I guess that's where you're confused, but--

Princess Projectra: Yeah, so I'd like to order the Satan Scramble with Faust Fries...

Plant Lad: I don't work here, ha, ha, but anyway I think I'd be a really valuable addition to your team, um...

Princess Projectra: ... and could you get me one of those cardboard Prince Evillo crowns? I'm gonna make my boyfriend wear one the next time we do it.

Plant Lad: Oh, heh, ha, I said I don't work here, I'm a superhero, er, oh, um...

Princess Projectra: So you're out of crowns?

Plant Lad: Heh, oh, er, huh?

Princess Projectra: Forget the food. Your service sucks. I'm going to tell my daddy to buy your restaurant and atomize it.

Then she left. Plant Lad stood there gaping for a moment, and then he s-l-o-w-l-y ambled back over to our booth. He slumped down in his seat. "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?" I asked.

He just stared down at his placemat for about a minute. Finally, without looking up, he mumbled, "She smelled like drain cleaner."

Poor dope. To be honest, he probably wouldn't have made it into the Legion anyway. Y'see, Plant Lad's people go through "active" cycles and "dormant" cycles. The "dormant" cycle, which lasts about four months out of every Earth year, begins with them getting kind of logy and dull-witted, and then they just stop moving altogether and become as stiff as boards. (But not in the good way.) So he's basically useless 1/3 of the time. Unless you're me, and you're clever enough to put him to work as a figurehead on your pirate ship!

But I dunno. Maybe he could have impressed certain skank-like royals (who then would have sponsored him for membership) if he'd dressed flashier. Like he does now! I convinced Plant Lad that his tall, lanky frame can pull off any look, and especially the look of a rock star! Check him out!

Oh, Plant Lad! Orange is definitely your color! It speaks of exotic orchids, clay flowerpots, and... er, pesticides. The woven midriff is based on a trellis, and I echoed that pattern with the hood and with the cut-outs on his boots. To visually round out his alarmingly equine face, I gave him oversized mirrored shades. The shades also send the subtle message, "I'm too important to make eye contact with you; inquiries can be made through my publicist." His knobby chin is adorned by a scalloped, leafy goatee of my own design, and of course the logo I created for him is proudly displayed on his left breast. Now, that's the look of a winner!

And the rest of the known universe evidently agrees with me! I'm happy to report that Plant Lad now enjoys thriving careers as an intergalactic New New Wave musician and two-time Beat the Living Crap Out Of You League champion... when he's awake, anyway. For the present, though, he's securely strapped to the prow of the H.M.S. Exquisite, scaring the holy bejeebus out of enemy ships.

Not a bad life, if you ask me.

Yo-Ho-Ho, Check Me Out

New headshot! Because the old one made me look like Axel Rose, as delineated by Margaret Keane. My new mask/do-rag gives me a nice swashbuckling look, plus it helps me to *click* strike terror in th' craven hearts o'me enemies, me hearties! There's none 'at sail the spaceways wi' a mask so orange nor a beard so purple as ol' Brigadier Blockade! YAARRRGH!!! *click* Sorry. Stupid robot voicebox. Anyhow, I'm not the only one aboard the H.M.S. Exquisite with an exciting new look! This week, along with the ongoing adventures of Lana Lang and her hideous new belt, I'll be showing you my makeovers of my crew: Weight Wizard, Tusker, Rainbow Girl, and Plant Lad. I never mentioned Plant Lad before because he's in a hyper-dormant state right now and has actually petrified like an old Sequoia, so I strapped him to the prow. His official title is "Kick-Ass Figurehead." When he wakes up he'll get a share of all the loot we've plundered. Which right now is about 80% ankle socks and banana clips, but hey! A job's a job.

Also, I have an important announcement to make. The "request line" for makeovers is closed for now. I need to concentrate on finishing up all the series I started before I can promise to do anything new. I've made some serious dents in the "Rescue Me" makeovers and I've gotten a good start on the Fearless Five/Teen Tyrants "Moral Reversal" makeovers (and I'll also get to that "Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends" version of it) and the "Legion of Substitute Costumes" makeovers, so that's something, but it's still a ton of artwork and I only have so much time. I'll do Steven's "Criminal Accessories" idea (i.e. giving classic villains funny hats and such) at the end of this month. Everything I've promised to do up to this point, I will do. But I can't promise anything beyond that. Fair enough? Alrighty then.

Looking For Love In All the Wrong Epochs

I was planning on just handing over the entire blog -- lock, stock, and password -- to Blockade Boy, but I just had to get in one last post. Because something important happened. Just a few days after I'd managed to kick one obscure thirtieth-century superhero out of my apartment, two more showed up. Their names are Weight Wizard and Plant Lad, and they're looking for Blockade Boy.

I tried to take a photo of the duo but they didn't register on my digital camera. Probably because they're from the future. Or maybe I left the lens cap on. That happens sometimes. But they were nice enough to pose for a sketch. In case you can't tell from their costumes, Weight Wizard is the scrappy little guy on the right and Plant Lad is the gangly doofus on the left.

I didn't have time to do any colors, but you can get a general idea from how they looked in the comic books. Weight Wizard is blonde, with darker facial hair -- his coloring is kind of Nordic, I guess. And Plant Lad has grass-green hair and skin the exact same color and texture as a yellow bell pepper. Weight Wizard is the cheerfully intense type -- he shook my hand way too long and he was always nodding his head and he almost never blinked. Plant Lad didn't say much and generally seemed pretty out of it. ("Never mind Plant Lad," Weight Wizard explained. "He just went through a growth cycle and now he's in a dormant period.") I made everyone coffee and we had a good long discussion about Blockade Boy and about how their still being alive jibed with what I'd read in "Adventure Comics" #344 and #345 (May and June, 1966). It was eerily like the first time I ever sat down and talkd with Blockade Boy. Here's a transcript of our conversation:

Weight Wizard: First of all, I want your readers to know -- and Blockade Boy, too -- that I'm not proud of my actions in the Super-Stalag of Space -- well, except for that last one where I was a huge hero -- remember that? I rocked, pretty much! Noble and self-sacrificing as all get-out! But the other shit -- pranking Blockade Boy into shaving off his sweet-ass muttonchops and goatee, and letting Nardo use me as a mole (among other things!)... well, I just regret that stuff like there's no tomorrow! For realsies!

[Meanwhile, Plant Lad has found my television remote and is turning the TV on and off, on and off, on and off...! Weight Wizard finally grabs the control out of Plant Lad's hand and gives it to me.]

Plant Lad [slurring his words]: I was using that...!

Weight Wizard: What did we talk about on the way here? Huh? Buddy?

Plant Lad: *mumbles*

Weight Wizard [sharply]: Louder?

Plant Lad [reciting quickly and with a sudden anger]: "That I am to be on my best behavior and to do everything you tell me to do because when I am in this state I am for all intents and purposes a crazy person and cannot be trusted with the simplest of tasks!" Phht. Whatever! Suck my stamen, dickweed. [crosses arms and slumps down on the couch.]

Weight Wizard: Aw, don't -- great, now he's sulking. Jeremy, I don't suppose you have anything for him to read...? Like a book on soil cultivation, or maybe just a seed catalog or something with a guy sticking a rhubarb up his ass?

Me: Um. Nope. Oh, how about "ESPN the Magazine"? It's gigantic, and there are a lot of pictures.

Weight Wizard: Sweet! Let's rock 'n' roll!

Me: And by "rock 'n' roll" you mean, "fetch a magazine for a mentally-unbalanced plant/human hybrid to read?"

Weight Wizard: Hell yeah!

Me: Just checking.

[While Plant Lad busied himself with systematically tearing pages out of the newest issue of "ESPN the Magazine", Weight Wizard and I continued to talk.]

Weight Wizard: Here's the dealio: after Plant Lad and I--

Me: "Dealio?" People are still saying that one thousand years from now?

Weight Wizard: Aw, hells yeah. 'Matter of fact, that's how the revised U.S. constitution reads starting around 2170: "We the people, in order to keep it real, think this is the dealio..."

Me: Yikes.

Weight Wizard: Aaaaannnyyyywwwwaaaaaaayyyyyyyy.... this is the dealio: Plant Lad and I lammed it out of the Super-Stalag of Space! But as far as we knew, Blockade Boy had been killed! Then we got lost in the Galactic Frontier for a couple of months, and by the time we made it back to civilization, we learned that Blockade Boy had survived, but was missing! I was boggled! And how'd he escape the Stalag, anyhow?

Me: Well, he just tagged along with Matter-Eater Lad when Matter-Eater Lad escaped. Matter-Eater Lad tunnelled them both out by chomping through solid rock. But then Nardo and his androids surrounded them. Nardo was gonna kill Matter-Eater Lad, but Blockade Boy jumped in front of him.

Me: Since he had turned into a steel wall, the Nardo's powers didn't harm him. But he knew nobody else there knew that, so he played dead.

Me: They just left his body there. Blockade Boy waited 'til the coast was clear and then he took off.

Weight Wizard: Heh! Blockade Boy and me, we were always on the same wavelength! I faked my death, too! Well, Plant Lad helped! And he faked his death before I did!

Plant Lad [stares at a picture of a University of Tennessee fan who is slathered in orange bodypaint]: Grampa?

Weight Wizard [loudly clears throat]: As I was saying, during one of those times when Plant Lad actually had a functioning brain, he decided the only way out of that damn camp was in a body bag! And believe you me, he put on a real show!

Plant Lad: Jose Reyes is hot. [proudly shows us a picture of the Mets shortstop, then begins tongueing it]

Weight Wizard: That's nice, buddy. [pats Plant Lad's hand]

Me: Check out Adam Timmerman on page thirty-one.

Weight Wizard: Since Plant Lad is more vegetable than man, he can regenerate damaged tissue! But Nardo wasn't aware of that! So all Plant Lad had to do was pretend he was a goner and then let Nardo's androids dump his body outside the prison walls!

Me: Well, that explains how Plant Lad faked his death. How did you fake yours?

Weight Wizard: I just told you that Plant Lad, who can turn into any plant, faked his death and escaped. That was before I went over the fence and supposedly died! Put two-and-two together, man!

Me: Oh, no freakin' way. The giant flower!

Weight Wizard [grins]: That was Plant Lad! Lucky for me, I stumbled into that swamp where he was hiding out! He dragged me inside and whispered for me to let my body go limp! Once again, the bad guys just took off and left us there!

Me: Wait a minute. So three different prisoners on three separate occasions escaped that prison camp by faking their own deaths?

Weight Wizard: Yeah... now that I think about it, it wasn't a terribly well-run prison camp. Huh.

[Just then I hear a hissing sound.]

Me: Wait a minute! Where did Plant Lad go?

Weight Wizard: I'm on it!

[He produces a small whistle from behind his ear and blows into it. No sound comes out, but we hear Plant Lad say "OW!" from the direction of the kitchenette. We run over there and find Plant Lad trying to stick one of my cat Pepper's head in his mouth. I snatch the cat away from him.]

Plant Lad [rubbing his ears]: Gah! Don't do that!

Weight Wizard [slaps Plant Lad on the forehead]: Then don't do that! [jerks his thumb in the direction of the cowering feline]

Plant Lad: I just wanted to see if it would fit.

Weight Wizard: Go back outside and sit in the time bubble. Go! And don't touch anything!

[As Plant Lad flounces out the door, Weight Wizard notices my dubious expression.]

Weight Wizard: Naw, he can't take it anywhere! I got "the Club!"

Me: Wow. The things that are going to last one thousand years--! So, how did you two know to come looking for Blockade Boy here?

Weight Wizard: I overheard that fat fuck Storm Boy bragging to Eyeful Ethel -- his government-designated "fag hag" -- about how he'd found out that Blockade Boy was doing some time-travelling and costume designing, and how he was going to do the exact same thing, "only better," quote-unquote! I did some research and soon enough I found out that Storm Boy wasn't full of hot air! For once! Blockade Boy's face and name are all over the history books. It's nuts! I found traces of this blog on a server that archeologists had recently unearthed, and that's how I knew he was spending a lot of time here!

Me: Yup.

Weight Wizard: But the two of you weren't, er, "shacking up", was he?

Me: Nope.

Weight Wizard: Because you knew we were an item. Right?

Me: Yeah. I gathered that.

Weight Wizard: And the two of you never... did anything?

Me: Uh! No. He did a lot of other people, though. But the only guy he ever talked about was you. He mentioned you a lot.

Weight Wizard: He did? Aw, man, that is-- that's great! That's really fantastic!

Me: I think he misses you.

Weight Wizard: [grunts] Yes! Yes! You just made my freakin' day, my friend! So where's he at? When's he coming back here?

Me: I don't think he is coming back here.

Weight Wizard: I don't follow...

Me: I... kind of. Um. Kicked him out.

Weight Wizard: MOTHERFUCKER!

{Weight Wizard takes a swing at me but I easily duck it because he has like these little T-Rex arms.]

Me: Screw you, Tiny! I kicked his ass out of here, I can kick your ass out of here!

Weight Wizard [a little mortified with himself]: I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's just... you gotta understand, man, I just need to see him again so bad...!

Me: Right. I'm sorry, too. Anyway, I get it. You two were like "this." [I cross my index and middle fingers]

Weight Wizard: And sometimes we were like this! [He makes a different gesture with his fingers that I don't think I can properly describe]

Me: I... did not need to see that. Look. Why don't we just see if he updated the blog? ...He can do that, right? From the future?

Weight Wizard: Only one way to find out, I guess! Let's rock 'n' roll!

Me: And by "rock 'n' roll" you mean "sit in front of a computer and read a blog?"

Weight Wizard: You know it, dog!

Me: Just checking.

(...And indeed, he had. Weight Wizard and Plant Lad are headed back to the 30th century, where they're going to give a very miserable Blockade Boy a very happy surprise. And he deserves it, the big sweet lug.

This is officially the last post for me, Jeremy Rizza. But if I know Blockade Boy, he'll have a new post for you right here, on Monday.)

The Sting

In "Marvel Team-Up" #106 (June, 1981) we find Stingaree the Scorpion safely incarcerated behind the walls of the "Brainsen Psychiatric Center" (no, seriously). So naturally he fakes a psychosis (which looks suspiciously like rabies) until one of the idiot doctors gives him his super-suit back.

"The costume itself is as dangerous as my daughter's designer jeans." That's where you're wrong, doc. As the victim of a freak Bedazzling accident, I can tell you that designer jeans are often more dangerous than any weapon-equipped Furry costume could ever be! I mean, sure, when you're fourteen years old it's fun to attend a sleepover at Plant Lad's house and stay up late and sneak into his dad's sewing room and try out all the cool antique machines he keeps in there, but when you're a little tipsy on Boone's Space Farm maybe you shouldn't talk Plant Lad into bedazzling your super-cool jean jacket while you're wearing it because maybe his hand-eye coordination isn't what it should be and he'll fall to his knees and start drunkenly bedazzling the pockets of your dungarees and it's not like you can scream or anything because you'll wake up Plant Lad's folks and they'll find out you're both wasted out of your minds on Boone's Space Farm and so you whisper through gritted teeth for him to stop but for some reason he can't hear you and he just keeps stabbing your ass with the Bedazzler. And finally you have to turn around and do this sort-of karate chop thing to a nerve cluster in his left shoulder and then he's out like a light and you have to drag his sorry ass back to his bedroom without anybody noticing, not even his slutty sister Plant Lass and that creepy old fertilizer salesman she snuck into the house and Plant Lad is really sore with you the next day and he won't even talk to you for like a month but what the hell is he so pissed off about, I mean, you're the one with the line of pinprick-sized scars in your buttcheeks in the partial shape of a unicorn head. Er, but I digress.

Okay, so who else dearly wants to see the Scorpion try dance therapy? Show of (jazz) hands!

By the way, guess who drew this. There's an important clue in this panel. Have you figured it out? Shall I give you a hint? Okay. Handlebar mustache! Yup! It's Herb Trimpe. (The poor dope. )

Y'know, I'm no expert but maybe the Brainsen Pyschiatric Center would have more success if all the walls weren't completely bare. In fact, I think some redecorating is in order. Scorpion, would you like to start?

"Ka-wassh!" Aw, the letterer must have a harelip.

I should also point out that it's never a good idea to entrust the care of a supervillain to someone given to exclaiming "Goodness!" That's a sure sign of weakness. Always get somebody who swears. Whatever their age or strength-level. (Even the kids on "Nanny 911" could do a better job than this guy! They'd at least freak the Scorpion out with their sheer evil-ness. I mean, I'd hate to cross 'em.)

Finally... "second-rate cracker factory?" Ah, so he's at Bob Jones University.