Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Superman Meets the Quik Bunny

This is slightly better than this one other cross-promotional
book that I own, Superman Meets The Press.

In lieu of the other prominent 1980's food-mascot-teaming-with-super-hero comic I'd WANTED to review – that being Frank Millers Kool-Aid Noir “The Dark Knight Returns, OH YEAH!” – I bring you instead what I think can only be accurately described as “a depressing newsprint abortion,” Superman Meets The Quik Bunny.

"By Rao, I am choking this down and it tastes
bitter, as bitter as ashes ..."

It must be said, before we go on, this kind of thing offends me - and I'm not easy to offend, when it comes to comics. I sat through Hal Jordan going from essential icon of the DC Universe to crazy nutball in the world's ugliest metal tuxedo to a dead guy to a dead guy in footed pajamas, and all the time I just chuckled like Fred MacMurray and thought "Boy, are they going to have to eat a lot of shit to bring this guy back to the status quo in ten years."

I sat through Jim Starlin's THE END, this Summer's event of choice for Marvel Comics, in which EVERY SUPER HERO IN THE MARVEL UNIVERSE DIES … AT LEAST THREE TIMES! And I just laughed. A lot. I mean a really whole lot.

I know, it's some kind of
goddamned Moon Man
language ... aw, fuck it,
let's bomb his shit all up
in this piece.

So seriously, it takes a Secret Wars 2 or an IronJaw to drive me nuts, and yet the mere mention of a cross-promotional team up between Superman and some international chemical conglomerate food-hucking mascot sends me into a tizzy. You know why? Because SUPERMAN'S A LEAD CHARACTER, BABY! And my proof: Superman Peanut Butter!

Superman ain't here to help sell your chocolatey-ass milk, rabbit! Superman makes his OWN chocolate milk, and he does it out of space dust and magic wishes! You ain't got NOTHING on imaginary potential Superman Milk, fool! GO HOME, RABBIT! GO HOME!

This opus to brand collisions and paean to the phrase “Quik Thinking” is brought to us by writer Mike Carlin and artists Carmine Infantino and Dick Giordano. Because, of course, who else would? For the record, in their respective times, both Infantino and Giordano arguably each held the post of “Most powerful individual at DC Comics.” I bet that made them cry a little, as they put the final artistic flourishes on a bedraggled rabbit twisting its ears in orgasmic delight while it sucked back what appeared to be beige motor oil.

Right, Quik thinking, got it, very funny.

And also, seriously, I hope you don't get sick of “Quik Thinking.” Seriously.

The story starts commonly enough, what with Superman chasing down an antisocial stage magician in pajamas. In this case, it's Flash baddie The Weather Wizard, whose costume – green bodysuit, flared collar, pixie boots, golden sash – helps him cut a figure slightly less intimidating than the Quik Bunny hisself.

It's like some junior version of the Ethnic Super Friends, only everyone's wearing pants.

While the Wizard is pouring torrential rain down on the city of Metropolis, four plucky kid geniuses are busily constructing a super-robot treehouse off in the suburbs somewhere. The multicultural and gender-balanced Quik Qlub – That's Ronnie, Patty, Maureen and Miguel, which sounds like a Protestant family of three and their gardener – apparently do all this at the behest of their manic mentor, the Quik Bunny, who rushes in once all the hard-work is finished and turns on the TV. Yes, they have a TV in their treehouse. Patty built it. She's a genius.

Jesus, Ronnie, could you be any less cool?

Chancing upon a newscast of Superman's life-and-death battle against moisture and a fey Mister Greenjeans, the Quik Qlub begin to fear for Superman's safety – possibly because they're idiots, or maybe they have Weather Wizard confused with a black hole or God – and rush off in their transforming magic clubhouse to offer assistance. And chocolate milk.

Luckily, Superman enjoys a long tradition of humoring pathetic, weak-ass fucks who try to join him on adventures. “Sure, Robin, you mutt! Let's you and me stop Braniac!” and “I can stop Mordru .. er, but only if Triplicate Girl and, um, hey, Invisible Kid come along! Seriously, I won't be able to do it withoutcha, you crazy guys!” So with gentle but firm rebuffs, Superman slows down long enough to be visible to the human eye and lets the Quik Qlub tag along.

Right, we GET it, thanks.

I suspect this inclination on Superman's part is half fatherly good nature, and half that he knows the Weather Wizard couldn't even beat the Quik Bunny. And he's RIGHT!

So while the Weather Wizard is throwing hurricanes and tornadoes around the nation's capital - his strategy, by the way, is apparently that if he throws enough tornadoes at Washington D.C., he'll be allowed to run the place. Wh ... what? - and making it snow in Egypt and what-have-you, the Quik Qlub follow around in their big happy schoolbus of delight while solving mazes and word puzzles and whatnot along the way.

If there's a paucity of content in some high school history text, possibly, yes.

Whereas it's pretty enlightening stuff - I, for one, learned that the easiest path to the Great Wall of China is via the Canals of Venice - I sort of ended up confused. Then again, it's my own fault, as I'd decided earlier on to deliberately make-believe I was reading a sequel to that Superman/He-Man team-up promo comic, and I kept waiting for Quik Bunny to make with the Sword of Eternia and Battlecat and so on ...

The whole story wraps up in China, where Weather Wizard's been making it hail, and oh man, the Chinese hate hail. Seriously. They must, otherwise WHY WOULD HE DO IT?

Amazingly - or actually NOT amazingly really, if you think about it - the Weather Wizard is outgunned and outclassed by the Quik Bunny, who quickly fashions a lightning-attracting Quik Bunny metal decoy, and sets it up on the edge of the Great Wall. When the Weather Wizard zaps it with electricity, thinking he's striking the Quik Bunny himself, he instead ... somehow gets walloped himself, I think. The science seems to wear a little thin on the inner thigh around this point of the story, but from what I gather, the Weather Wizard is kind of a puss and then he's dead and thank you Quik Choclate Mouthwash, you've saved something from the forces of whatever!

OKAY. WE GET IT.

Then it's back to the Qlubhouse and all its horrible, dark secrets for a celebratory chug of powdered chalk dust and a hearty Kryptonian backslap, bringing to an end another exciting occasion wherein Superman slowed down long enough to let nitwits like the Quik Qlub, the Radio Shack Whiz Kids or Jimmy Olsen fart around and let super-criminals go on massive sprees of destruction and mayhem. I like me some Superman, no doubt, but I think the guy's priorities are a little screwed ...

Well, I'm thinking you're the devil ...

Bonus Images!

• I can never say this enough - Just because this is the internet, you KNOW that someone is masturbating to this image.


• It's always about YOU, isn't it?


• Here's a Superman for you to color! Seriously! Come on! I fucking dare you!

Classic Gone-and-Forgotten: Spider-Man and the Not Ready for Prime Time Players

LIVE! From New York, it's ...

Before we get started, there are two things I'd better cover: First, yes, I know the Avengers met David Letterman in the pages of their own comic, thanks, please send no mail. Also, by way of a pre-emptive sequel to this review, let me summarize that particular comic: Hawkeye says "WHAT?" a lot and then there's a big doorknob.

Second thing is that I ALREADY KNOW that many of you fine, comic-reading folks out there like this issue. Some of you LOVE this issue. Hell, kids, I too help comprise this legion of the probably-should-be-ashamed-of-yourselves of which we are all part. But I put to you that this task I've undertaken - this thankless task … this unrewarded task … this really, really stupid task - of cussing at crap comics is often one of sacrifice.

HELL! SHIT! DAMN! FUCK! How's
THAT for swearin', Samurai?

Today, for instance, I sacrifice my juvenile glee at seeing Spider-Man - arguably a true counter-culture icon of the fictional four-color forum - teamed up with the hallmark of cocaine culture's rebel comedians, and trade it in for pointing out that the whole affair is wrapped up in a comedy comic penned by Chris Claremont.

I really can't stand any mainstream Marvel attempt at humor. I know there are some comics out there which do humor well. I mean, of course there's always Milk and Cheese, Sam and Max, and - to pimp an Ape-Law native who's also doing the 'pair of idiots in situations far beyond their control' routine - Hsu and Chan, not to mention the regretfully unfinished Eye of Mogombo, about which I often have tumultuous, fevered dreams of desire...

Even other mainstream companies have occasionally hit the nail on the head, although the words "mainstream" and "comedy" usually mean "Julia Roberts trips on something." For its time, Ambush Bug was a riot, as a for instance, and Dark Horse and Image have hit a few comedy goldmines, the latter's bitterly self-parodying "Stupid" notwithstanding.

But Marvel? Oh Marvel, your wise-cracking superheroes are sort of grimly admirable, not hilarious, and you should stick to them. It's a whole other matter when we're discussing the abysmally unforgivable Power Pachyderms, the well-meaning Slapstick (sorry, James), and, say, THE PANEL IN THIS VERY COMIC WHERE THERE ARE TWO OLD GUYS NAMED STADTLER AND WALDORF IN THE SNL AUDIENCE AND HO HO THE JOKE IS IT'S THE OLD GUYS FROM THE MUPPETS GET IT HA HA THE MUPPET GUYS ARE REALLY REAL OLD MEN IN THIS COMIC THAT'S VERY FUNNY RIGHT??

Bill Murray reacts to his loss to
Sean Penn in the Best Actor category
at the 2004 Academy Awards...

I'm not kidding, but it's what we get when Chris Claremont pens a comedy (You know, the first rule of comedy is timing, so what kind of timing does a guy who routinely writes dialogue where single sentences are trisected into multiple word-balloons have in the first place? When Storm asks "Are you hurt" - new balloon - "From your great fall" - new balloon "Peter?" and Colossus answers "Only" - new balloon - "my pride," - new balloon - "Friend Ororo," then there's little chance of mistaking it for an Abbot and Costello routine).

So, yeah, here we have Marvel Team-Up #74, written by Chris Claremont and tackled with a Herculean effort by Bob Hall and the fabulous Marie Severin. Right out of the gate, my admiration for the artists in this particular issue could not be higher, I'm planning on naming my first two kids "Bob Hall" and "Marie Severin," or assuming I only have a single child, "Bobarie Severhall."

Seriously, you may be able to give them a little shit for some of the likenesses drawn in this issue, but barring anything else, you need to give it up for their Jane Curtain. Holy socks, their Jane Curtain looks more like Jane Curtain than Jane Curtain does. Their drawing of Jane Curtain is currently enjoying a career in film and stage which dwarfs Jane Curtain's career, and Jane Curtain often turns to the drawing of Jane Curtain for stage advice. Please look for the drawing of Jane Curtain on the next Inside the Actor's Studio.

Probably doin' you up the butt, as near as I can tell...

As for the issue itself, our story begins with a harried Peter Parker ushering his "Why does he stay with that fickle bitch" of a love interest, Mary-Jane Watson, through a greasy New York deluge on their way to a Saturday Night Live taping. Everything's already going wrong - as usual - for Spidey's schmuck of an alter-ego, and the only thing which could make it worse would have been if they were going to see the Dick Ebersol-era SNL…

Meanwhile, in the backstage area of NBC's famous Studio C, SNL's Not-Ready-For-PrimeTime-Players gather around John Belushi's dressing room to watch the fat load wrestle with a ring which won't come off. "I told you not to guzzle that last Six-Pack," quips not-yet-doughy castmate Dan Akroyd, as though presaging Akroyd's plummet from the pinnacle of "Actually being funny."

And yeah, it's six-packs that was Belushi's problem. Woodward said as much.

Anyway, the ring which torments Belushi - which he believed to have come from an admiring, overseas fan - was apparently misdirected mail intended for an agent of the criminal Silver Samurai. That agent's name? J.B. Lu-Shi. See, the comedy, it never stops …

I had some joke about the SNL cast-members
being all strung out, only I had, at the time,
confused the term with "strung up," and now
the joke doesn't work. Just like the actual joke
in the comic didn't work, either.

So the Samurai collects his gang of hired goons under the very stage on which not only the SNL regulars are performing, but also Marvel Comics publisher and the show's guest-host, Stan Lee. During his monologue - oh, my sides - he quips that everyone thinks being Marvel's head honcho must be wonderful, "but have you ever had a story conference with the Thing?" I find myself imagining that it couldn't be worse than one with John Byrne.

The Samurai and his lackeys prowl the set, looking for the cast member they believe is in possession of this ring - secretly a personal teleportation device. Under Samurai's orders, they are to keep a low profile, lest their presence bring down a torrent of New York area super-heroes. Mind you, that they then proceed to abduct the cast members of New York's most prominent, national live event RIGHT ON CAMERA possibly counts as a tactical error.

To the story's credit, Samurai DOES mention that he swore an oath to retrieve the ring by midnight, which happens to be when the show ends broadcasting. Why he didn't swear to retrieve it by, say, 12:05, I dunno. Ah, the inscrutable Oriental mind …

So anyway, in between the occasional transcription of SNL gags, Spidey - having coincidentally witnessed one of Samurai's goons take down an NBC page, which is a gag I bet David Letterman wishes he'd thought of first - and the Players themselves (many decked out in Marvel Superhero costumes for skits during the show) end up cleaning up on the goons. Belushi even manages to get his Samurai character in on the act, which I suspect is how the Silver Samurai got picked for the antagonist of this story in the first place. I bet they were rolling on the floor in the Marvel editorial offices.

You're letting me down, man.

The one routine which baffled me - okay, not counting Dan Akroyd dressing up as "Mad Dog Mulcahy, the Killer Colonel of the Crimea." I'm no SNL/Second City historian, but I have NEVER heard of this character or routine, and I can only wonder at its origin - has to do with Garrett Morris dressed up as Thor. Cause hey, I'm not alone here in immediately thinking "Oh man, IT'S JIVE THOR! GO GET 'EM, GARRETT! ROCK 'EM LIKE YOU ROCKED ANT-MAN!"
But instead, he's talking inept Asgardian. Goddamnit, I wanted to hear Jive Thor call someone a "mortal turkey" and then threaten to "put mighty Mjolnir upside yo' face, honkey." Yet another dream laid to rest in a dusty quarter-bin …

Also, dressing up like Ms.Marvel puts meat on Laraine Newman's thighs. I guess I finally see the appeal of that weird-ass boot-cut.

Suggested what? THE ANAL SEX IS WHAT!

Anyway, following an abortive attempt to capture the Silver Samurai, a soft-shoe routine with Stan (how much fun do you think Hall and Severin had with over-rendering Stan's horrible toupee? Lots, from the look of it) and a weird denoument at a nearby bar where it's implied that some guy in the SNL audience was trying to bang Mary Jane up the can or something, we end with a gag so absolutely horrible that I think it might have been the cause behind John Belushi's self-destructive behavior.

All in all, the gentle glow of nostalgia and sacred cows of both Spidey and the classic SNL cast notwithstanding, the whole issue feels a lot like a real Saturday Night skit - it's too long, it doesn't seem to know where the ending's supposed to go, and Garrett Morris got a shit part. Next time around, I'll be on the lookout for the Captain America doing the Lumberjack song, or Wolverine killing Penn&Teller.