Crime Was Different Back In The Day (Part 1)

From Captain Marvel and the Good Humor Man

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Skateman!

HELLO (Head Enlarged Looks Like an Ovum!) I am the artist formerly known as MODOK! (Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing!) I was designed by the scurrilous rats at AIM (Advanced Idea Mechanics) as part of their many PLOTS (Plan Leveraged to Overthrow Tons of Stuff) for world domination. My role in the secret, scientific army? I'll let you guess. Yes, that's right, KILLING! Heck, it's all I was designed FOR! (Formal Operating Reason)

This started to cause problems during periods when there wasn't particularly anything which needed killing. And at the company picnics? Forget about it! "Hey MODOK, we need a sixth for basketball ... AAAGH, I've been killed! Why are you killing us? Basketball is for playing basketball, not for killing!" and I'd be all "Do I LOOK like a Mental Organism Designed For NOT Killing and Playing Basketball Instead (MODONKPBI)?" No, it was a mess all around.

Luckily, I've been reprogrammed as a MODOHBCRF (Mental Organism Designed Only for Hosting Bad Comic Related Features) ... so, settle back, kick off your in-lines, and ENJOY (Entertainment Now ...um ... no, Naively Just ... um ... Over ... shit, I'm out!)

Sometimes, you get thrown a curve. I returned from San Diego with a big, brassy and beautiful copy of Superman vs Muhammed Ali in my mitts. My intentions were good, as I intended to take this treasury-sized edition of Superman and - neverminding he was the greatest boxer of all time - what amounts to a fragile sack of boxing Earth-flesh, and relate to you in microscopic detail what surely was going to be a four-color anatomical study of Superman putting planet sized holes in Ali's ribcage, merely by forgetting his lines. I expected - nay, anticipated even - a really crappy comic ... and for that matter, it was, like, FIFTEEN TIMES LARGER than a regular comic, so it should be exponentially worse than even the worst comic, right?
Well, damn, it turns out that Superman vs Muhammed Ali is not only NOT a crappy comic, it's a downright GOOD comic. In fact, one of the best I've read in YEARS. Excellent pacing, nice and completely contrivance free plot twists and gimmicks, lots of empathy for ALL the main characters, and Adams' art was at an absolute peak. A four-star project, despite its somewhat flimsy premise.

And as screwed up as this is, the joy of reading a really good comic was almost overshadowed by the realization that what I expected to be a real prize for G&F had slipped out of my fingers. Luckily, while at the Con, I ALSO came across a copy of SKATEMAN, considered by many to be one of the worst comics ever done. One of those many is me, now. Wow. This comic. If a future civilization were to come across only copies of Superman vs Muhammed Ali and Skateman as the last remnants of our world, they'd think Neal Adams was a schizoid maniac, or our god of duality, or Two-Face. Whatever, as far as this book goes, Neal flipped the coin to the scarred-up, "let's make a book that sucks" side.

Actually, there's no clear indication that Adams wrote and drew this. Sure, it's in his style, but Neal oversees a lot of kids who work in his very imitable technique. Of course, Neal's name appears proudly (or, as proudly as possible, given the circumstances) right above the character name, although that could just as well imply Neal's proud ownership of the property. I really should've asked him while at the Con, but I was either drunk or apathetic, I can barely recall from the hazy obfuscation of miles of fanboy-flesh squeezing out all traces of oxygen and good taste.

But to the book! Skateman opens with a blinding action sequence, dropping us unceremoniously smack into the middle of an ongoing story. This is alright because the damn thing's gonna end right on the climax, more about that later.

The very first thing you notice about the book - besides the fact that you're laughing at the idea of a hard-boiled vigilante who kicks people with his roller skates - is that the cover is reproduced on the interior as the splash page. Always a sign of quality, that. Of course, they added dialogue, which includes Skateman's dynamic introductory line in his crimefighting debut:

"Hands off, jerkhole! ... We're forming a union! My foot and your face!"

So, you can see why I love this book.

It goes on from there, Skateman beating the hell out of some faceless thugs and ... of course ... skating the hell out of everything. During a hazy flashback (brought on by taking a damn 2x4 across his mug), we get a glimpse into the complex work of art that IS Skateman.

The story starts with Billy. I forget his last name, honestly, and I neglected to write it in my notes. I'm pretty sure they mention it in the book, but c'mon, I had to read this thing, like, EIGHT TIMES already, so have some pity on me. Anyway, it starts with Billy - a lifelong martial arts enthusiast - coming back from his Army stint in Vietnam to a new career as a - - - wait for it - - - ROLLER DERBY athlete! Yes'm, Billy finds fame, glory, and more as the star of the Roller Derby circuit. Unfortunately, it all falls apart for him when his best friend - and fellow Roller Derbier (what do we call these guys, anyway?) - "Jack" (Way to work those names, gang) is KILLED ... his death possibly owing to Billy's carelessness (but more likely to a gangster plot), Billy retreats into shrieking depression, cared for by his girlfriend Angel.

AND IT KEEPS GOING! Billy also befriends a local neighborhood "Beaner" (his words, not mine, folks) Paco, whom he teaches to "defend himself AND ride a skateboard." Teach what you know, I guess. This starts to help Billy out of his depression, until BIKERS KILL ANGEL! Thanks for being in the Dramatis Personae, hon, we really cared deeply for you as a character.

This sends Billy over the edge, and inspired by Paco's comic book collection, our flaxen-haired derby jockey adopts a disguise to strike terror into criminal's hearts - assuming the criminals live in Venice Beach and are easily scared - SKATEMAN!

Point of order. Here are the three things which have defined your life up to this point: You have studied martial arts for years, you served in the Army during the Vietnam War, and you roller skate. Which do YOU choose as the central theme for your career of masked vigilantism? Roller-skating? You're an idiot, someone please call Daredevil.

Let's fast forward to get through this. Billy is romanced by a girl named Jill, whose "personal brand of rock 'n' roll" - and a No-Prize
to whomever can explain what that means - and slavish devotion touch his
tender heart. Jill gets abducted by bikers, who apparently are in league with migrant workers to bring "shit" (according to the only black man who gets a speaking role in the book - I think he's
Rudy, from Fat Albert) into the country. Billy slaps on a pair of cotton briefs and a scarf around his head and rollerskates FOR JUSTICE, and is aided by a Newsboy Legion of
skateboarders.

As an aside, all the hispanic people in this book are apparently migrant workers. This alone is just not right. Then all the white people are either bikers or disco dancers. And all the black people in this book aren't anywhere to be seen at all. (Okay, except for Rudy). This is just one of many things that are chronically not right with this book.

Anyway, here's my favorite part of this book:
The thing ends on a climax. Like, the last thing we see is Skateman rescuing Jill from a massive explosion at the evil bikers' hideout, barely keeping ahead of the flame and shockwave, while Paco cheers on from the sidelines, shocked and amazed, and then the word "Finis" is on the page. Boom. The end. No plot strings tied up, no "to
be continued" (Though it pretty obviously was intended to be), no questions answered, no satisfaction delivered.

I'm not sure I have the words to describe how jarring it is to have a story end on the climax. Like, try to picture this; Luke Skywalker flies into the Death Star trench, Vader follows him, Solo ambushes Vader's TIE fighter and Luke drops in the blast that destroys the Death Star ... the Death Star EXPLODES ... freeze on the explosion, roll credits. Boom. The end. Unsatisfying, right? How about - Indiana Jones is tied up at the post, the Nazis open the Ark, they all melt - freeze frame, roll credits. Agh! Or, here's another example: This book sucks.

But Skateman sure doesn't fail to deliver! No, rather than leaving with us with a story which abruptly ends at no logical point, it brings us THREE stories that fail to end in any satisfactory manner.

The first backup is "Futureworld," featuring art by Andy Kubert from back when he used to draw a lot like his father, and less like not any good whatsoever. The story focuses on a post-apocalyptic future where a single brave youth - Korlak - must brave the wastelands and terrible dangers of two panels worth of flying a big zeppelin to get to "The Great Machine."

The "Great Machine" turns out to be an old Nuclear Power Plant, which we know because Korlak exclaims, upon seeing it, "Th-the Great Machine! It lives! A WORKING ATOMIC REACTOR!" ... Of course, in his very next word balloon, he muses "I have never seen such contrivances." Then how did you know it was a nuclear power plant, you dope? Korlak broke kayfabe. The rube.

The next story is "The Rock Warrior," which is what I'm gonna name my first-born. Here's the plot, as figured out following somewhere between the twelfth and fifteenth read: Edgar is a boxer. Om is an inventor. They used to be partners in adventure until Edgar settled down, married, and had a daughter - Angie. Om accidentally drops his new invention - a handheld personal teleporter - while rushing to get some free lunch. The infant Angie grabs the thing and sends her and her father on a wild tour of dangerous spots throughout the universe. Along the way, Angie and Edgar meet the Rock Warrior, Om's twin (apparently fraternal) brother who fights crime with a space guitar. After a near miss rescuing Angie from a death ride in a giant missile, the duo come home, safe and sound.

Now, here's what the story felt like during the first eight thousand exhausting
efforts of making heads or tails of it: This guy with the stripes and this
guy and he has a teleporter, right? Then the baby grabs it and the guy I don't remember who go through time and the Space Warrior plays his guitar
and then they have to stop the missile so they go into space and they fight
it with lasers and then it's over and they're back home and the guy with the stripes, he says "should we tell them" and the baby says "Wok! Wah Wah!"

I hate to admit I enjoyed the whole Skateman experience - Rock Warrior and Skateman more than "Futureworld," just for the former duo's excessive incompetence and insanity - but I get to qualify it by saying I enjoyed it in the same manner as I enjoyed Manos, The Hands Of Fate, or groin injuries on America's Funniest Home Videos. On a final note, Skateman ends with this
line, tacked on to the end of the Rock Warrior story:

"Ok, readers. Do you want to see more of Rock Warrior? It's up to you, then. Write in!"

I can't resist when creative teams beg for support. Needless to say, I have pen in hand as we speak. How many "R"s in "Warrior?"

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Mighty Comics

Hi! I'm Rainbow Boy, and if you think you see me shooting a cascading beam of colors out my ass, brother, are you ever seein' RIGHT! I'm making an appeal to all gay rights organizations to accept me, Rainbow Boy, as the official spokesperson for your group or organization. I mean, come on ... Ra-ai-ai-inbow! A-a-a-asssss! I'm everything you're looking for! And don't be put off by my apparent youth! I'm well over sixty years old, having debuted in the early forties! Now come closer, lemme show you how this rainbow ass power of mine works ... hey, what? Get your hands off me! Hey! Fine, if that's the way you want it, I'm leaving ... but you'll never see another piece of ass like this again ... not one that shoots rainbows!

It's the Sixties, and for fans of the bad comic ouvre, there is only ONE word that drives this decade: Batman. Alternatively, Zonk! Or Pow, Bam, Wap, Zowie, et al.

A lot of comics suddenly found themselves under editorial scrutiny at this time, and dozens more which debuted here angled to distinctly take advantage of the camp grandeur of the Batman television show. There were the Harvey Heroes, featured a few months back, as well as fellow newcomers like the Inferior Five, or nice tries like the second generation Plastic Man. These were a mixed bag, especially compared to the unkillable mainstays of the Archie super-hero line, the Mighty Crusaders.

From the Crusaders, we have here the Web, the Shield and Black Hood, bypassing for right now their fellows Hangman, the Fly, Jaguar, the Comet and many others (Cause I don't have THEIR comics). The whole lot of them debuted in the long-ago-renamed MLJ comics, debuting along their most popular property ARCHIE ... in fact, these superhero stories ran right alongside Archie and Pal's high school hijinx in the pages of Pep. Since then, the property has been liberally passed around, and the characters have been under the guiding hands of at least a half dozen different sub-contractors - to name a few, there's Red Circle, DC's ill-fated (but generally likable) Impact line, and a modern reinterpretation going on back inhouse at Archie Comics ... oh, and plus these guys.

Under the heading of "Mighty Comics," the mid-Sixties Radio Comics (no, not that one) brought back these classic Golden Agers as "Go Go Do-Gooders" for the "Action Generation" to "go ape
over." Liberally mixing in Marvel Comic's editorial style and humanist superhero formula with grade-C Batman tv show camp, they reintroduced these characters to a world consumed by a comic craze.

Oddly enough, this theme should have worked and is, in general, a pretty good idea. See, not only did these characters have a driving gimmick which fueled their super-hero identities - they had a driving gimmick in their CIVILIAN identities. The Shield, for instance, couldn't manage to hold down a job for more than a day at most, and sometimes not even that, hindered by his responsibilities as the Shield. The Black Hood, as officer Kip Burland, was wanted by his fellow officers following what I can only describe as one of the least competent frame-ups in the history of everything. And the Web was accurately described as the "hen-pecked hero," being as it was that his wife pretty much got to lay down the law on his spandex antics, gender-bent Bewitched style.

Getting back to the Black Hood's frame-up just for a second, let me expand on this. In his identity of motorcycle cop Kip Burland, the Hood follows the sounds of gunshots to find his "best pal" Pete Hannigan shot dead in front of a bank. Kip is clocked in the back of the nog while leaning over his dead pal's body, and the bulgy-eyed killer (thereafter cleverly dubbed "Bulgy Eyes") stuffs a few stolen dollars in Kip's pockets and hits the bricks. Kip is discovered by ANOTHER "inseparable" pal, Mark Brodie, who does the math (in the same way a retarded terrier might do the math) ... Kip unconscious + Pete dead + bank robbed = KIP KILLED PETE AND ROBBED THE BANK!

Never mind it doesn't explain how Kip got blackjacked on the back of his head while Pete got shot dead while SITTING ON HIS MOTORCYCLE. Or why the few thousand dollars hastily stuffed in Kip's pockets don't total the amount actually STOLEN from the bank. No, it explains nothing, but WHO CARES, because from that moment on Kip Burland is a wanted man!

I'm serious, man, I didn't leave out a BIT of that hardcore detective work. Well, except that Kip, rather than pointing out any of these glaring indications of his innocence, BOLTS from the scene and begins living the life of a fugitive ...

Moving on to the aforementioned Web, the Bewitched premise is pretty much spot-on. Professor John Raymond is a veteran, semi-retired super-hero who decides to get back into the game. Despite his "rusty reflexes," he becomes "one of the most fab crime-crushers on the current scene," much to the consternation of his fussy and emotionally manipulative wife who threatens him with divorce, infidelity (no kidding. Subtle, but there nonetheless...), and probably refuses to play the sausage game, if you follow.

Naturally, most of her appearances are spent brow-beating her put-upon husband until he either acquiesces to her face
but sneaks out the back for some super-heroing, or cracks under the pressure and shows her the back of his hand. "Bitch!" he yells in one scene, "I done TOLD you once already!"

No, wait, I kid. It almost always ends with a sort of maudlin, gag-like scene as with this one.

And that brings us finally to the Shield, the lovable loser among these recycled heroes, only he's not lovable at all.

Bill-or-Joe Higgins (depends on the story) is the Shield, and also a guy who is all-around apparently no damn good at anything. Except beating people up. For Justice, mind you, but still ... Joe's shtick is that he keeps getting fired from his back-breaking blue collar jobs on accounta the fact that no matter WHAT he's doing, he sees a crime occurring and figures he better change into the Shield and stop it. He's washing windows, he sees a cop being held at gunpoint. He's building a railroad, he sees known criminals drive by. He's cleaning the grease trap at Arby's, he sees someone whizzing in the condiment tray. This is a job for the Shield!

The Shield also got to experience that sort of white middle-class it's- the -Sixties -but -not -the -socially -freaked -out -yet -Sixties American poverty, by which we mean he had a nicely appointed apartment and his only evidence of financial woe was that he was often hungry (which I imagine is because you burn a lot of calories fighting crime) and that he can't afford to repair his television. In fact, if he would just take on a freaking roommate
instead of paying for a three-bedroom apartment on an imaginary salary, he
probably could have made it just fine.

I leave you with this shot of the cover to Black Hood #50. You can't see it terribly well, but check out the tank on the "hoodcycle" there ... not only does it feature a lovely portrait of the Hood himself, but you can just barely makeout the handwritten "Hood Cycle" next to it. This is what we had before Lo-Jack.

• Everything's Gay and Gorgeous! Scoobie-Do!
  
• Cornball ... Yocks ... Stupid bit ... Hey, how'd you get back here, anyway?
  
• It probably would've been easier to just HIRE some dancers.
  

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Captain Marvel

Alright, alright, calm down a minute and I'll try to explain. I am Captain Thunder, the Black Power of Shazam. And if you have never seen me before, that's okay, cause I only ever made one appearance anywhere before ever, and that was in an article for the Comic Buyer's Guide.

See, Roy Thomas, the Dr.Moreau of rehashed golden-age superheroes, brought me out to DC as a proposal for the introduction of Captain Marvel to the DC Universe. Actually, I was Captain Thunder, the Earth-1 equivalent - I was even secretly newspaperboy Billy Batson, although I looked like Rudy from Fat Albert.

This is a proud tradition in comics known as "Throwing the minorities a bone." Sometimes me and the second Dr.Mid-Nite and the second Wildcat and the second Mister Miracle and just about the second everybody would get together and hang out at Steel's place. This was before he got big. Back then, we just called him ... the second Superman.

Speaking of seconds, allow me to present ...

Why, it's Captain Marvel! We all love Captain Marvel, don't we? Yeah, WHIZ radio! Shazam! Tawky Tawny! Big Red Cheese ... Of course, THIS Captain - despite his red suit and magic word - is just a wee bit different.

You're looking here at the second Captain Marvel, a character completely unrelated to the original Fawcett creation of the Forties and who pretty much reeked like wookie ass. Rather
than an orphaned boy granted terrific powers in order to defend justice, this Cap was an amnesiac robot with loose limbs.

Cap debuts in a story which bears the legend "Based on a character created by Carl Burgos," which lends even more confusing twists and angles to his existence, inasmuch as he curiously has few ties to the company or creator of the original character. Burgos was, as you may know, the creator of the original Human Torch - also a robot with a human identity and a nondescript red jumpsuit.

We first catch up with our hero as he wanders a dark house, suffering a complete memory loss. This is NOT a good start, in my opinion. As he paces the house, bits and pieces of his memory return, escorting us back to his origin . (In the second story of this issue, Cap AGAIN has a blackout. He has more blackouts than a Kennedy. I wonder how often this happened to him. And how long it's gonna take before one of these blackouts ends with him standing in a strange motel room with a dead hooker on the bed and four kilos of pure heroin in his overnight bag)

We're taken to an alien world where a group of scientists has created Captain Marvel, The "Human Robot" - which I think works on the same level as "Meatless Burger" - for the "good of man." And BOY, is he ever handy to have around.

Check this out:

Marvel is instructed to utter the word "Split," which he does even though I think if I were in his situation - no memory, wakes up on a table surrounded by men in hospital gowns, being told I'm a robot - I'd be hesitant to jump when the enigmatic bossguy says so. Anyway, for his willingness to participate, Marvel is rewarded by having his arms and legs fall off. Obediently uttering the word "Xam!" - which I guess isn't really a word, so much as "Split" is - Marvel finds himself spontaneously reattached to his disparate parts. "Hello again, toes!"

He's told that the reason he can split is to "make repairs to your body..." (The hell?) and to - and this is a favorite of mine - "to prevent an attack from more than one person." That seems overly optimistic to me. "Blast, there's more than one person, but luckily fewer than four people, attacking me right now. Haha, the joke will be on them. HERE COME MY LIMBS!"

"HERE COME MY LIMBS" would've been my first choice for Captain Marvel's battle cry, by the way.

Actually, Cap could dissect himself into a startling array, basically at every joint and then some. Every finger could split independently at the joint, the arm at the elbow, wrist and shoulder, his pelvis could detach, his legs split at the hip, knee and ankle .... heck, I suppose his toes could probably separate independently, too. Oh, and his head could fly around independently too, just like Sir William Gull at the end of From Hell. XAM!

Cap's got that "magic word" weakness of having a common term as his mantra. If I knew the guy, I would've abused it. "Well, time for dessert Captain. Which would you prefer, salted liver with anchovy gravy or a banana split?" ... "Um, the one that isn't the liver." ... "You want the liver? No problem! Eat it all up!" ... "No, I want the other one. The thing with the bananas" ... "Say it Cap." ... "Alright. I want ... the ... banana SPLIT (THUD)."

Anyway, shortly after building him, Cap's native world explodes and he non-chalantly rockets to Earth (Says he, witnessing his planet's destruction "Now I'll have to find a new home." No kidding) where, once again suffering a terrible loss of memory, he is taken under the wing of an Earth boy. The writers were surely aware of Cap's shared namesake, evidenced if only by the presence of Marvel's young ward. Introduced in the first story only as "Billy...from the USA" (I swear), he's later given the full name of Billy Baxton, a short hop-skip-and-jump from the original Marvel's identity of Billy Batson.

Besides his handy ability to draw-and-quarter himself at will, Marvel can shoot laser beams from his eyes, fly, deflect bullets, emit electric shocks from his body, use some kind of half-assed telepathy and probably more; he's one of those characters whose powers were so poorly defined as to make him effectively omnipotent. But turning back the page for a moment, note that he can shoot electricity AND laser beams, but his only reputed defense against an attack by more than one person is to haphazardly fling his limbs at them.

Also, his powers stem from a magic element he keeps in his flat, completely non-medallion-looking medallion. The element is called "X" ... not "Element X," not "Chemical X," not "Cherry flavored X-Pops" ... Just "X." It is clearly identified in the medallion by the large letter "M" emblazoned on the front.

The stories in the first issue have that sort of meaningless Golden Age "twist ending" feel - well, except for the first story which is just Captain Marvel walking around the house losing body parts until Billy brings him his Ritalin. The first story starts with
Cap being involved in a plane crash (Which his super powers are apparently useless to avert. Or his super-powers might just be useless), then falling under the sway of evil "invisible" aliens (pictured above, and as you can see, they are not only visible but bear some resemblance to Milk&Cheese. "I'm an invisible alien of hate!") who kidnap everyone on the plane and plan to kill them, but then change their mind and ask Marvel to help them return home, and they go, and Cap has another blackout, and then I don't remember a damn thing about the story.

The last story in this issue continued the comic's newly-found tradition of swiping popular characters' names, as they introduced Plastic Man - their version lacking every bit of inventiveness
that made the original so appealing.

In this tale, the Captain is bedevilled by aliens (not invisible, but blue this time) who come from Venus but who live underwater, and have come here
to destroy us, then send Cap to meet his doom at the hands of a native Venusian "Gronk," to wit Plastic Man, and then the twist ending is that the aliens actually came here to warn us that nuclear bombs were polluting our atmosphere, and the Venusian who did all the killing and destroying was only pissed because his parents had been killed by a rogue Gronk a couple of days before the mission started. This Venusian went on to become ... Bat-Man. No, I kid.

Changes abound between issues as Cap goes from sandy brown hair to blonde, from a magenta jumpsuit to a red one, puts on a mask and has his medallion change from a mere insignia to something actually resembling a medallion. Of course, nothing can change the subtle way he's won our hearts.

He also changes identities from "Mister Marvel" (brilliant) to "Roger Winkle" (haha), now a college professor at Dartmoor, as well as something of a comical euphemism for the penis. He's also, by this point, gained a useless love interest and some supporting cast.

I thought I pretty much had this company pegged as some hack penny press which survived by harvesting the names of
popular characters from defunct publishing houses - this comes from a bat-eared, gargoyle-looking villain called The
Ray, which had prepared me for a total rape of the Quality Comics line. Of course, they derailed me with the use of TINYMAN for the nom de guerre of a shrinking District Attorney who uses his puny weakness to fight crime.
Somehow.

In any case, he was the perfect target for a second-hand DollMan tag, but I'm guessing the book's creative staff thought that was too femmy. Thus, Tinyman. Much better.

On a final note, the first issue is also one of the most catastrophic
cover scenes in the history of the medium. Not only is young Billy tied to a dangerous machine, but that machine is clearly reading that it is ready to blow even as an electrical monster of some sort is rising from it and reaching towards Billy with scary lightning mitts, all the while he's surrounded by menacing alien robots with terrible facial hair while Captain Marvel bursts into the ship only seconds away from a raging wall of water under the baleful gaze of ANOTHER type of alien, armed, watching the events below unfold through the UFO's canopy while even MORE UFO's fly in the skies in the background. Jesus. What, they couldn't light Billy on FIRE, too?

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: The Protectors

"Hello Everyone, and welcome to Gone and Forgotten. I'm your host for this edition - Bee Boy! Bzzzzzzzzz!"

"Yes, I haven't seen the light of day since Superboy #127, and I'm a freak! The official story is that I was a lost kid who was abandoned in the middle of Africa and saved by some sort of damn bee serum, but I think it's fair to say that I'm just a "special" guy with "special" tastes (Whaddya think of my fancy white ermine turtleneck tunic?). Hey, I even tried bagging Lana Lang's sweet thorax while she was doing her Insect Queen thing. Ah, Lana, your dry, chitinous husk, your hairy, exo-skeletal legs ... ooooaaaugh. Baby. Superboy took pity on me and spared me a brutal beating at his invulnerable hands. In fact, the editors of his comic even begged readers to ask for more Bee Boy stories. Nobody wrote. Nobody ever wrote."

"But enough about me, let's move on to the January selection of the worst comics ever written. Let's meet...

THE PROTECTORS

...Or better yet, how about Great White?

Boy, did these guys suck. A product of New York Comics (which was published by Solson Inc, printed by Solson, distributed by Solson and featured Solson house ads ... for Heaven's Sake, who is this mysterious New York Comics?), theoretically this comic introduced "The Most Unlikely Heroes Of All," which was true inasmuch as it's highly unlikely this band of unlikeable incompetents could do anything heroic whatsoever.

And wasn't that an X-Men catchphrase, anyway?

Right, well, Protectors was written by Brett Axel, a name that screams "I will play bass in a garage band until I'm thirty-eight," and drawn by Spencer Bernard, age 12. I'm not kidding. Spencer is Brett's wife's cousin. I'm not kidding. Spencer left the book to draw dragons full-time. I'm still not kidding.

I usually wouldn't bother slamming a book drawn by a kid, but Brett up there deserves a half-dozen GAFs and a SeeBelow all to himself; a frustrated writer ... painter .... poet ... AND musician. Plus his spelling is atrocious, and he sounds like a big dork. Not only did Brett visit his unfortunate comic book idea on the world at large, due to a proportional naivete on Spencer's part (Spence drew the books on 11x14 paper, rather than the 12x17 preferred by most cartoonists) Brett chose to give us a running editorial on the 'creative process' behind the Protectors, running along the bottom 1¾ inches of each (and every) page. Great. Here are some pearls of wisdom Brett visits upon our sorry heads:

"It began with a daydream adventure. That's the way my stories usually begin. I pick an adventure that sort of formulates in my mind and play it out. I was Randy, my wife Linda, my sister Gail was Gene, spelled masculine, by the way, because the character suits it" Haha. Of course, that is a joke; No one in this book HAS any character whatsoever.

The story, by the way, centers around Randy Pain, his wife Linda and Randy's psychic sister (part-time private detective Gene Pain). Gene's been hired to locate a missing girl - Donna Jacobs, not that knowing her name is at all important - and for no reason whatsoever uncovers a plot by a bejumpsuited, undersea spy organization to kidnap woman and crossdressers. Then Roxanne, a dart-throwing tomboy, joins up with the group, adds in one of the stupidest pop culture references I've ever seen with my own eyes, and plunges a dart into some guys sinuses. Then Terrance Stamp puts on a housedress and says he's the devil, and nobody gets off the boat alive, - did I mention that there was a boat? - and then I don't remember cause I've read this comic a dozen times and I STILL don't know what the hell is supposed to be happening.

More from Brett, regarding the editorial accompaniment:"My solution, after grave consideration, you are now reading. I said "Hey lets let the reader in on all the behind the scenes stuff. The embarrassing truths, that sort of thing. Nobody liked the idea." And yet. By the way, that excerpt is reproduced error for error, just to show us the quality of writer with which we are dealing.

And if you thought Protectors #1 was great ... and how could you ... here's some stuff Brett had planned for future issues, ideas which his peers deemed "too political, too controversial or too radical"

"The second issue showing another possible story to the Libian crisis, one which shows Ron Reagan in a most unattractive light was sure to bring the CIA down on me as a subversive ... 'glorifying drunk driving' ... criticizing the Hands Across America ... a spoof on the teenage mutant Ninja Turtles titled the Unborn Nuclear Wasted Punk Rock Fetuses ... (About four aborted fetuses flushed into Manhattans sewer which lived and grew older as a result of a nuclear waste dumping)"

No, like most every other Solson production, Protectors went one whole issue (other Solson books never even came out at all. Thank goodness). More about Solson, Solson publisher Gary Brodsky and Solson guilt-by-associate Rich Buckler in a later GAF. I'm just too tired now. Just ... tooo ... tired.

• Jean/Gene and her magic mood astrology psychic sea anemone
• This was the house ad for the second issue of the Protectors. Some issues:




1. Wow, with an ad like this, how could I RESIST?
2. Blood doesn't splatter like that. Paint and semen splatter like that. So make your own guesses as to what's going on here.
3. I see a horsie, and another horsie, and two birdies and a duck.


• The cover to issue one.

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Hansi, The Girl Who Loved the Swastika

NOTE: This article has been on the web since 1997, and I will tell you this; I ain't even responding to any email about it ever again, no matter what. I do this for one simple reason; anyone who gets charged up about this article - positively or negatively - is a fucking idiot and maybe we ought to reopen the camps just for you.

I will tell you, besides the completely misguided "Oh my god you really showed it to the Christians (implicit therein: "...by making fun of a fucking idiotic comic book, PS I have no sense of perspective") folks, who are missing the point just as well as the other folks, I'm pretty exhausted with the "OMG, you clearly hate God, you oppressor you, because you thought this comic was dumb" routine. Some folks would defend a pile of shit trained to rape babies if it had a Jesus fish on the backside of it, this is what I've learned. THIS COMIC IS FUCKING STUPID, and if you feel you need to defend your God and faith or Hansi Ten Va-Voom of whatever her name is, I forget, there've gotta be bigger battles to tackle. And I hope you tackle them in the sarlaac pit, nerds.

PS - This comic is stupid. If you feel you need to reconcile that fact with your faith, I'd suggest you try heroin. Okay, buh-bye, thanks.

Acht Mir Schlessel!

HANSI:THE GIRL WHO LOVED THE SWASTIKA

Yeah, that Hansi sure loves the Swastika. Why, I don't think I've ever seen anyone who loved the swastika more than our girl Hansi. Boy, what a swastika-lover.

This chunky hunk of embarassment comes to us courtesy of Christian comic-book makers Spire Publications, who also brought us Hello I'm Johnny Cash and the comic-book adaptation of The Cross and the Switchblade ("I could kill you..." "Yes, you could Nicky! You could cut me up in a thousand pieces and every piece will still love you..."). Ideally, these stories are supposed to be inspirational and offer lessons in faith to the young reader. And with a cover like that, what kid wouldn't be inspired...?

Here's the story: 1938, the Nazis invade the Sudentenland and whereas everyone ELSE seems petrified and panicked, Hansi's absolutely thrilled that the Nazis have brought BOOKS ... cause they didn't have those in the Sudentenland, apparently. Inspired by that famous Nazi hospitality, Hansi partakes in, and wins, a competition which sweeps her off to Prague to study as a Hitler Youth leader. You go girl.

Now before taking off, Hansi's bedraggled mom reminds her "don't ever forget Jesus." Nonetheless, by the time Hansi's on the train, she wouldn't recognize Jesus if he were sitting next to her, still pinned to his sticks.

Hansi ends up as some kind of Gestapo Candy Striper, taunting injured German soldiers. "I lost MY ideals when I lost my eyes on the Russian front." says one poor kid. "We are nothing," snaps back Hansi, cheerfully, "The Reich is everything!"

Anyway, eventually Germany falls (my favorite line in the whole book "Germany surrendered! The dream ended! The nightmare began!" Unless you were a Jew, Communist, gypsy, homosexual or dissident, in which case, the nightmare had ended - the authors of this book, I can't believe 'em), and Hansi and her fellow nurses or schoolmates or whatever are captured by
the RUSSIANS! And dig this - every night, the Russians invade the barracks of the female prisoners to RAPE THEM - except Hansi, cause ... she's too skinny. I can't make this stuff up, folks. Now, despite hearing that Americans were gum-chewing gangsters (Which is apparently worse than being a tyrant and rapist....), Hansi and the girls make an escape attempt across
no-man's land (all the raped girls get shot to death. Hansi makes it across...the message here?), and then are greeted by Americans --- CHEWING GUM!

Eventually Hansi ends up as a teacher in the Bavarian Alps, meets up with her old love Rudy, and they settle down and get married. Unfortunately, the marriage is rocky until they introduce the Bible into it. Kay, whatever floats their U-Boat. Then, inexplicably, Hansi and her family (kids invisibly appear along the way) decide to emigrate to America, but it turns out to not be
as near as great a place as they'd heard.

Anyway, she sets up some kind of ex-Nazi self-pride Christian study group in various jails around the country. Wouldn't you?

Here's a couple things to consider about this book:

First off, is Hansi really the role model most Christians would want to have? She's the most gullible girl in the world! She believes anything she reads, f'r cryin' out loud. She starts off believing the Bible cause it's the only book she has, then some Nazi gives her ANOTHER book so SHE becomes a Nazi, then she hears the Bible's cool again, so she picks that up, then she hears
America's cool, and goes there, only it isn't .... MY GOD! Plus, the sublimated lesson here is "Read anything other than the Bible, and you'll become a Nazi." Nice, charming. Does that mean if I read Archie, I'll join a bubblegum pop band?

Secondly, Hansi escapes being raped. I puzzled this one awhile - after all, wouldn't it reinforce the wrongness of her abandoning Jesus and increase her reader sympathy if she HAD been raped? But then I got the message that all the girls who HAD been raped had gotten killed - you see, the comic's saying that Hansi could never have been a pure and good Christian if she HAD been. She woulda been tainted. And the girls who'd gotten killed escaping the camp were LUCKY to have been spared living with what was done to them.....

And folks wonder why I'm an atheist.....

• The original title was "Mitzi, the Girl Who Got Her Rocks Off To The Sauvistika"
• Actually, I think they're catching a flight to Amsterdam.
• This phrase alone tells you that this is a Christian comic.
• You can never be too thin or too chaste.
• Candy Sniper.

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Fast Willie Jackson

Kick it to the curb, Willie Jackson style!

Can you dig it? They're COOL, BAD, FAST and TOGETHER! They're the BROTHERS
and SISTERS of MOCITY U.S.A! Yeah, that Fast Willie Jackson is One Bad ----

Just talking about Fast Willie Jackson, this funkadelic, happenin', Archie-ripoff
what came out of Fitzgerald Publications (who?) back in swinging 1976. Word.

Ah yes, and as an Archie rip-off, it had to have the ubiquitous cast of
characters. Assuming the role of the good-natured, slightly lazy, all-American
kid is Fast Willie himself. Taking up the Jughead mantle is JoJo, and Moose
has been replaced by a big, dumb man of color name'a Hannibal! Dee Dee Wilson
is their Veronica - there were not enough pages in one ish to introduce a
Betty, but enough to have TWO "villainous" foils: slick playa and tricked
out sugar daddy Frankie Johnson, and black militant Jabar (Always seen holding
a protest placard and working himself into a sweaty fervor). Adoringly, Pop
was replaced by a Puerto Rican named Jose Martinez. Just about all of the
figures of adult authority, so essential to the elements of an Archie book,
are represented by Officer Flagg, a buffoonish, brick jawed, thick necked
honky policeman (only whiteboy in the whole book, by the way) described in
the Dramatis Personae as "The Man.

I suppose I should get a brief kudos for Fast Willie and Fitzgerald Publishing
out of the way first - an apparent inhouse ad in the book offered a series
of historical magazines entitled Golden Legacy, offered under the heading
"Want To Learn More About Black History?" and prominently featuring a volume
dedicated to the Black Cowboys. The magazines advertised an illustrated
(read:comic book) history of African-Americans, including notable events
which have only gained truly national attention in the last few years (i.e.
Amistad, the aforementioned black cowboys, etc) and several others which,
sadly, are still overlooked in the American consciousness.

But enough of that, cause School Daze this ain't! Besides the essential crimes
of being uninteresting, unoriginal and unfunny, FWJ steeps into tastelessness
with both hands on several occasions. Among my favorite moments include:

• Willie's entire crowd overjoyed at the prospect of having five dollars.
  (Says Hannibal "Hey, Jo-Jo! Willie has a five dollar bill!" Replies Jo-Jo,
  "Cool, man! Er--What's a five dollar bill?")
  
• A not-so-subtle pimp-ho joke going on between Frankie and Dee Dee; It's
  Dee Dee's birthday and, to celebrate, she's giving all her presents to Frankie,
  and fawning all over him. To return the favor, Frankie takes her gifts and
  affection, then heads out the door telling Dee Dee that he's off to go do
  the same thing with another (of his) woman.
  
• The angry young black man (Jabar), while certainly not a shining example
  of young Black malehood (what with his rabid ranting) is a buffoon character
  really for no other reason than his afro-centricism.

I don't even know how to categorize this book; nice try or naive opportunism? Good intentions or shameless grubbing? All I know for sure is that the folks at Fitzgerald weren't really EVIL --- they were just JIVE....