Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Daredevil vs Vapora

DAREDEVIL VS VAPORA - RUMBLE IN THE JUNGLE WITH THE FUME OF DOOM!

I have decided that the double-D on Daredevil's chest must stand for DISCO INFERNO, except without the “Disco” part and I don't know what the second D means. This is not my finest hour, as far as the association of meaning to initials goes. And to think, I once took State.

"I have a NAME, Daredevil. It's Henry."

Going all-ll-ll the way back to 1996, we join scripter Mindy Newell, artists Mike Harris and Don Judson, super-hero Daredevil and football fields worth of burning children in a PSA comic brought to us by the caring individuals at the Gas Appliance Manufacturers Association (with a little boost from the Consumer Product Safety Commission, CAN I GET A HELL YEAH FOR MY DAWGS AT THE CONSUMER PRODUCT SAFETY COMMISSION?! COME ON, PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR! THE ROOF IS ON FIRE!).

This book touts ol' Hornhead* facing off against one of those 'embodiments of evil' with which I'm so chronically unimpressed. Making it even worse for her PR agent, the villainess Vapora – called, in the book, “The Fume of Doom,” HAHAHAHA - isn't even the embodiment of something like fear or angst or desperation. She embodies “insufficient ventilation.” To clarify, before we continue, the Gas Appliance Manufacturer's Association produced a book about the dangers of gas. This is like AIM producing a book about the dangers of MODOK.

*As a point of order, only high-ranking officers of the Merry Marvel Marching Society are allowed to call him Hornhead. Enlisted men and civilians should address him as “Boy, what the fuck was with that godawful goddamn Ben Affleck movie, man? I wanted to beat the director's MOTHER with my bare hands.”

The book balances between Matt Murdock defending a landlord who's accused of whatever crime it is you get accused of when you're a landlord and your building sucks and it burns down. Negligent burnination, a class 3 felony, I think. The rest of the book finds Daredevil encountering Vapora – one of the few villainesses I believe to have ever gone around in an off-the-shoulder muu-muu – at the sites of assorted buildings which have burned down owing to the tenants' careless misuse of gasoline. Which basically makes this comic more like “Daredevil vs the Darwin Awards” than anything else.

Boom Boom Boom, Up in My Room!

Like, take this as an example: Halfway through the book, we join a young mother who is cleaning gum off her carpet using gasoline. Oh, and she's left the cap off the ENORMOUS FUCKING CAN OF THE STUFF, which is – by the by – within arm's reach of her toddler's playpen. Yes, I'll take a moment while you draw that map in your brain. I should point out that the gum-removing in question is happening about a foot away from her increasingly dain-bramaged carpet ape, AND THEN SHE SITS UP AND LIGHTS A SMOKE!

I'm not a heartless man, but I can't help but think that maybe her gene pool ending in a greasy smear in a three-bedroom walk-up is probably best for all involved. What's next on her list of nightly chores, lullabye the kid to sleep with a bag of mothballs? Balance the baby on the fire escape railing? If I were Daredevil, I'd forget about the Fume of Doom until I'd made a hasty phone call to Child Protective Services.

"And I enjoy long walks on the beach."

Other folks who're genetically predispositioned to catastrophic self-immolation with errant uses of gasoline include a father taking the tiles off the kitchen floor, and a couple of kids washing their bike down. And if this book has a failing, it is this: I DIDN'T KNOW GASOLINE COULD BE USED FOR SO MUCH STUFF! Getting gum off the carpet? Removing tile? SPRUCING UP MY RAD BIKE?? MAN, note to self, BUY FIFTY CANNISTERS OF GASOLINE ON WAY HOME! I'm gasoline's number one fan, now!

Getting back to it, even our hero himself succumbs to the dizzying prevalence of gas fumes in this story. Investigating the site of one of the deadly fires, Matt Murdock's enhanced senses lock in on the underdressed form of the cackling villain. “It's some kind of vaporous thing – “ he exclaims to the fire official escorting him onto the site, “A Vapora!”

Whoa, a “Vapora?” Nice one, big red. Did that radioactive canister also cripple your sense of not giving things really stupid names?

Not that Vapora's a poet either, as all her dialogue is that rambling, crammed together mishmash of gibberish that passed for “Crazy talk” in comic book shorthand. “DIEdieDIEdiePAINpainDEATHterrorHURTpainPOWER!” and so on. Basically, it all sounds like Superbaby trying to order a LOT of ice cream, REALLY quickly.

Well-played, Counselor.

Daredevil only gets one real shot at Vapora, which doesn't go anywhere in particular except that DD saves a little girl from being COMPLETELY burned alive (Vapora just claims a char-black hand). Frankly, this particular nemesis should've gone to a hero with more ventilation-based powers, like Storm, or Torpedo, or Wolverine with a box fan.

This particular PSA has the SINGLE MOST DEPRESSING ENDING out of any dozen or so I've read. “How's the little girl doing?” asks the landlord, following his Not Guilty verdict on the charge of Excellent Burnination. “Well,” replies Murdock, “They're going to wean her off the respirator ... doctors can do surgery to reverse some of the scarring ... she'll need physical and psychological therapy.”

“But she'll live?” the landlord asks, smiling. “She'll live,” a grinning Murdock replies.

...

"SHIT! We got SMURFS!"

JESUS! Kids in those anti-drug comics NEVER end up this fucked up, and THEY were the ones who made conscious decisions to shoot weed or snort crack or whatever it is you kids do these days! All this girl did was have a TRULY RETARDED FATHER who crossed “While You Were Out” with a Great White concert. For Pete's sake, even that Mitch kid in the Captain America drug story only came out of it with internal bleeding and a coupla cracked ribs...

On the back cover of the book, along with an illustration of Daredevil playing “Keep-Away” from Vapora with a urinal cake, the Fume of Doom (hahaha) herself spouts off official trivia from her upcoming autobiography. “I can travel from room to room, finding an ignition source,” she says, “I'm heavier than air and travel along the ground. I love to leak out into a closed room.” Hey, lady, so do I, but you don't see me bragging about it.

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Captain America vs DRUGS!

Captain America vs DRUGS!
SPOILER WARNING: Drugs lose.

"When Captain America throws his mighty shie-e-e-e-eld, all those who chose to smoke lots of weed and snort blow off a hooker's ass must yi-e-e-e-e-eld ...!"

And the red and the white and the blue smoke crack, when Captain America stars in his very own PSA comi-i-i-i-ic! Which he has, folks, back in 1990 Captain America starred in an anti-drug awareness comic produced in cooperation with the FBI.

This is the smartest super-villain in history. He should be running AIM

(Speaking of which, under the Patriot Act, I believe I risk federal prosecution for making fun of this book. Get your "Free Humble G&F Editor" bumper stickers while they're fresh! Or just cross "Mumia" off of your already-existing bumper sticker and write me in, you dirty hippie)

The one-shot is titled "High Heat," which sure makes me want to slap someone. Most likely, that would be Peter David, author of this particular fable. Additionally, I believe this comic was conceived as a challenge between David, Bill Jemas and Joe Quesada – all three create their own PSA comic, and if Peter David's book doesn't convince all kids everywhere to stop using drugs, he's fired. All Jemas has to do is convince kids to eat pizza and drink beer. Quesada's book has been pushed back to 2008, but you still aren't allowed to cancel retail orders for it.

The story starts off on the observer spaceship of the alien Tzin, of whom we only ever see their nasty, caterpillar-lookin' fingers. The aforementioned digits are exclusively shown fussing around with the big, suborbital DirecTV hookup with which they size up the human race.

Planning an invasion of Earth, they wonder whether even their superior alien firepower can overwhelm the indominatable human spirit. "Are you saying it will be difficult," says one of the aliens, "That we shouldn't even try?" No, never give up, silly alien! Where there's life, there's hope, even for all-conquering alien dominators! THAT'S the REAL message of this book.

What are you saying, KLXXR? You've never given up on anything in your life!

Deciding to exploit humanity's one weakness – the habit of sucking down mind-altering substances – the aliens proceed to conquer us by blowing up breweries. No, fucking wait ... they decide to pick FOUR humans, chosen specifically for their unique gifts which will eventually grow to benefit all of mankind. The Tzin will tempt them with drugs to see whether they are strong enough to withstand temptation, or give in and end up managing a Circle K.

The first kid they pick is a rising star little league baseball player name of Mitch, which was hedging their bets to be sure. An athlete using DRUGS? What kind of topsy-turvy world IS this?
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Mitch jumps at the chance to inhale the sugar packets – yes, to all appearances, sugar packets – offered to him by an overcoat-bedecked stranger. Concerned over his friend's suspicious behavior, Mitch's close pal Keith Wilson* does what anyone would do – he narcs on Mitch.

*Amazingly, absolutely amazingly, this is a black kid named "Wilson" who is NOT related to the Falcon. A first for everything in Marvel comics, a first for everything ...

Cap is really fucking sarcastic.

Inappropriately enough, Keith calls on Captain America to closely investigate this kid who's suspected of taking drugs. I hate to point this out, but Cap never would have existed if he himself had not been an underage kid who took drugs. The Super Soldier Serum ain't Snapple, babies, and the first one's always free. I'd suggest calling on a hero who got his powers from something a little more socially responsible – like radiation, or black magic. Something DECENT ...

In any case, there's luckily no evil or crime anywhere else in the world at the moment, so Cap's swings on by. He happens to catch up with the kid at the point when a drugged-up and befuddled Mitch accidentally wings a ninety-mile-an-hour fastball smack into the batter's head. "My control was off," Mitch pleads over the unconscious body of the clobbered boy, “My head was messed up!"

Parting the already-angry mob, Cap busts in and asks "Want to tell us WHY your head was messed up, Mitch? Is there something you've been putting into it?"

Wow. Cap. Way to incite an already foaming crowd. Cap's terrifically timed bon mot enrages the crowd further, but luckily nearby cops have come to investigate the scene – oh, actually, they had planned on just driving by the public lynching until Cap threw his shield at their heads. Tell me again, WHO'S ON DRUGS HERE?

"...It IS some nut in a Captain America costume!"

After enraging the crowd, Cap takes everyone who's even vaguely sympathetic towards Mitch – his parents, his coach and Keith – out of line-of-sight of the irate mob and Mitch both. Let me say that again – he turned his back on the angry mob, he turned his back on Mitch, and then he hung out with some people who were really into blaming themselves for Mitch's drug problem. ONE MORE TIME: Where was the mob? I don't know. Where was Mitch? I don't know. Where were the people who would happily defend Mitch against an angry mob? Hanging out behind the boys' showers, having a chat.

In one of those twists that make comics such exciting reading, Mitch is wandering the streets and HAPPENS TO RUN INTO THE ANGRY MOB! I guess the angry mob was having coffee together. They invite Mitch to their kaffeklatsch by way of a baseball bat to the gut, which hits Mitch so damn hard that he starts bleeding from the nose! COPIOUSLY bleeding from the nose, hemorrhaging internally! Keep this in mind, because I'm coming back to this ...

Naturally Cap shows up, beats off Mitch's attackers and quips the line that he's as strong as twenty men (because of what again? Oh yes, DRUGS!). Cap then proceeds to lecture a still bleeding Mitch on the foulness of drug use. Except when your country demands it. But seriously, Mitch, no drugs, c'mon man.

I neglected to mention that, earlier on, Mitch had been re-approached by his overcoat-sporting pusher. In a sudden paroxysm of spasming denial, Mitch smacks his pusher in the phiz, knocking off what was apparently a ceramic mask of a human face and revealing the alien features beneath. Mitch actually tries to explain to Cap that aliens gave him drugs, and Cap's response to this is to sort of pat Mitch's head and send him on his way, lesson learned.

"...THANKS TO DRUGS!"

So, at first glance, Cap UNBELIEVABLY decides that a drug-abusing teenager who spins some yarn about drug-pushing aliens just has "quite an imagination," and figures the kid is otherwise okay to walk home by himself. Me, I'd think the kid was probably tripping a LITTLE too hard to be allowed to escort himself ANYWHERE.

But hey, the Living Legend of World War II isn't a chaperone, I suppose. Even if he did drive all the way out to Butt-Fuck, South Egypt in the American Midwest merely to answer one kid's possible suspicions about his close friends potential drug use. And even if he's having Mitch walk home alone through streets potentially crawling with members of an angry mob waiting to whup his ass. AND EVEN IF Cap himself helped rile up that crowd. "N.M.P., CITIZEN! HAWKAAAA!" or whatever.

But ON TOP OF ALL THAT and thinking about it a second time, Cap has let an assault victim who is bleeding copiously from the nose and has just sustained a blunt force trauma to the breadbasket WALK HOME. Okay Cap! That was fucking sugar the kid was sniffing, you know, not radioactive spider blood or Uru or some shit.

Hell, even after Cap finds the shattered face mask of the alien pusher, he just sort of shrugs and heads back to his Americycle or whatever, never stopping Mitch to follow up on what may be an incredible alien conspiracy! Frankly, for all the good Cap did in this one – which was essentially to show up, break up a schoolyard fight and then lecture somebody – he might as well have been your Junior High School Principal wearing really fantastic pajamas.

"Let's leave my wife out of this, Cap."

So thus ends the saga of Mitch, inasmuch as he probably passed out in an alleyway and quietly bled to death halfway home. As for the other THREE specially gifted individuals whom the aliens were planning to tempt and subsequently destroy with their sugary space drugs? I ... I don't know. I'm assuming this was either planned as a much larger book, or a series, or SOMETHING because they just never get mentioned after the first time. And since Cap never investigated the suspicious alien situation, they're probably all dead now. GOD BLESS AMERICA!

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: PSA Comics

The cookie elves have asked the circus
freak to tell you to stay off drugs.

I think I'm speaking without exaggeration when I say that the ONLY reason anyone in my generation stayed off drugs, in school, away from cigarettes, well-fed and unmolested was thanks to the tireless efforts of the Teen Titans. Barred their intervention, I would have been left to the woefully inadequate admonitions of “Bad Dudes,” most likely ending up neither a winner nor bad enough to rescue President Ronnie.

Spider-Man is totally raising the fuck out
of your awareness about the dangers of bull-riding.

Thank you, trend towards major publishers issuing special edition Public Service Announcement comic books to little kids! You kept me out of prison and off the streets, off drugs and high on life! In fact, I don't even live above ground anymore, I have a sub-basement hovel filled to the ceiling with stacks of newpapers and jars of my own urine. I'd throw the stuff out, but Spider-Man once told me that bad men were trying to touch my swimsuit area, and I'm afraid to walk outside to the garbage can on the curb.

To fill you in on my self-indulgent rambling, DC and Marvel (among other publishers) have always been eager to lend their character to comics with charitable aims. The Teen Titans starred in a trio of anti-drug comics, Spider-Man (with Power Pack and - holy fifth-string characters! - Skids and Rusty from X-Factor) and the Hulk have both warned kids about assorted stranger danger, and Superman, Batman and the X-Men have all made their stand against famine in Africa (bravely opposing the intimidating pro-famine-in-Africa lobby). Even the Radio Shack Whiz Kids got in on the act, turning the tremendous processing power of the TRS-80 to the problem of inner-city drug use. I think they solved it, too, I should double-check that issue. I believe the resulting equation recommended hugs, rather than drugs...

"Hi there, nice to meet you, we're Power
Pa -- HOLY JESUS, KID!"

So now we're on the same page, and that page probably includes a pudgy white kid in a striped shirt crying while Spider-Man holds his shoulders and says “Tommy, you have to understand that it's not your fault!” I'm sure you got your hands on these yourself, somehow, either via a well-meaning adult authority figure who likes to say “I think these kids consider me to be pretty 'cool'” and make air quotes when he says it, OR you swiped a copy from the library and read 'em with your delinquent friends while you lit up.

Originally, this article was going to try and be a comprehensive overview of ALL the major PSA comics, but I ran into two problems. First off, if you think I'm going to make fun of a comic book about molested kids, you're nuts. What the hell kind of captions am I supposed to slap together for THAT? “Hey retard, did your daddy touch you? Haha, FAG!” If you're feeling so all-fired giddy, why don't you write up a couple hurtful paragraphs, blog it, and then sit back and watch the hate mail roll in. I get more than enough vitriol for just not liking Secret Wars II ...

For a South American anti-landmine comic,
Wonder Woman was re-costumed in a more
modest fashion. I'm amused by the idea that
kids couldn't learn about landmine safety if
they were otherwise confronted with Wonder
Woman's Amazon rack.

(Still, I would've loved to fit a “Touched by The Angel” joke in here somewhere. Ah well ...)

The second problem is that there are about a million of these things. I honestly thought there weren't more than half-a-dozen. As I hunted down copies after copies and documentation of these books, I began to wonder how so many kids could still be sniffing glue and starving in Africa. I mean, fuck, how many times do you have to be TOLD, junkies? The Living Legend of World War II is not used to repeating himself!

Even Storm and Luke Cage got to do one, although they take a back-seat to Spider-Man in their PSA comic about the dangers of smoking (Hell, they barely even got on the cover, first time around). Actually, looking at it a little more objectively, I believe the comic is less about smoking hazards and more about how Marvel doesn't have any prominent black characters who can stand on their own merits. Unlike DC, who has that guy who's the fourth or fifth most popular Green Lantern, and then also there's Spawn, who I was surprised to discover was black under the shadows, the mask and the facial scarring. JESUS, how deep do you feel like burying the brother, McFarlane?

Sorry, I'm getting off track here ...

Fun fact: Spider-Man stars in more of
these things than anyone else. Which is
why he tackles such bullshit topics as
"Literacy," a topic no comic book has any
damn right addressing.

Although their hearts are largely in the right place, I never felt these comics were a good idea. Beside the fact that half-naked vigilantes who routinely beat the tar out of mental patients in fetish gear are probably not the IDEAL spokespersons for a sane, safe, law-abiding existence – although, I could be wrong. Perhaps those anti-drug seminars they used to hold in our high school auditorium would have packed more of an impact if the attending officers had been decked out in Mardi Gras beads and bike shorts, and hauled in a wino to pummel – superhero comics are notorious for reducing even the most complex problems into black-and-white matters.

Super-heroes thrive on the morality play, which makes super-hero comics particularly well-suited to warning kids against the hazards of trying to conquer the world. As far as pinning drug abuse or worldwide famine on an individual super-villain or monster goes, I'm not so assured.

It's already a pretty spurious premise that any PSA comic is going to spark a turnaround in any of the serious issues they address, which is why the stated purpose of these books is to inform and raise awareness. Problem is, are we really raising awareness of an issue by blaming its cause solely on some mythical villain?

This poster promotes a Superman comic
which raises awareness about land mine
safety. Any joke I can make here about land
mine safety is pretty much talking shit from
a guy who lives in a country NOT COVERED
WITH LANDMINES!

(I'll take a parenthetical aside here for a moment to fill you in on a peccadillo of mine, before it rears its ugly head. Both the X-Men and the Superman-Batman team appeared in comics benefiting African famine relief charities. One was titled “Heroes Against Hunger” and the other was called “Heroes For Hope,” and no matter how often I remind myself, I keep switching those up to make “Heroes for Hunger” and “Heroes Against Hope.” Happens consistently. This is the same berserk mental twitch which makes me call any of the Star Wars sequels – assuming for some reason I feel compelled to precede it with its episode number and whatnot – as “Star Trek,” and why I constantly, unconsciously call those films “Star Trek: The Phantom Planet” and “Star Trek: Night of the Clones.” HONESTAGOD!)

In the X-Men:Heroes Against Hope book, the mutant heroes ultimately discover that the famine in drought-struck Ethiopia was being caused (or at least exacerbated) by this alien monster who fed on human suffering. OH, SO HE'S THE GUY! Gut him out hollow, would you Wolverine, and let's get back to punching the Toad in the phiz.

Take, for instance, the well-intentioned Captain Awareness comic, which is certainly trying its hardest for a very worthwhile cause. However, as the tale within the pages unfolds, it turns out that incidents of rape are actually caused by a big smoky monster which possesses men's bodies and makes them do bad things. Whereas I appreciate the sentiment that my gender as a whole is so inherently pure of heart and free of ill will that it takes an all-powerful ethereal being of gross malevolence to turn even the most sociopathic brute into a rapist, I DON'T THINK THAT'S REALLY THE PROBLEM!

"Jesus kids, I'M FLYIN' HERE!"

This trend is sort of endemic to the super-hero genre as a whole, which often makes villains out of 'embodiments' of emotional or metaphysical states, as well as the occasional elemental and whatever the heck it was Speedball was supposed to be in relation to kinetic energy. OH WAIT, why the hell didn't SPEEDBALL DO AN ANTI-DRUG COMIC? That's automatic GOLD, Marvel! “Don't do me, kids, I'll ruin your life. Say no to me.” IT'S GENIUS!

So the super-hero universes abound with what tend to appear to be normal folk in fright masks and aerobics gear, but who are secretly the universal depository of all the universe's sense of sorrow, hate, apathy, anger, bigotry, what have you. Now me, I'm a dyed-in-the-wool, bleeding heart tree-hugging Leftist, but even I support executing THESE fucks. “So, this is the universal embodiment of all hate in the universe? There'd be no hate without him, am I getting this right? Okay, pardon me, Punisher, may I borrow this?” Boom, problem solved. And here I thought it took a deep understanding of the nature of man and his role in a wide and unresponsive universe to salve the wounds of the human condition, when all you really have to do is beat the guy in the Danskins to death with a crowbar.

Believe it or not, this book is about minorities
in the engineering field. Who are building
enormous, terrifying Tyrranosaurotons, or
something. I agree that this issue needs more awareness.

At least none of these books had the paucity of good taste to create an anthropomorphic embodiment of child molestation. Not that you really have to, since Marvel's currently doing a pretty good job of BEING that themselves. (Don't believe me? Hey, when was the last time you saw an eight-year old girl with a gargantuan rack and pillowy pudenda? Try X-Men:Phoenix. Like your eroticized juveniles a little more photo-realistic? No Trouble at all! And then there is, of course, the latest mutant title, X-Ploitation of Minors! Marvel! Because NAMBLA only lets you hump little boys!)

Which makes it a shame that the PSA comic trend has died down, or at least seriously put the brakes on in the last ten years. Because we sure could use a comic warning kids to stay away from anything Marvel president Bill Jemas has a hand in ... ironically, in fact, I think reading any single issue of Marville will pretty much take care of that right out of the gate.

(Hey, here's some fun: So far, not counting this one, there are nineteen paragraphs in this article. Guess how many of them will generate an angry piece of hate mail. Whatever you guess, it's two less than actually will.)

Bonus Image (I ran out of room in the article): Here to teach you about bicycle safety, it's Spider-Man and Ghost Rider. You know, Ghost Rider. The self-immolated guy with no skin whose motorcycle is on fire. That guy. He's here to teach you about wearing kneepads.