The Sneerness of You

See, this is why "Moose" from Archie Comics should never be allowed to dress himself.

...Okay, so the mesh t-shirt was my idea. But then that big dumb dope had to accessorize it with a three-sizes-too-small fedora, a woolen suit coat (Who does he think he is? Sonny Crockett?) and his mom's scarf. GAH.

Meanwhile, the three points of the Universe's Most Boring Love Triangle don't realize that they're sitting in the mouth of a giant parasitic plant, which will soon snap shut and dissolve their stupid, quarreling bodies.

Here's to Your Cramming It

Judging from the "his 'n' hers" go-go dancer costumes, I'm guessing they're on the run after cheating on Lifetime's "Your Mama Don't Dance".

You know me; I'm not a huge fan of cut-outs to begin with. I mean, I know I've used them before, but they have to be placed sparingly and strategically. And for a bent, cone-headed oldster, they should be placed nowhere. Nobody wants to see your liver-spotted love handles, Gramps. And if you wear that nutty tunic over a filmy white bodysuit (as you are in this case) it just makes it worse. Because then I'm forced to employ my imagination.

And I can imagine some pretty freaky shit.

It's Curtains, For Sure

"The carpet... it doesn't match the curtains! *sob*"

In this thrilling issue of "Valerie Valance: Drapery Inspector" Valerie encounters intrigue and romance while investigating the window treatments of Barbie's Dream House. It's a dangerous mission, requiring stealth, but with some quick thinking she altered her jacket so she resembles one of those little cinched-up cloth pouches they use for expensive bottles of liquor. But will her ruse be discovered by her arch enemies, Ventriloquisto (and his life-sized Boy Toy) and Orthographica, the Woman of a Thousand Map-Print Dresses (she's sporting one of Krypton for this special occasion)?

(The beauty of the actual cover? The text over the picture, which I trimmed out so as to make the image larger, reads "Kiss me... hold me... but don't ever love me! I'm ruined for any boy! My father saw to that! Read: LIKE FATHER... LIKE DAUGHTER!" Which led me to believe the old guy cautioning and fondling the prospective beau was the girl's father and not the boy's. Which is incorrect, but you have to admit it would make for a more interesting story.)

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.

MacGyver, He's Not

Dirt in his hair? Ah, he's disguised himself as Jude Law.

Accidentally sent to the future by Superman's backwash (of air! What were you thinking?) Jimmy finds himself a hated fugitive thanks to a historical misunderstanding. ("The Boy Who Killed Superman," the above panels scanned from the reprint in "Jimmy Olsen" #113, August-September 1968.) Jimmy's complete disguise consists of the aforementioned dirty hair, a referee's uniform, hotpants (but of course), bright blue boots (not shown) and a Members Only jacket. My mind is boggling right now, trying to imagine the previous owner's lifestyle.

Unluckily for our Jimmy, he's captured in the very next panel by a "human magnet... tuned to killer Olsen's personal wave-length!" I guess he needed more dirt. But then he manages to escape and has a series of wacky misadventures until he's finally caught "for reals" this time and placed in a line-up with three other hotpants-wearing gentlemen -- some of whom don't really have the figures for hotpants. I'm specifically referring to you, circus strongman-looking guy on the far left. Jimmy's fingered by Brainiac (ew) -- no, not that one, just a generic thinking machine -- and the future folk punish him by sending him back to his own time. Phht. I think cyanide tablets would have been far more effective.

On a more personal note, I wouldn't say this to just anyone... but I like to think of myself as a "human magnet." And I'm tuned to your personal wave-length. *cue mellow jazz music as the lights in your room dim romantically*

Meet The Dorkersons

From the back of "Ghost Manor" #55, (Charlton, March 1981) comes this horribly printed ad for a "Warrior's Battlejacket." Look familiar? Note the pharaonic space helmet the boy is holding. And yet the phrase "Battlestar Galactica" appears nowhere in the advertisement. And believe it or not, this is far from the sleaziest ad in this comic. As you'll soon see.

Apparently the little girl is busy transcending this plane of existance and morphing into an energy being. She gets that from her mom's side of the family, I guess. When folks see the husband strolling arm-in-arm with his brightly glowing, near-featureless wife, the other fellas jab one another and say, "Man, how'd a loser like him score... um, whatever the hell that thing is?" And then the wife would overhear them and fold space into a tesaract in order to reach inside their skulls and reduce their brains to a frothy, mousse-like consistency. As for the husband? Well, the sex is mind-blowing. Instead of a bed, they do the nasty directly on one of those monolith thingies from "2001: A Space Odyssey." Unfortunately, the radiation level is so high that his junk has sprouted a tiny, scowling face and what appear to be several miniature narwhals' tusks.

According to the ad, "The Warrior's Battlejacket can be worn practically anywhere" (that you'd like a stranger to kick you in the groin). But what if you don't want the Warrior's Battlejacket? What if you'd rather have a girlfriend? How could the ads in "Ghost Manor" #55 help you with that endeavor?

Well, there's always mind control.



Or if that's not to your liking, maybe you'd like to try mind control.



Or even just good, simple, old-fashioned MIND CONTROL!



JESUS F**KING CHRIST! No wonder Charlton stopped publishing comics! All their customers were in prison! And I'm sure the prison psychiatrists wouldn't let them have any comics. Not Charlton comics, anyway. I'm guessing that towards the end, there, if you sent in a subscription form to Charlton Comics? It was automatically forwarded to the FBI. Nowadays there'd be laws requiring a Charlton reader to go door-to-door in their neighborhoods just to let everyone else know who was living amongst them.

And then they'd burn his house to the ground.

Superboy And The Amazing Thermonuclear Dream Coat

He's not dead. He's resting.

In "Superboy" #61 (April 1999) the troubled and occasionally tiresome teen bounces around Hypertime in a hi-tech/lo-fashion atomic-powered jacket. Superboy wears it with the collar up. Of course. Because he's kind of a twerp. I'm sure he'd roll up the sleeves, too, if they hadn't been reinforced with circuitry and isotopes and whatnot.

He runs into a bunch of other Superboys, some of whom are shown on the cover.



At center left, there's the Clark Kent Superboy, of course. He's the guy in the inoffensively boring -- ow! Quit pelting me with your HeroClix, fanboys! -- okay, make that "classic" costume. On the bottom is Superboy-as-Robin. And I think it's funny that the only costume elements I hate are the ones taken from the Kesel Superboy design. All those lame-ass straps, for instance. I do like this color scheme better than the one on the actual Robin costume. Huh. Between the Clark Kent and Robin Superboys is the DC One Million Superboy, all OMAC'd out. Now, I understand what Kirby was going for with that ridiculous hairdo but it still looks dumb. Doesn't look any better on Superboy, either. Nice shoulderpads, though. You know me; I loves me some good shoulderpads. (I bet his don't have any storage capacity for snacks, though. Me, ten points, Superboy, zero!) The blonde teen queen to the southeast of Superboy Proper is... wait for it!... Supergrrrl. Cue musical stinger, played on a trombone. Wah-wah-wah-WAAHHHH! Jesus. As if this book wasn't dated enough. One word of advice, "Supergrrrl": don't take hairstyling advice from Rachel Summers. I'm just sayin.' All armored up behind Clark Kent Superboy and the Kamandi-esque, Tarzan-ish Superboy is squire Superboy, also seen below next to Cowboy Superboy. Or "Supercowboy." Or whatever. I dunno.



Say...! Sir Kal is hot! Somebody needs to teach him the proper way to tie a tie, though. (Seriously, what the hell is up with that? Does he work at Chippendales?) Cowpoke Superboy is more nattily dressed than squire Superboy -- although he's pushing it a little with the fringed boots.

And lest we forget, there's the villainous Superboy! No, not the stammering whiner from "Infinite Crisis." The other one.



Oh, he's so terrifying, so unmistakably evil, I -- I -- heh... BWAH HAH HAH HAH!!! WOO! *wipes away tears* Oookay, "Black Zero." Here's the deal. The breastplate thing, based on Mike Mignola's designs for battlesuits from that old miniseries he did with John Byrne? That's terrific. Love it. Combining it with a black bodysuit? Classic. Looks great. The scribbly Byrne Doodles, meant to evoke Byrne's costume designs for Jor-El and his kin? Not good. They never were good. They're just another example of Byrne being lazy, like when he decided Wonder Woman's tights only needed two stars on 'em instead of dozens. Also? They kinda look like pubes. So thumbs down. The sunglasses? No. In fact, make that hell no. I know Superboy used to wear 'em a lot, but big effin' deal. They're a trendy, casual accessory and they take away from your aura of menace; they don't add to it. You don't see Darkseid strolling around in a Panama hat or Doctor Doom with one of those big rapper-style diamond necklaces that spells out his name. The only villain I can think of offhand who wears sunglasses as part of his regular costume is Doctor Octopus, and he's a fat guy with a bad haircut. If I looked like that I'd wear sunglasses, too, STORM BOY. And then there's the soul patch. Those things are always dicey. And to be frank, the rest of your look isn't hep enough to pull that thing off. Not with that Fantastic Sam's haircut, it ain't. Shave your head, ditch the sunglasses, and get back to me.



Well, that's a weird coincidence, Superboy. I was also going to suggest you "lose the jacket."

But not because it was explosive.