BOOB WAR: a definition

What is Boob War? It is not a compare/contrast between Tomb Raider and Power Girl.* I am base and crude, yes, but I would like to think that I have some female readers, and I don’t want to go down that road. Put simply, Boob War is a style of comic book that features that magical confluence between sex and violence.

Actually, Boob War comics don’t feature sex at all – then they would just be called Avatar Comics. Rather, Boob War offers titillation, the alluring promise of sex married with the satisfying release of violence. These comics are designed for boys of all ages, and I firmly believe that Boob War will be around for as long as we have comics. The principles of Boob War easily translate into video games as well, but that’s another topic.

What makes a comic a Boob War comic? It has to have these two elements:

a) violence perpetrated by females
b) those females have to be drawn in a titillating way.

It’s that simple.

--------

"Boob War is a style of comic book that features that magical confluence between sex and violence."

--------

Boob War is defined by intention. Does the creative team (writer or artists) intend to titillate, to arouse? If the answer is yes, chances are you’ve got yourselves a Boob War.

Granted, Boob War is a subjective term, and often depends on one’s point of view. A comic can alternate between Boob War and non-Boob War, sometimes on a monthly basis.

Let me give you an example. Catwoman, an ongoing series from DC Comics, has veered in an out of Boob War territory. Artist Jim Balent was on Catwoman for years and he drew a very, um, buoyant version of the character. Regardless of who the writer was during the Balent run, these books solidly fall into the Boob War category, because a) there was violence, and b) the intent to titillate was there. However, when artist Darwyn Cooke took over the book, Catwoman was no longer a Boob War book. Cooke’s slinky, mod rendition of the character was not intended to arouse the reader, merely to serve the story.

Don’t agree with me? Get your own damn blog. Ha ha! I kid. I kid because I love.

Okay, now that we have the definition of Boob War, let’s take a long, lingering look over some stand-out entries in the field. First stop: Lady Death, or as I like to call her, Lady Def.

*Just for the record, Power Girl wins.

BOOB WAR WEEK CONTINUES! The Four Points of Contact Principle

Aaand we're back.

One of the things I've noticed as a collector and connoisseur of Boob War comics is what I call The Four Points of Contact Principle. In essence, the principle states that if a hot Boob War chick standing is sexy, a hot Boob War chick who is on her hands and knees is even sexier. The more points of contact with the ground, the sexier.

Nothing says, "Hey kids! Boob War!" like a half-naked woman crouching down on your cover. The Four Points of Contact Principle is versatile enough that it can cover many different scenarios. For instance, the heroine and her breasts can be getting zapped by mystic power like Mantra (below), or she can be swooning at the feet of her butch opponent like Wonder Woman (below), or just striking a vixeny pose under a gauzy Star Trek filter like Shanna the She-Devil (also below.)

Okay, okay, Shanna really only has three points of contact, but she has a knife, which boost her right back up there on the Boob War Meter.



There are many variations on the Four Points of Contact Principle, which usually involve lounging seductively like the woman from Codename: Knockout whose name escapes me, or by crawling on one's belly like a reptile like Vampirella in chains (below).



Regardless of the form, the principle remains the same: Four Points of Contact makes for some quality Boob War.

LADY DEATH: JUDGEMENT WAR #1 Chaos Comics, 1991

Lady Death is an excellent example of a Boob War comic, although with a macabre twist. It doesn’t matter; Boob War transcends genres with its awesomeness.

I can’t be bothered to Google all this information, so here’s what I know about the Diva of Death just from memory. Created by heavy metal horrormeister Brian Pulido and published by his Chaos Comics, Lady Death first appeared back in the eighties in the pages of Evil Ernie comics as the feminine embodiment of death. The character Evil Ernie was a cross between creator Pulido and Iron Maiden’s adorable Eddie mascot, and he was all about killing people and being hardcore and stuff. His muse was Lady Death, an alluring, voluptuous woman in a black skull-motif bikini who would urge Evil Ernie on to greater levels of hardcoreness. Chaos Comics like Evil Ernie were basically heavy metal songs transmogrified into comic books, and Lady Death was the hot but evil babe from Motley Crue and Helix videos.

Pulido realized that he had a far more marketable character in Lady Death than in Evil Ernie, and soon he and artist Steven Hughes (sadly, deceased) created the first of many comics starring the violent vixen with the alabaster F-cups. Although Chaos Comics published other Boob War comics like Purgatori and Chastity, Lady Death was the cornerstone of their business.

Until they went bankrupt, that is.

This issue is written by Brian Pulido and Len Kaminski, with bodacious art by Ivan Reis and Joe Pimentel. It’s part one of the three-part Judgement War* mini-series-within-a-meta-series which pits Lady Death against Lucifer and his hordes of hell. A war between heaven and hell is playing out on earth, and mankind is bearing the brunt of it. Our anti-heroine opposes both heaven and hell with her undead army and her loyal servant Cremator.

Here’s a panel from the comic that I think really illustrates the appeal of Lady Death, and of Boob War comics in particular:

In case you can’t read that, she’s saying: “Ahhhhh… The only thing more exhilarating than wallowing in the blood and gore of the enemy is soaking in a long hot bath afterwards.” That’s it right there: sex/violence.

My biggest complaint about this comic is the coloring. I’m not going to name names, because that’s not what we’re all about here at the Long Box, but I will say that in my layman’s opinion, the coloring on this book sucks ass.

Big time.

It’s as if the colorist for Lady Death: Judgement War just got Adobe Photoshop for Christmas and is overly enamored with all the filters. The book suffers badly from overworked colors and glowing effects that don’t just bury the inked artwork, they erect a gravestone and visit every Thursday with fresh flowers. That’s right, the coloring is so bad that I must resort to awkward metaphor to describe it.

Don’t take my word for it, take a look at this panel where Cremator (who comes in vanilla and mocha flavors) runs away from a big evil techno monster bursting from lava or something.



Can you even tell what’s going on in that panel?

Sorry about the seam down the middle of the picture, but this was a big two-page spread – which makes it even worse. This is supposed to be a big money shot, the one that makes all the headbangers reading this go: “Woah! Look out Cremator!” but instead, the reaction is “Wha-huh? Is that Cremator?”

Yes, that’s Cremator running from a big monster with a midget/dwarf in his hands. Big monster in the background. On the lower left you can just barely make out Skull Guy (I don’t think that’s his real name) and in the upper left hand corner, totally lost and overwhelmed by a hurricane of bad coloring, there is a blue sound effect that I believe says: “KRREGKIROAAR!” Would you have spotted that stuff if I hadn’t pointed it out? I say thee nay.

Anyway, the coloring is no damn good. This particular issue culminates in a showdown between Lady Death and Lucifer, which she has to don special bikini armor for. Since this is part one of three, she has to get defeated – by her own bikini!



As you might guess, at the end of this issue she gets captured by Lucifer, which leads to some bondage and whipping in the next issue. Or so they tell me. I’m not saying I got the next issue or anything. As a matter of fact, I didn’t really buy this comic, either. I, um, I found it. Yeah. I found it…

Okay, fine. Fine! I bought this comic, okay? And the next issue. I paid full price, too. I was lonely, okay? Lay off, man, I’ll bet you have a couple issues of Tarot or something in your collection.

Let he who is without Boob War cast the first stone.

*I'm spelling the word "judgment" the way Chaos Comics spells it: "judgement." Apparently it's an acceptable spelling of the word in the UK and among communists.

Great Moments in Boob War History #1 - She-Hulk's Wardrobe Malfunction

Since Boob War Week seems to be a big hit with the kids, I thought I'd introduce a new feature here at Dave's Long Box: "Great moments in Boob War History." It's a way of celebrating remarkable achievements in the Boob War field and honoring those creators who have helped lift mankind's spirits and have spoken to the better angels inside all of us, simply by drawing superhero boobs.

Our first installment is this classic panel from John Byrne's 1985 She-Hulk graphic novel. After being captured, then probed and experimented on (while naked) by unscrupulous SHIELD agents on board the helicarrier, She-Hulk makes her escape, wearing only a lab coat around her impressive physique. A SHIELD agent unloads a clip of bullets into She-Hulk's bosom, but the only damage is to the lab coat. We get our first and perhaps only glimpse (outside of unlicensed fan porn) of She-Hulk's nipples.

Young Dave studied this panel intensely back in 1985.

Whoomp! There it is! The first Great Moment in Boob War History!

WONDER WOMAN #91 DC Comics, 1994

Boob War Week continues deep into a second bouncy week of mammaries and mayhem! Join me, won't you?

Okay, just take a look at that beautiful Brian Bolland cover. I swear, during this particular era of Wonder Woman comics (what I like to call the pre-Byrne era), sometimes I would buy this comic just for those Bolland covers. Who has cleaner lines and a more sure hand than that guy? The rotating artists during the “Messner-Loebs era” sometimes left a little to be desired, but the WW editors were smart and always had those kick-ass Bolland covers to sell the books. I know they got a couple extra bucks out of me that way.

If memory serves, this was the first issue for the hot new artist from Brazil, Mike Deodato, whose work really tipped Wonder Woman into full-on Boob War territory. There are more thongs in this comic than spring break in Cancun. Deodato even re-worked Wonder Woman’s classic star-spangled trunks into a more daring butt-floss design. Basically, they brought Deodato on board to seriously sex things up.

In this issue, William Messner-Loeb’s epic “Artemis” storyline really kicks into gear, as Diana is replaced as Wonder Woman by Artemis, a hard-ass Amazon with a gravity-defying chest and pony tail. In the origin story of Wonder Woman, Princess Diana, daughter of the unfortunately named Amazon Queen Hippolyta was chosen to be Wonder Woman by winning an all-female Olympic competition on Themyscira, the mythical island of Amazons. In this storyline, Themyscira schemes to have Diana replaced as Wonder Woman by another Amazon, so she holds another competition.

--------

"You’ve just cranked the Boob War all the way to '11.' "

I think this comic is a good example of how, when it comes to Boob War, it only requires one creator – usually the artist – to tip the scales and send a book into titillation zone. For all I know, Bill Messner-Loebs wrote this script long before he even had heard of Mike Deodato. The script is not particularly gratuitous – I mean, it is about Amazons and stuff, but it’s not like there’s any mud wrestling or skinny dipping. When Perez relaunched the Wonder Woman series, he drew the Amazons in fairly chaste togas and tunics, nothing risqué. So it’s possible to produce a comic set on an island of Amazons and not have it stray into Roger Corman territory.

However, when you bring in Mike Deodato, who draws lean, muscular women with tiny chins, impossibly severe eyebrows, floating breasts, and with pert, thong-covered butts? You’ve just cranked the Boob War all the way to “11,” baby.

Here’s an example of what the Amazon Olympics look like, Deodato-style:

I would actually watch the Olympics if that’s what was involved. Half-naked chicks throwing big rocks? Sign me up. Although I have to critique the form of the hurdler in the panel at the top of the page, the Amazon on the left? What kind of hurdling is that? Maybe she’s counting on extra-buoyancy to carry her up and over the hurdle.

There’s some conflict and intrigue going on behind the scenes of the Thong Olympics – a renegade tribe of feral Amazons want to participate in the competition, which causes much aggravation and arching of eyebrows.

Here’s Artemis, champion of the renegade Amazons, about to throw down:



“Bitch, I know you just didn’t call me a backstabber.”

Fortunately, Diana intercedes – that’s her in the center with the rippling thighs. Do you see what I mean about Artemis’s pony tail? It floats around in the air with a mind of its own. How does she run around in the jungle with that thing, wouldn’t it snag on low-hanging tree branches?

Anyway, this is a great start to Deodato’s run as artist on the book, culminating in a big double sized finale to the storyline where Artemis, the new Wonder Woman, dies.

Ooops. Um, spoiler alert?

BOOB WAR WEEK begins!

Welcome, dear reader, to Boob War Week here at Dave's Long Box.

A word of caution before we begin: I cannot guaruntee that all the images I post during Boob War Week will be work safe for you. There won't be any nudity, but Boob War Week will explore what happens when scantily clad superheroines rumble. I'm pulling all these images from comics that anybody of any age could purchase, but still: if Amazons in thongs is not the kind of stuff you should be looking at while at work, you may want to check it out at home.

Okay, fair warning.

What is Boob War, you ask? My friend, you are about to find out.

X-MEN: PHOENIX - LEGACY OF FIRE Marvel Comics, 2003

Boob War Week continues with X-Men: Phoenix – Legacy of Fire, a book that is Boob War in its purest form.

A caveat: in order to do this comic justice, I’ve included some typical panels of art in this post. The art may not be work safe, although technically there is no nudity. Technically. Believe me, with this comic it was difficult to find panels that didn’t have crotch/ass/breast shots. So anyway, be warned! Your boss may wonder why you’re looking at pictures of half-naked cartoon ladies.



X-Men: Phoenix – Legacy of Fire was published under Marvel’s MAX imprint, and was connected to the regular X-Men universe by the thinnest of plot threads. The book references the Shadow King, the Phoenix, and there’s a character called Madelyne, but that’s about it. Were I a cynical person, I would say that they slapped the X-Men title on this book in an effort to raise sales, even though the interior content is only tangentially related to the X-Men books proper. But I’m not cynical – I like to think that the creators and editors had a pure artistic vision of an alternate reality based on the X-Men mythos where chicks run around in thongs. It’s art, man. Art.

Written and illustrated by Ryan Kinnaird with a liberal dose of computer generated effects, X-Men: Phoenix is a pseudo-manga fantasy that is such a pure expression of the Boob War principles that it has an “explicit advisory” notice on the cover.

There is no sex per se in the comic, but everything is highly sexualized. The two female protagonists, Jena and Madelyne, run around in scant outfits that leave little to the imagination, and the art is downright lascivious. Seriously, if there is even the slightest chance for a crotch/ass/breast shot, Kinnaird takes it.

Here, look:



See what I mean? The “camera” placement in this book isn’t accidental – there are more crotch shots in this book than in an up-skirt fetish mag.

I don’t want to get into the story too much because… you know, I don’t know if I actually even read this comic. I mean, I must have… Let’s just say that the art distracts one’s attention from the narrative, which isn’t terribly gripping.



One thing I do know about the story is that there are two hot, half-naked sisters who live in Limbo, there’s a scary skull guy named The Shadow King, that the sisters go on a quest, and that bikini waxing is clearly a priority in their lives. There – you’re now up to speed.

This comic came out during Bill Jemas’ tenure as Marvel president. I would have paid money to listen in on the editorial meeting where they discussed this book. In an oft-repeated convention here at Dave’s Long Box, allow me to speculate what the behind-the-scenes dialogue would have sounded like:

Marvel Big-Shot: “So what’s it about?”

Editor: “Umm, I’m not 100% sure. But it’s got tits. And crotch shots.”

Marvel Big-Shot: “Yeah, but what’s the story?”

Editor: “Well, there are these two chicks. Girls, really. And they don’t wear a lot of clothes. And, um, they have tits.”

Marvel Big-Shot: “That’s it?”

Editor: “They wear little thongs, too.”

Marvel Big-Shot: “I don’t know…”

Editor: “How about we change the names of the girls and call it an X-Men book?”

Marvel Big-Shot: “I LOVE it!”

One of the issues that I have with this book, and with some manga comics in general, is that the sexy female characters look so damn young. Throughout this mini-series we get flashbacks of Jena as a young girl, learning the ways of the Phoenix or something, and she’s wearing outfits that would make strippers blush. I guess I can understand the school girl fetish of Japanese comics – it’s a different culture and all that – but when that same aesthetic gets transplanted into American comics, it seems a little creepy.

Jena has a friend, a perky elf-girl named Nid, who looks like an eleven-year old girl who has had breast augmentation. Here’s a panel at the end of the book where Nid affectionately places her hands on her friend’s naked hips as they walk and talk:



“I think that legacy is over, and a new one is just beginning. Now let’s go take a bath!”

You have to give X-Men: Phoenix some credit for being so unabashedly naughty and titillating, but I question the wisdom/ethics of marketing this particular Boob War comic to X-Men fans instead of just being honest and calling it Thong Quest.

BOOB WAR INTERRUPTED

Sorry, there will be no Boob War post on Friday* because I'm taking a little time off to get a colonoscopy. Ever had one? This will be my fourth or fifth medically sanctioned anal probe, and let me tell you something: it's no damn good.

So think of me, fellow comic geeks, for while you peruse the Internet I will be sedated in a hospital in Seattle while Dr. Caligula goes on a Fantastic Voyage deep inside my bowels. Be grateful that you are not getting mecically sodomized and take a moment to appreciate your healthy intestines. And tonight when you get home from school or work, give your significant other a kiss and hold them tight and just be happy that you are not getting "The Turkish Prison Treatment."

Think of me, dear reader, for when I am getting my colonoscopy, I will be thinking of you.

Actually, I'll just be thinking about Kevin.

*The good news is that I will be extending Boob War Week for another few days. More boobs for everyone, I say.

DAZZLER #13 Marvel Comics, 1982

Boob War Week continues with a look at some vintage catfight action!

Let’s get the credits out of the way: Dazzler #13 was written by Danny Fingeroth, penciled by Frank Springer, inked by Vince Coletta, and, perhaps most importantly, was edited by the legendary/infamous Jim Shooter. You know, I should have a Jim Shooter Week. It wouldn’t involve Jim Shooter’s breasts (unless anybody has pictures of them).

Anyway, thank God that these brave people had the guts to think outside the box and deliver the comic-reading public of the eighties what it really wanted, even if it didn’t know it. Really, what kid didn’t want to read about a mutant disco queen who sang and roller skated and blasted people with light? Dazzler was like a more violent version of the beloved Olivia Newton-John film Xanadu.

His particular issue proves that Marvel could rock the Boob War even in the early eighties. The official title of the story is “Trial… And Terror” but I like to call it “Dazzler’s Prison Catfight Special.”

Reading through the comic, one wonders who exactly this book was targeted towards. In this issue, Alison Blaire, aka Dazzler, has some issues with her disapproving asshole father, tries to get some work, gets dumped by her boyfriend, gets arrested for the murder of Klaw in a previous issue, gets in a catfight with a bunch of costumed female wrestlers in prison, and ultimately stands trial and is found not guilty. It’s like a weird hybrid of the old newspaper strip Apartment 3-G, the film Chained Heat, and a Law & Order fan-fiction story.

I can just see Jim Shooter talking about this issue with Danny Fingeroth and Frank Springer: “I like all the soap opera shit, Danny, and the trial scene. Girls will love it. But you know what we need? A catfight. I’d like her to not being wearing a lot of clothes. Can you work that in?”

Let me be honest with you for a minute. I have never liked Dazzler, not even in an ironic way. The Dazzler series always tread an uneasy line between weepy movie-of-the-week drama and super-heroic action, as this issue illustrates. I just never liked her as a character. Her mutant power enables her to absorb sound and turn it into light – hence the name. She’s supposed to be a plucky, struggling starlet who just wants to sing and dance, but really she comes across as a shallow whiner.

In this issue alone, I counted six different panels where she breaks into tears, including this one, where her boyfriend breaks up with her in a crowded restaurant because he thinks she won’t make a scene. Boy, is he wrong!



In an issue preceding this one that I haven’t read, Dazzler “kills” Ulysses Klaw during a big fight at Project: Pegasus. For reasons unclear to me, the government suddenly gives a shit about the fate of a supervillain that we all know is going to come back anyway, and they arrest her.

Dazzler has to spend the night in a sound-proof cell in Ryker’s Island, a maximum security prison where actor Jonathan Frakes tortures inmates by sitting on them and farting while eating fried chicken. No, no – wait. I made that up, the Jonathan Frakes part.

All the female prisoners of Ryker’s Island are given skimpy outfits to wear – Dazzler gets some pajama pants and a sexy belly-shirt for her overnight stay. She’s trying to sleep in her drafty pajamas when the door busts open and Dazzler is dragged out of her cell by The Grapplers – a gang of super-power female wrestler/criminals that Dave’s Long Box readers last saw in this Marvel Team-Up review.

The Grapplers have heard that Dazzler killed Klaw and want to know why and how, so they pull her before the entire scantily clad population of Ryker’s Island and beat her up. There’s a lot of hair-pulling, midriff baring, and some titillating glimpses of Dazzler’s dazzlers, if you know what I mean. Plus, Dazzler screams “No! NOOOO!” a lot.

Take a look:



Okay, I have a couple of questions: If these women are supposed to be in prison, how exactly are they wearing their costumes? Shouldn’t they be dressed in halter-tops and cut-off shorts like all the rest of the female inmates? And what kind of prison are they in where they can just bust into (unlocked) cells or roam free at night? There’s a scrap of dialogue which says that The Grapplers bribed/threatened the guards, but I’m not buying it.

Back to the catfight. Dazzler gets smacked around by Letha, Poundcakes, and Screaming Mimi while the other well-endowed inmates look on with Sapphic interest:



Fortunately, Dazzler absorbs Screaming Mimi’s sonic powers, turns the sound into light, and wipes out The Grapplers. Unfortunately, she doesn’t appear in court the next day wearing her tiny shirt – that would have been cool.

The court scene? Wow. The writers of frickin’ Matlock would be embarrassed by how strangely boring and unprofessional the whole thing is. She cries a few more times, the jury finds her not guilty, end of story.

And that, my friends, is how they did Boob War back in the day. Well, that and those kick-ass Frank Thorne Red Sonja issues. But that’s another story…

VOODOO - ZEALOT: SKIN TRADE Image Comics, 1995

This is a terrible, terrible comic book.

Truly awful comics like Skin Trade are rare, because they require a perfect combination of uninspired story, incomprehensible art, and lax production values. They are something more than the sum of its crappy parts; they are somehow transcendent in their shittiness, so hideously awful that they are almost beautiful.

Every comic geek knows the story: in the Dark Nineties, all the hot artists defected from the Big Two and founded Image Comics, a company that focused its energy on producing pretty books on slick paper. Artwork was the main focus of those Image books. To say that good writing was of secondary importance would be an understatement. Image produced a bunch of good looking books with no soul. Sales were good. The Big Two tried to emulate the success of those Image books, and as a result the entire comic book industry slowly spiraled into the toilet like big, nutty logs of poo.

Yes. Like poo.

Eventually the guys at Image wised up and started hiring decent writers, and the company today has a much more diverse and adventurous portfolio of titles. The white-hot volcano of the go-go Nineties has gone dormant, and Image has become a more mature and well-balanced company today.

But things were pretty grim there for a while. During the mid-Nineties, Image could no longer maintain a consistent level of quality and fans got the worst of both worlds: crappy art and crappy stories. As long as it was on nice paper and was computer colored, they’d print the damn things. Editorial standards were low and quality control seemed non-existent.

Too harsh? I offer Voodoo/Zealot: Skin Trade, a one-shot Boob War book starring two bimbo characters from the WildCATS series. I do not use the word “bimbo” lightly – these two characters are not exactly paragons of female dignity.

Don’t take my word for it, behold:

The story, by writer Steven T. Seagle, involves Voodoo and Zealot vacationing in a war-torn country and looking for Zealot's long-lost kid while posing in bikinis. I'm sure I could explain the plot in greater detail, but the book is practically incomprehensible because of the art.

All the conventions of sequential art that we take for granted are tossed out the proverbial window, and Seagle's story is completely undermined by pages that make absolutely no sense whatsoever. I don't know what happened to this book; I'm sure there's a nightmare story behind its creation. I've seen Michael Lopez's art in other circumstances and I like his stuff, but here... Wow. It looks like they brought in seven different inkers, got them drunk, and gave them two hours to finish the book before they rushed it off to the printer. It starts off OK, but quickly degenerates into pages of "narrative pin-ups" and baffling layouts. By the end of the book it looks like they were just grabbing people off the street and giving them pages to draw. It's ugly, amateurish stuff.

This is an entire page:

That looks like some kid's Dirty Pair fan art. The vast white spaces on the page really add to the sense of drama, don't you think?

I can't really blame writer Steven T. Seagle for this mess, partly because I loved Above the Law and the dude could break my shoulder with that aikido of his. (Boy, I bet he never gets tired of jokes like that.) Clearly Seagle wrote a legible story, but somewhere between his script and the printer something went horribly wrong.

There are entire sequences that make no sense. For instance, we're told that soldiers appear to menace our heroines in one scene, but we just have to believe the expository dialogue because the art doesn't make that clear at all. There are other sections of the book where Voodoo and Zealot just pose in their swimsuits while they slap some word balloons up on the page. There's nothing sequential about this art.

Skin Trade is definitely a Boob War comic, but it looks like Image got cold feet and started drawing swimsuits on all the half-naked ladies. Editorial swimwear: it's not just for DC and Marvel. Check out the last page, below:

Has Zealot suddenly become modest? Or perhaps she was originally drawn sans bikini, oui? And are those chicks going to make out or what? Mrowr!

Why didn't Image just have Lopez draw a bunch of Zealot and Voodoo pin-ups instead of trying to tell a story? The book is one big muddled mess, an awkward fusion of words and pictures that they slapped together and had the balls to charge $5.99 for.

And I bought it. I'm reminded of an Obi-Wan Kenobi quote about following fools.

I'm not sure if I'm giving The Pain Award to Skin Trade... or to me.

SILVER SABLE #27 Marvel Comics, 1994

Okay, I have a confession to make: I don't recall actually reading this comic, and I can't be bothered to actually read it again.

I am basing this entire post - and this is lame - on just flipping casually through Silver Sable #27. If you're looking for a nuanced, well-balanced essay on the plot and themes and artistic/literary merit of this comic - well, what are you doing on my blog in the first place?

For those unfamiliar with this most Nineties of Marvel titles, Silver Sable & The Wild Pack was a colorful Boob War meets Dirty Dozen comic about a rough team of super-mercenaries and their leader, a monochromatic aristocratic sextastic ass-kicker with a huge mane of white hair named Silver Sable.

Sable was originally a supporting character and occasional adversary of Spider-Man who graduated to her own title in the mid-Nineties and has since faded once again into the crowded background of the Marvel Universe. In five years Silver Sable will be retro enough to be cool again, just like Spider-Woman and Ms. Marvel.

In this particular issue, Man-Eater, one of Silver Sable's crew has gone ape shit (or in this case, tiger shit) and the Wild Pack has to track the were-tiger down before he scratches up somebody's sofa real bad.

I don't know a lot about Man-Eater or why he goes crazy in this issue. Hormones? Pon farr? The only thing I do know about him is that his code name "Man-Eater" has nothing to do with the fact that he's a giant tiger-man. "Man-Eater" was actually a prison name that he picked up during a five year stint in San Quentin. Hey, don't judge. You gotta do what you gotta do to survive in prison.

Anyway, Man-Eater goes crazy and pulls an American Werewolf, rampaging all over town. He interrupts a couple's romantic picnic(above). Woah, what is that gal saying? That's just naughty.

Fortunately, Man-Eater doesn't eat the pre-coital picnickers, but he does attack the unemployed grunge musician who mugs them. Ever since Cobain died, those guys have had a hard time making ends meet.

One of the weird things about the book is how Man-Eater says the word "roar" a lot. Take a look.

Help me out here. If a word is in a word balloon, that means the speaker is actually saying the word. Am I right? If it's a sound effect, the sound text appears in the panel as a graphic, not inside a word balloon. Follow me? So if a word (like "roar") appears as a graphic inside a word balloon, does that mean the speaker is actually saying the word depicted, or making the sound described?

So, is Man-Eater saying the word "roar" or is he making a roar-sounding noise? The problem lies with the fact that roar is both a noun and an onomatopoeia. It would be easier if Man-Eater were a giant poodle man. Then he would either be saying "bark" or making a bark-like sound, i.e., "woof," and it'd be easy to tell what effect the creators are going for.

Take a look at this panel of Tiger-Man vs Pearl Jam:

Here, Man-Eater's "roar" doesn't have any punctuation and is misspelled, so I'm led to believe that he is making a noise that sounds like a roar rather than shouting the word "roar."

In the next panel, Man-Eater's "roar" has an exclamation point but it's still misspelled. Does this mean he's making a noise or saying a word? The answer is clearly yes.

My confusion aside, it's pretty easy to follow the storyline in Silver Sable #27, even if you're not actually reading it like me. Sable and the Wild Pack eventually track Man-Eater down and taser the living bejeesus out of him while he yells "Roar!" or makes a roar-like noise, take your pick.

I like the cover for this comic, but as for the book itself? It's got a little too much Man-Eater and not enough Boob War for my tastes. I mean, if I pick up a Silver Sable book I want to see a little chrome-colored ass, not page after page of Man-Eater getting his roar on. Let's sex up the joint a little.

Although perhaps I should be careful what I wish for, as the ultimate cause of Man-Eater's frenzy is revealed...

Man, I know there are entire sub-cultures of people who get off on that sort of thing, but that panel planted some unwelcome mental imagery in my head.

Thanks a lot, Marvel. I'll never be able to look at a tiger again without feeling dirty.

STARMAN #44 DC Comics, 1998

I can’t decide whether to focus on the radness of James Robinson’s Starman series or the radness of the Phantom Lady in today’s post. Both are worthy of an entire post on their own, and I’d be doing a disservice to their radness by trying to discuss both Starman and Phantom Lady at the same time. So in an effort to have my proverbial cake and eat it, too, I will discuss Phantom Lady in prose and Starman in haiku.

Starman, so retro
Slacker with a cosmic rod
Family heirloom

This is one of the many issues where series writer James Robinson took a detour from the Starman meta-story and focused on a tangent in the Starman Miniverse. I admire Robinson’s confidence as a storyteller and his willingness to dabble in characters and stories that interested him, even when they didn’t feed into the narrative thrust of the series, like the annual “Talking With David” issues, wherein Jack (Starman) chats with his dead brother. After a while, I found diversions like these a little tiresome, but overall I give Robinson points doing his thing.

Robinson wrote it
He wrote Starman well and long
Long long time, sailor

In this particular issue, we hop in the Wayback Machine and visit Washington D.C. circa 1944, where the original Starman’s cousin The Phantom Lady is hot, and is hot on the tail of The Prairie Witch, a green-skinned criminal with a posse of masked thugs. The Phantom Lady stops the Witch’s first heist, but of course she gets away. The Phantom Lady tracks her quarry to Opal City, Starman’s turf, and eventually foils the Witch’s plans and beats the living bejeesus out of her. The end.

Sounds a little thin, storywise?

Well, yes, but Starman #44 is a contemporary take on a simple, formulaic Golden Age plot. The fun of the comic lies in Robinson’s urbane style and focus on character as well as Mike Mayhew’s solid pencils. I don’t usually mention inkers when I talk about comics, primarily because I am a philistine, but I must praise Wade Von Grawbadger’s elegant inks – they enhance Mayhew’s pencils and add a sense of lushness to the book.

Jack had a brother
David, who fought a bullet
But the bullet won

Here’s Phantom Lady (below) after mopping the floor with a bunch of thugs. The Prairie Witch has escaped, but not before calling P.L. a “tramp.” That’s mean.

Let me jump in here and say that The Phantom Lady has a seam that runs down the middle of her costume, okay? It’s not a camel toe – it’s a seam. In the forties they were not as conscious of camel toes as we are in the twenty-first century. It’s a seam, damn it. I just want to clear that up and pre-empt the inevitable discussion of the Phantom Camel Toe in the comments section.

The other Starman
Will Wheaton? No, Will Payton!
He blew up real good

Okay, having settled that, let’s talk about Phantom Lady, the prototype of modern Boob War heroines. Phantom Lady first appeared in Quality Comics fighting crime in a skimpy outfit that emphasized her, um, tits. I don’t mean to be crude, but Phantom Lady was all about the breasts, or “headlights” as they called them Back In The Day.

Phantom Lady gained a certain notoriety for incurring the wrath of Dr. Frederick Wertham in his witch-hunt against lascivious and exploitative comics. It was actually this Matt Baker cover that earned her so much attention:

Holy cats, if that’s not Boob War material, I don’t know what is.

At some point DC Comics bought the rights to the Quality Comics heroes like Phantom Lady, Blackhawk, Doll Man and incorporated them into The Freedom Fighters comic… until writer Geoff Johns had her killed in Infinite Crisis #1, which for some reason really bugged me. I mean, damn! They couldn’t have killed Doll Man?

What happened to Jack?
He quit the Society
And moved to limbo?

Back to Starman #44: The not-dead-yet Phantom Lady finally goes toe-to-toe with the Prairie Witch, who tries to escape on her broom, naturally.

Phantom Lady beats the crap out of The Prairie Witch and saves the day. Yay Phantom Lady!

At the end of the book we get a moody denouement as Starman Sr., who narrated the tale, wraps things up but dangles an enticing plot thread about a lover who wanted Phantom Lady dead.

A lover named Geoff Johns, maybe?

Waiting in the sky
Starman would like to meet us
But he’d blow our minds

COMING SOON TO BOOB WAR WEEK: The Best Post EVER!

For the magnificent climax of our Boob War extravaganza, this Saturday I promise to deliver to you --

THE BEST POST YOU HAVE EVER READ ON ANY BLOG - EVER!

The Dave’s Long Box First Anniversary Spectacular!

Hey, right on, I’m glad you could make it.

Come on in. You can throw your coat on the bed in there if you like. Hey, look at you! Somebody’s been working out. You look good; very together, very 2006. You’ve kind of got a Tony Robbins thing going on. I like that sweater.

Listen, get yourself some chicken wings and a drink in the kitchen – try the rum punch, it’s killer. I have to start this thing.

Welcome to The Dave’s Long Box 1st Anniversary Spectacular, wherein we take a wacky walk together down memory lane… and I’m holding your hand the entire time and breathing heavily.

I know, it’s a little creepy. I’m not saying it won’t be uncomfortable, but join me on this psychedelic journey into narcissistic nostalgia, won’t you?

Dave’s Long Box launched a year ago today with a few modest, awkwardly written posts, evolving into the arrogant, awkwardly written blog you see before you. Prior to March 2005 I had just been lurking in the comics blogosphere, phantom-like, always reading and never participating, interacting. I felt like Patrick Swayze in Ghost. I had been working on a fiction blog called The Velvet Marauder – “It’s like Bridget Jones’ Diary, but with a super-powered vigilante” – but had yet to wade into the big scary world of blogging for reals.

But wade I did, and I kind of liked it. It was good writing exercise, and it was fun. People seemed to be digging my shit, which always helps. Then I got mentioned in Newsweek magazine and BAM! I had to kick it up a notch, Emeril-style, baby! Or something, I don’t know.

I was inspired by two of my favorite blogs: Graeme MacMillan’s late Fanboy Rampage and Neilalien, which happily is still going strong. I appreciated the sheer amount of content and the “audience participation” in Fanboy Rampage, and the fact that Neilalien’s site had a unique theme and focus: all things Dr. Strange. Dave’s Long Box is nothing like either blog, but I like to think that I have adopted lessons learned from both. I knew that I wanted my blog to have a theme (I review my old comics, you laugh and cry), to encourage reader input and discussion, and that it would be updated regularly.

The other overriding theme or mission or whatever of Dave’s Long Box is that I wanted to set a certain tone of civility and accountability. I decided I would put my full name out there and that I would at least make an effort to be respectful of my readers and of the people who make the comic books that I love and/or hate. I even wrote a little mission statement – more of a memo, really - On Being Mean, which outlines my blogging philosophy. I have violated the principles outlined in that post several times, so I just go back and edit the original mission statement so I don’t look like a complete asshole.

Kidding.

Starting out, one of the things I decided I would do was have theme weeks and recurring features to help give Dave’s Long Box some sense of structure and identity. I started off with No Profanity Week, which was sponsored by wrestling superstar Ric Flair.

That seemed to go over well, so I kept going. Boob War Week was a big hit and still pulls in the Google traffic to this day. Everybody likes boobs, apparently. Who knew? I was kind of fond of Kobra Week myself, which focused on the DC super-villain Kobra and how damn cool he is.

The most popular theme week seemed to be the F*@% Yeah Files, which explore some of the most kick-ass, moving, and flat-out awesome scenes in comic book history – stuff that is so cool it literally compels you to exclaim, “FUCK YEAH!” You know, like when Flash rescues the flight attendant who gets sucked out of an airliner at 10,000 feet.

The F*@% Yeah Files even spawned a movie version. I veered off course for a week and explored some of my favorite F*@% Yeah moments in film. “Khaaaan!”

Some posts are more popular than others. I kind of figured that my post Everybody Loves Power Girl would go over well – I believe I modestly referred to it beforehand as “the best post you have ever read on any blog – ever!” This look at the phenomenon of Power Girl’s breasts pulled in a lot of hits, and to this day is probably my most frequently visited post. I attribute its popularity more to masturbating geeks on Google than to quality writing - as of now I am the #1 search result on Google for “power girl boobs.” I can live with that.

Another popular post was Airwolf: The Adjective. I can’t remember who and I’m too lazy too search for it, but a DLB reader mentioned the concept of the word “Airwolf” as a universally positive adjective, and I just ran with it. I’ve been credited elsewhere for the Airwolf idea, but I didn’t think it up – that distinction goes to the very funny Ernie Cline, who did a spoken-word piece called “Airwolf” back in 2000. I’m just happy to do my part in helping to seed the pop cultural landscape with Airwolf: The Adjective.

It’s funny the shit that brings in traffic.

Second to Power Girl and Airwolf, I probably got the most hits for this picture of a spunky little cat with a “can-do” attitude:

People love cats; go figure.

I have some personal favorite posts, of course, as well as posts that just make me wince and tempt me to delete them. Nobody would notice if I just got rid of that horrible piece about Hawkman, would they?

One of my favorite and/or most enjoyable posts was a two-part dissection of Thor #499, a comic so horrible that one post could not contain its suckitude. This comic is a classic and hilarious example of poor quality control and mis-communication between writer and artist, and spotlights the phenomenon known as “the de-nudifying effect” or “editorial swimwear,” when racy art is clumsily covered up by the editors.

I was also fond of the post Workforce Management the Kobra Way, which explores Kobra’s techniques for effectively leading an army of henchmen. It involves lots of strangling.

A personal favorite of mine is the S.H.I.E.L.D. Career Power Seminar, which was an honest-to-God real presentation I did at work on Halloween.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Career Power was basically a recruiting pitch for potential S.H.I.E.L.D. agents conducted by Col. Nick Fury (me), complete with PowerPoint slides. I worked very hard on the whole thing and it went over really well with my co-workers, even if most people thought I was supposed to be Snake Plissken. The shit I have to put up with...

Another post that I think turned out OK was Street Fighter: The Musical, a take-down of the wretched comic book adaptation of the equally wretched Street Fighter movie. The post has the lines, “This comic book is so awful that writing (...) about it merely prolongs its existence... Talking about it is like watering an ugly, ugly flower” and “… so bad that I want to burn it, but I’m afraid that the toxic smoke from the fire will ruin a sunset or poison something beautiful, like a butterfly.” Man, I crack myself up.

I may be funny infrequently, but I am often DEAD WRONG.

I have made more than my share of mistakes over the past year. If there’s one thing I’ve learned while writing about comic books, it’s that you have to get your shit straight or somebody is going to call you on it. There’s always some wise-ass out there who will let me know if I spelled Neal Adams’ name wrong, or that I totally got the name of Mantra’s alter-ego wrong. Usually I just silently fix the mistake so the wise-ass looks like an idiot complaining about errors that don’t exist, but sometimes I screw up in such a profound way that it can’t be concealed.

Take this entry about Karkas in my recurring feature, Lame-ass Villains.

I built the entire post around the fact that Karkas has no opposable thumbs. He doesn’t, really! Look it up if you don’t believe me! Be that as it may, the humor of the whole piece is sort of undermined by the picture of Karkas with an opposable thumb.

That’s the Ol’ Dave Campbell Eye for Detail in action right there.

Another cock-up was my review for Alpha Flight #121, in which I incorrectly said that artist Craig Brasfield was responsible for this blatant swipe of some John Byrne art. I learned that it was the book’s editor who slapped the Byrne art into the comic, not Brasfield, so I had to go back and set the record straight. My bad.

OK, I shouldn’t have had that last gin and tonic. Daddy’s starting to get a headache, kids, so I better wrap this up. Did you like the chicken wings?

I want to thank everybody who has visited Dave’s Long Box over the past year, and in particular everyone who took the time to comment or send me an email shout-out. I really appreciate everyone’s support and hope that we can all continue to hang out together over the next 365 days.

A big what-up goes out to my fellow comic bloggers as well – there are a lot of people blogging out there who are doing really great work; funny, thoughtful, inspiring, challenging writing that helps Move Comics Forward. Except for that one asshole.*

Not to get all corny and shit, but I’m proud to be even indirectly associated with a lot of the fine folks out there behind their keyboards. I tip my proverbial 40-ouncer in your honor.

So, onwards and upwards! Let’s join hands once again in a non-sexual way and march together into a Golden Future of Online Comic Book Commentary.

As my man Casey Kasem says, “Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars!”



*Kidding.