Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!

A: ". . . What. . . You've Never Seen a Rhetorical Question Before. . . ?"

. . . or: "When Fanboys Turn To Hate Speech. . . and Why."
(Part Two; Page Two)

" [...] one of the recurring utterances of the defenders of the All White status quo in comics has always been the need for the creators to have artistic/editorial 'freedom' [...] i.e. it would be WRONG to 'force' the editorial team on the JLA to have added Steel to the roster last year because the staff hadn't gotten around to it yet." (2/6/99)

"The fact that there are no blacks or gays or Asians in the Justice League, for so long, is anything but an accident. It is all part of the white racial [sic] master plan [...] Grant Morrison is part of it." (3/17/99)

"[Mark] Waid, [Tom] Peyer and [Grant] Morrison are just three more white racist revisionists [...] apologists every bit as dangerous, in their way, as any Klansman." (5/9/99)

"There's an obvious racial power structure in comics [...] a cabal working overtime to make certain that gender and racial diversity is , shall we say, limited." (6/8/99)

Certain forms of rhetorical excess sink so leadenly beneath the waves of simple human courtesy and decency... they brand those who employ them, now and forever, as being unfit for the companionship of anything not already given to scuttling about on six legs or more.

Regular visitors hereabouts may remember a prior entry detailing the wholly reprehensible tarring and feathering, in absentia, of present-day JLA scribe Grant Morrison on trumped-up charges of "racism" and sexism. ("On Grant Morrison's JLA... and the Sense of Wonder").

(A quickie excerpt from said article, just to bring us all back up to speed: "The furor began soon after the publication of JLA #1 [which, incidentally, sold out nationwide with no fewer than four separate printings]. Postings began to crop up with a metronomic [and imbecilic] regularity -- in all of the now-standard online forums -- to the effect that 'there are no racial or ethnic minorities in Grant Morrison's JLA; and only one woman! Therefore -- ipso facto -- Grant Morrison is a woman-hating racist! Maybe a former Nazi death camp kommandant, even! Who knows, really -- ?!?' "

("These plainly poisonous ululations -- which, for a brief [but no less disreputable] time, were even being taken up by one of Mister Morrison's fellow "professionals" over at DC [!!] -- were particularly odious ones when considered in light of the fact that the writer's most 'personal' and revealing work for DC Comics to date -- the quirky and intelligent THE INVISIBLES -- includes amongst its chief protagonists such eminently sympathetic characters as a black, female ex-cop; a transgendered South American homosexual; and the almost eerily competent 'Ragged Robin': the team's putative leader. Thus do the true hate-mongers within the greater fannish body politic reveal themselves: by their callous and unblinking disregard for the truth... solely in the service of getting some spandexed comics character of their own preference better promoted or utilized. I'm just sayin', is all.")

I'm not entirely certain which one to label the more wretched and pitiable, ultimately: the sorry, race-baiting stratagem itself, or the cold, cruel calculation of its tireless advocates and apologists.

What I do know, however, is this:

With the recent acknowledgment that Mark Waid will be taking over the storytelling reins on the aforementioned JLA in the year 2000, upon the completion of Grant Morrison's groundbreaking tenure on same: the online hatemongers are (as the selections referenced earlier -- from various message boards -- plainly make manifest) up to their old and odious tricks once again.

As the incessant fannish jungle grapevine would have it, you see: the departing Mr. Morrison plans on wrapping up his turn on JLA with a dramatic death or two, amongst the present-day dramatis personae.

More to the point, perhaps: those same rumors make repeated mention of perennial costumed fifth-rater Steel being high up on the list of potential sacrificial lambs.

Now: never mind that this is all still -- as of this writing -- all nothing more than seventh- or eighth-generation smoke signals, wafting over the furthermost ridge of Rumor Mountain...

... and never mind, likewise, that all of the super-heated blubbering and leveling of shaking, accusatory fingers to date is being directed towards the wrong frickin' writer in the FIRST place (i.e., the one who'll be hopping aboard long after this particular train has left the storytelling station)...

... and (finally): never mind that there may be any number of good and sufficient reasons to settle the aforementioned Steel down for a nice, long dirt nap, should events so come to pass. (Such as, say, the very real possibility that not everyone finds said character either a viable or particularly compelling one. As evidenced by the fact, f'rinstance, that not even a big-budget, special effects-laden movie proved sufficient to goose said character's perpetually anemic sales above the fiscal red line.)

Never mind. Never mind. The fannish online "jury" is already all a-twitter, casting its votes with a ringing "guilty guilty GUILTY!," sans even so much as the examination of introductory evidence.

Now: I, for one, don't for one moment believe that the character of "John Henry Irons" (a.k.a., Steel) has been slated, ultimately, to become One Of Those Tragically Fallen. (Although -- hey -- I don't write JLA, after all; and if I'm wrong... well, then: I'm wrong. I can certainly live with it if you lot can.)

If Your Aged and Penurious Unca Cheeks were any sort of gambling man at all -- which he most decidedly is not; not since that bizarre, drunken incident involving the midget Brazilian soccer team and the several metric tons of pressurized CheezWhiz (tm), at any rate -- he'd bet even money on a final JLA line-up of Superman; the Batman; Green Lantern; Flash; Wonder Woman; Aquaman; Plastic Man; and the Martian Manhunter... with Morrison creations Aztek and Zauriel sucking up whatever storytelling shrapnel may happen to be whizzing about, at tale's end.

Such a line-up, if selected (the seven "Big Guns" of the League; precisely the same roster, in fact -- minus the brilliantly re-interpreted Plastic Man -- with which the now-lauded Grant Morrison started out, come to think), no more spells out the words "racist" or "sexist" than they do (say) "corned beef."

It speaks, instead, towards personal preference (whether for the selected characters themselves, or else an admirable inclination towards the storytelling verities and virtues of the Silver Age of Comics; six of one, half a dozen of the other.)

It speaks, instead, towards a wholly rational inclination to stick with a formula demonstrably proven to be popular with the vast majority of DC Comics readers; an "all-star cast" of genuinely iconic comics characters, with sizeable and legitimate followings amongst the larger comics readership, overall.

The calumnies and slanders of the man's blustering (and intellectually bow-legged) detractors, on the other hand...

... well: those speak for themselves, ultimately.

Back during the dark, unpleasant days when Grant Morrison's neck was being similarly measured for a noose, online -- back when Grant was still deliberating over which seven second-tier characters to add to his JLA roster -- Your Greatly Annoyed Unca Cheeks wrote himself a snide little something, he did.

A few of the particulars may have changed, since then -- John Byrne, for instance, no longer serves as Wonder Woman's principal Boswell; and Connor Hawke isn't poncing about under the nom de guerre of "Green Arrow"...

... but: given that the online thugees and jackals are laying into their celebrity piñata of the moment with the same old spent ammunition as before...

... well: the overall sense of the thing still bears some relevance, I think.

[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: ... and -- given that the Do-As-I-Say-Or-I'll-Libel-You-As-A-Racist-Sexist-Homophobic-Scumbag-On-Every-Message-Board-Out-There clan continually points to the dim, drear "rubber chicken" days of the Keith Giffen/J.M. DeMatteis-authored JUSTICE LEAGUE as their idealized vision of what the League really oughtta be like (God help us) -- I'll even toss in a few representative samplings of actual, for real, no foolin' panels from that selfsame four-color artistic [*kaff*kaff] "high-water mark." Solely in the interest of complete and total fairness, you understand.

[In a similar spirit of fairness: I also hasten to point out that by no means every fan of said stylistic "approach," re: the JLA -- or even a simple majority of same, in fact -- would ever so much as dream of engaging in such sordid rhetorical tactics... for ANY reason. Just that the ones who do regularly do so -- almost to a man -- point to that period, in particular, as being the one in which All Was Right With the League, content-wise.

[Unca Cheeks is making one of his little points, you see; about Letting the Writer WRITE, sans a whole lot of online jackanapery and jackassery and suchlike.

[Plus: it actually is pretty @#$%$ing funny.

[In a tawdry and thoroughly tasteless "anti-P.C." sort of way, I mean.]

The always estimable C. S. Lewis said it best: "The Devil is proud; and cannot bear to be mocked."

I call it:

THE DAY BEFORE THE NEW MEMBERS CAME

(or)

"... Daddy... what's a meeting of the Justice League really like...?"

***************************

[SCENE OPENS within the Meeting Room of the JLA's Watchtower HQ. Seated about the gargantuan table, in their assigned seats -- and in various postures of restlessness and/or boredom -- are BATMAN; WONDER WOMAN; AQUAMAN; FLASH; GREEN LANTERN; GREEN ARROW; and J'ONN J'ONZZ. Standing before them, at the table's "head," is current Team Chairperson, SUPERMAN. He raps smartly on the table with a gavel, calling the meeting to order.]

SUPERMAN (addressing others): ... all right, then, people... I presume we all know what this meeting is all about, and why we're all here tonight... right?

BATMAN (through gritted teeth; his hands clenching and unclenching convulsively): ... so we can all sit here, piddling and frittering away our precious time and resources while the city -- my city-- festers and spoils and rots, like some loathsome piece of fruit...?

GREEN LANTERN (looking up from his copy of BETTY AND VERONICA'S SUMMER FUN SPECTACULAR long enough to roll his eyes ceilingward): ... oh, Christ... here we go again, troops...

SUPERMAN (blinking): ... ummmmmmm... no, Bruce. We've assembled here this evening in order to see the applicants who've petitioned for the seven new roster "openings" in the League. Grant explained all of that during last week's meeting... remember...?

BATMAN (going on, unhearing; his gaze is focused inward): ...where demons draped in human skin gibber and dance 'round bonfires lit with still-living puppies and cute li'l baby kittycats as their awful tinder...

WONDER WOMAN (sinking her head into her hands and moaning): Oooooookay... Wild Guess Time, here. I take it the Doug Moench issue of BATMAN came out again this week...?

[Superman catches J'onn's eye, gives him an almost imperceptible nod. J'onn, in response, rises silently from his seat and moves, quickly and silently, to a spot just behind the still-seated [and still psychotic] Batman.]

BATMAN (his eyes now glazed over like a pair of cheap doughnuts): ... and where the shrill, piercing shrieks of the damned and the dying rattle and echo throughout the stone throat of Gotham -- my Gotham -- like a bone in the throat of a fat man at a Shoney's breakfast buffet...

[Superman nods a second time. J'onn expertly clouts the Batman at the base of his cowled skull. The Grim Guardian -- now, mercifully, silent -- slumps forward in his seat. His head "ka-BONKS" audibly against the table top.]

J'ONN (staring at his unconscious teammate): ... my god, but that crap really gets on my tit, sometimes.

WONDER WOMAN (shaking her head, sadly): I wish to god DC would just let that nice Mister Dixon write all of his books. Lord knows, you can actually hold a semi-rational conversation with the man, those weeks...

AQUAMAN (disgustingly bright and chipper): ... or even that swell Peter David fellah, for that matter! I'll tellya... he's always giving me plenty of funny things to say, in my book! [chuckles] Hey... here's a good one he told me, just the other day! "What's the difference between a groupie and a guppy...?"

GREEN LANTERN (smirking): In your case? Not much, really.

AQUAMAN (heatedly): Hah! You're just jealous, because your so-called "writer" has to submit his "scripts" each and every month on alphabet blocks! What's the the premise for this month's opus going to be, RingBoy...? "Kyle Gets a 'Stiffy' -- Chapter Nine Hundred and Twelve"...?

[Kyle is still wracking his vestigial brain for a suitable retort as Superman, sighing resignedly, raps the table with his gavel once more.]

SUPERMAN (leadenly): Ladies... ladies. If we could just get all the way through at least one of these things without the seemingly inevitable catfight, please...?

[Wonder Woman suddenly vanishes from her seat, with an audible whumpf of inrushing air.]

GREEN ARROW (startled): Omigawd! Diana! She... she's gone -- !!!

FLASH (not even bothering to look up from the super-speed Solitaire game laid out before him): Ease up, bowman. Just means that John Byrne is in one of his little "moods" again, is all. [shrugs] You get used to it, after awhile.

SUPERMAN (wearily banging the gavel, once again): Yes, yes... I'm certain we all look forward to the day when certain writer/artists learn How to Work and Play Well With Others, no doubt. In the meantime, however... we'll simply have to soldier forward minus the aid of Diana's wise and patient counsel on this issue...

FLASH (leaning back easily in his seat and chuckling): Heh-heh-heh... meanwhile, however: Yours Truly is getting his ashes hauled monthly, story-wise, by Mark Waid and Grant Morrison. Kiss my hotter-than-a-Ninja-Turtle butt. You pathetic losers.

J'ONN (grumpily): Ahhhhhhhhhh... your semi-sidekick looks like Bigfoot's love child.

FLASH (sweetly): Hey... at least my sidekick never ponces around town nekkid, Gumby.

GREEN ARROW (confused): Wait... wait. J'onn has a sidekick...?

FLASH (leaning closer to Connor; lowering voice conspiratorially): Used to have, dude. Li'l quasi-retarded kid named "Zook," if you can believe that. Never wore pants. Hustled out of continuity faster than a post-CRISIS Space Canine Patrol Agents reference, after he started to, ummmm, "show" 'round the middle... ifyouknowwhatImean. All before your time, natch. Very hush-hush.

J'ONN (fighting back hot tears): You... hateful... SOW.

FLASH (leaning back, feet propped up on the table; a supercilious smirk creasing his features, he begins chanting in "sing-song"): IIIIIIIIIIII'MMMMMM a fan faaaav'rit! IIIIIIIIIIIIII'MMMMM a fan faaaav'rit! MWAH-ha-ha-haaaaaa!!! [Shifting to "Jim Carrey" voice:] Loooooo-hooooo-ZERRRRS -- !!!

[A coldly furious Superman brings the gavel down upon the table so emphatically that it shatters in his hand. The other JLAers all stop whatever it is they're doing and stare at him, open-mouthed.]

SUPERMAN (leveling an icy glare at each one, in turn): So. Help. Me. Rao. If. One. More. Person. Mentions. Their. Respective. Writers... I'm calling up Rob Liefeld -- !!

[In the stunned silence which follows this horrifying pronouncement -- a silence as vast and terrible as that which characterizes the very bottommost part of the Marianas Trench -- Green Lantern's thin, strangled squeak stands out almost like a shout.]

GREEN LANTERN (feebly; thunderstruck): ... he... he said the "L" word...

SUPERMAN (ignoring him): ... now, then: J'onn... if you'll kindly get this wretched sideshow charade underway, please...?

[J'onn reaches for the thick sheaf of JLA Application Forms piled high in front of him, and begins shuffling through them, distractedly.]

J'ONN (murmuring): Hmmmmmmm... let's see, now... according to this typewritten memorandum from Grant, our waiting applicants are... are... [his voice trails off as the full enormity of the horror written before him sinks in] ... oh, merciful Jesus... are... characters repeatedly suggested by "regulars" of AOL's DC Online "Justice League" board...

[There is an elastic moment of shared, silent horror as the other Leaguers all consider this, in turn. The moment is finally shattered by the sound of Aquaman's chair scraping across the floor as he pushes away from the table and stands up.]

AQUAMAN (flatly): Right. Okay. Fine. I'm going out for a quick li'l stroll out through the airlock. Anybody coming with me...?

[Flash, meanwhile, is forcibly pressing one fist against his temple, just as hard as he can. Green Arrow goggles at him.]

GREEN ARROW (cautiously): ... ummmmm... Wally...? What are you doing, man...?

FLASH (grimly): I'm trying to get my costume back into my ring... whileI'm still wearing it.

[Green Lantern, meanwhile -- even as he is dragging a frantically struggling Aquaman back to his assigned seat, via a power ring'd fishing pole and tackle -- is the only Leaguer who doesn't look as if he's seriously considering flossing with barbed wire over the sudden revelation.]

GREEN LANTERN (cajolingly): Awwwwww, c'mon, people... it's can't be all that bad, can it? I mean... from what I've seen, most of those "JLA board" regulars are pretty big fans of Yours Truly -- "the One, True Green Lantern!"

FLASH (picking up the jagged edge of Superman's shattered gavel, and holding it -- sepuku fashion -- directly over his heart): Oh, God. We are doomed.

BATMAN (muttering, semi-conscious): ... doomed... doomed... doomed, like Gotham...

[Superman quickly strides over to the Batman, and Whomps Him a Good'Un on the noggin. The Darknight (Manic) Depressive falls silent once more. Superman then turns towards his teammates and uses his Godlike Authority to command their joint attention by jumping up and down and screeching like a sex-crazed peacock.]

SUPERMAN (at mega-volume): ANYBODY WHO DOESN'T WANT A ONE-WAY TRANSFER OVER TO PRIMAL FORCE OR SCARE TACTICS ... SHUT THE @#$% UP, ALREADY -- !!!

[Once more, peace and (comparative) sanity reign, for the moment. Favoring each Leaguer with a steely and dispassionate gaze, in turn, Superman takes a quick swig from the bottle of Night Train he keeps stashed away in his cape pocket -- "for emergencies" -- clears his throat, and continues.]

SUPERMAN: Look, troops: I'm certain we'd all much prefer interviewing applicants who weren't selected for us by a gaggle of geeks who -- in all terrible likelihood-- make certain that Hardees' restaurants across the country are capable of dishing out piping hot french fries at two in the morning... or who stagger home to the basements of their respective parents, there to fall into fitful slumber on cheap Army surplus folding cots whilst clutching worn and "stained" Rogue action figures to their sallow, non-existent chests... or who include the possibility of "a physical relationship with someone of the opposite sex" on their Want Lists just below "a really nice copy of KITTY PRYDE AND WOLVERINE #1"...

AQUAMAN (blandly): Thanks for putting a much-needed "happy face" on all of this for us, O Leader of Men.

SUPERMAN (more loudly): How. EVER. ... if it wouldn't be asking too awfully much for the lot of you to kindly please pull your sorry selves together, and at least try to comport yourselves like... oh, I dunno... real, live super-heroes, maybe...?

J'ONN (whimpering piteously): Oh, sure... easy for you to say, Mister I-Have-More-Titles-Than-Bloody-SPIDER-MAN! You weren't there, when it was just me and a bunch of Inferior Five wannabes trying to keep Despero from playing "double dutch" with our freakin' entrails -- !!!

GREEN ARROW (placing a hand on J'onn's shoulder): J'onn... don't, man. Those days are over, now...

J'ONN (angrily shrugging Connor off): No! Not for me, they aren't! They never will be! I... I... [fighting back the hot tears] ... I don't wanna go back to being the Oreo-scarfing joke of the DCU any more! [throws back his head and screams at the top of his Martian lungs] I WAS JUST GETTING USED TO BEING A SERIOUS HERO AGAIN, GODDAMMIT -- !!!

[Superman grabs the hysterical Martian by the shoulders and shakes him roughly.]

SUPERMAN (shouting): J'onn! J'onn! STEADY, Big Fellah! We've faced worse than this together, haven't we?!? Remember the Crisis, man -- !!!

GREEN ARROW (puzzled... as usual): "Crisis," Superman? What crisis was that...?

SUPERMAN (over shoulder, to Connor): A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM. Metropolis Super-Hero Community Theatre, 1973. Those critics were animals, I tell you.

J'ONN (burying his face in Superman's arms and sobbing inconsolably): They... they said I made Nathan Lane look "butch," in comparison! They called me "the Martian Mary Tyler Moore" -- !!! [begins to bawl, helplessly]

GREEN LANTERN (reasonably): Well... jeepers, gang! Maybe it wouldn't actually be all that bad, allowing the readers to dictate our team roster to us. [the other Leaguers all stare at him, blankly; Kyle swallows, and then continues] I mean... you know... solely in the interest of providing a little more... ummmm... diversity... and... and... [finishing, weakly]... like that, there...

GREEN ARROW (pained): Hey! So what does that make me, then: the super-hero equivalent of chopped liver...?

J'ONN (sonorously, from across the room): ... and our own Princess Diana, of course, is a woman...

AQUAMAN (snidely): ... nor is she the only one. I saw that issue of JUSTICE LEAGUE TASK FORCE Peter David wrote, a few years back. Ya big Martian swish.

J'ONN (dangerously): Don't go there, girlfriend.

SUPERMAN (stepping in, quickly): All right... all right, then! Quick show of hands, people: how many in this room who aren't racial minorities; female; alien beings; or some other form of hybrid mutation...?

[Green Lantern and Flash raise their hands.]

SUPERMAN [counting quickly]: Two out of eight; three, if you count Gotham City's answer to John Wayne Gacy, over there.

FLASH (stunned, as the realization begins to settle in): Geez-o-pete, Kyle! We're the freakin' "minority group" on this team -- !

GREEN LANTERN (considering the ramifications; as best he can, anyway): ... but... but... does that mean our unfathomably alien fellow Leaguers will be seeing us... well... differently, from now on...?

[J'ONN whips out a handful of forks and a bottle of soy sauce from the secret pouch in the lining of his cape; advances meaningfully towards the unsuspecting pair, a ravenous hunger a-glitter in his bottomless alien peepers.]

SUPERMAN (quickly intercepting the Martian; silently breathing the words, sotto voce): Not now, you fool! Later... later -- !

SUPERMAN (turning towards the lone humans once again; a warm, reassuring smile creasing his homespun features): Not one little bit differently, Kyle. Believe me.

J'ONN (nodding his head in dull, reluctant assent): That's right, hamburger. [Superman gives him a quick, surreptitious jab to the solar plexus] ... Kyle.

[There is a resounding "kaPOOF" ... and a dazed Wonder Woman is standing amongst them, once more.]

WONDER WOMAN (exhausted): Whew! Sorry I was gone for so long, fellahs; had to pose for the storyboards for next month's issue of my mag. [ker-PLOPS self into her regular chair, bonelessly] You know... I'm not one to complain overmuch about how I'm being written -- I mean, I had to do the smile-and-a-cheery-wave bit for the readers while being written by Gerry frickin' Conway, f'chrissakes -- but, I'll tell ya: I'm really beginning to get kinda worried about John Byrne's current storyline. I dunno... maybe I'm just reading things into the plot that aren't really there...

GREEN ARROW (who has yet to realize that he's destined to play Designated Straight Man throughout the length of this tawdry little episode): What do you mean, Diana? What's the latest plot involve, anyway...?

WONDER WOMAN (matter-of-factly): A deranged Canadian super-villain is using his mind-control ray to turn me into a "darker" version of myself called "The Spanker." At the end of the latest issue, I've turned on my villainous "creator," and have him tied up with my Magic Lasso after stripping him completely naked. And then: my limber, pre-adolescent protégé, Cassie Sandsmark, shows up in the final panel. In a leather nun's habit. [Pauses in reflection, as the others all stare at her, incredulously] I dunno... maybe I am just reading too much into all of this, really...

GREEN LANTERN (digging frantically into his pocket for his wallet): ... ummmmm... DC still offers subscriptions, right...?

[Superman stomps on Kyle's foot... hard. With a muffled yelp, the Jade Gigolo limps over to his own seat, frowning at The Man of Tomorrow resentfully.]

GREEN LANTERN (muttering peevishly): ... geez... not all of us are going home to Lois Lane tonight, man... y'know...?

[Wonder Woman shakes herself out of her troubled reverie, and glances back up at her teammates.]

WONDER WOMAN (brightly): Well... time enough to worry about all of that later, I suppose. What'd I miss, anyway, gang...?

J'ONN (flatly): We've just discovered that we have to select our six newest members from a list of applicants selected by the fanboy regulars of DC Online's JLA board.

[There is a long, silent moment as Wonder Woman stares at J'onn, unblinking. And then: she drops to her knees and begins to hobble her way towards the Transporter Room doors.]

GREEN ARROW (uncertainly): ... ummmmm... Diana...? What in the world...?

WONDER WOMAN (in a truly wretched attempt to make her voice high- pitched and lilting, like that of a very small child): Nonono... me am little baby Wonder Tot! Me am wandered into Big Grown-Up People's comic book by mistake! Me am going home, now... 'kay...?

[Without a moment's hesitation, Aquaman drops to HIS knees, and hobbles after her.]

AQUAMAN (also in squeaky, high-pitched voice): Wait! Wait!

AquaBaby am coming with you -- !!!

[Muttering something underneath his breath about probable additives to the drinking water supply in St. Louis, Superman uses his heat vision to herd the two back towards their assigned seats, yelping resentfully all the way.]

SUPERMAN (grimly): Don't try pulling that Mort Weisenger crap with me, you cowards! I invented that schtick in the first place... remember?

[A semblance of order finally restored, Superman then turns towards J'onn once more.]

SUPERMAN (rubbing his eyes, tiredly): All right, J'onn. If you'll call in the first of the applicants, please? For some reason, I've got the beginnings of a migraine, here...

J'ONN (nodding sympathetically): Of course, Superman. [glances quickly at the first name on the list, then turns towards the closed door of the adjoining Waiting Room and announces, loudly:] Ice Maiden! Will Ice Maiden please come into the Meeting Room...?

FLASH (bouncing up and down in his seat; a ravenous leer spreading across his features): Oboyoboyoboyoboy! The lesbo's first up to bat! Hotcha!!! [turns towards Wonder Woman; a thin trickle of drool coursing its way down his chin.] Hey, Diana... bet you're glad you stuck around for some of this action, huh...? [nudges her in the ribs with his elbow] Yowza-Yowza-YOOOWWWWWZA -- !!!

[A disgusted J'onn tries to "kaBOP" Wally, before a murderous Diana can beat him to it. The Scarlet Speedster easily avoids the blow by ducking at super-speed. He sticks out his tongue and crosses his eyes at the Martian Manhunter.]

FLASH (nastily): Shyeah. Right. Not even on your best day, Gran'pa.

J'ONN (grinning): Yes... I suppose you're right, Wally. You're simply too clever for me by half, really. [As Wally preens involuntarily over this, J'onn continues, in a conversational tone.] By the way... were you aware that your fly is open...?

FLASH (scornfully): Ha! Nice try, Ray Walston... NOT! It just so happens that this costume doesn't even have a fly. Nanny- nanny-boo-boo. [with mock solicitude] Is it really as awful as they say... getting old and senile, I mean...?

J'ONN (chuckling in quiet admiration): My goodness, Wally... I have so much to learn from you still, haven't I...? [glances down at his own lap, quickly] Oopsie. My mistake. It's my fly that's just as wiiiiiiiiide open as can be!

FLASH (eyes widening): Really...?!? [lowers head to stare under the table] Cool! I've always wondered what kinda ordinance you've been packin' down there all these years, Jo -- [J'onn instantly pounces upon Wally, dragging the shrilly-screaming young man underneath the table. For a few seconds, there is the sound of unbelievable carnage taking place, just out of sight of the other shocked Leaguers. Then -- finally -- J'onn slowly rises from underneath the table. His hands are drenched with blood and gore.]

J'ONN (placidly): He's like the son I never had. Really.

SUPERMAN (obviously wishing he was someplace else... like, say, one of Luthor's old Kryptonite "death cages"): Kyle... you can "fix," maybe...?

[Kyle ducks his head underneath the table for a quick estimation of the damage done to the speedster.]

KYLE (doubtfully): I dunno, man... I don't see his head ANYwhere...

[There is the crackling of emerald energies as Kyle begins the task of effecting corrective surgery on his fallen teammate. Superman shoots an accusing glare in J'onn's direction; the latter -- seated once more, his features serene -- calmly picks up the sheaf of papers and calls out once more:]

J'ONN (loudly): I repeat: will the applicant "Ice Maiden" please enter the Meeting Room...?

[Still no Ice Maiden. Superman pointedly stares at the cheap Timex on the far wall, silently counting off sixty seconds. Everyone else is regarding the doorway, silent and apprehensive.]

SUPERMAN (finally; peevish): Well, for Rao's sake... where is that ridiculous little woman, anyway...?

[From behind the others, a deep, melancholy basso -- sort of like Eeyore on steroids -- evenly declares:]

BATMAN (acidly): It scarcely takes the godlike intellect and deductive prowess of The World's Greatest Detective to solve this mystery... [sotto voce] ... you mesomorphic goobers.

AQUAMAN (without turning around): Fine. Marvy. Then that means you're still free to lapse right back into a pre-psychotic coma. Want me to wake you if Joel Schumacher calls again...?

BATMAN (ignoring Aquaman with icy disdain): Obviously, this particularly profane little "Unca Cheeks" scenario takes place well after the events of STARMAN #38. The woman once known to us as "Ice Maiden"... is dead.

WONDER WOMAN (gasping in wide-eyed horror): "... dead..."? Merciful Minerva! Do you know what this means...?!?

J'ONN (quickly scanning the other names on the list in his hands): Yeah... with any luck at all, it means that I get to scratch that worthless "Crimson Fox" bimbo's name off the list, too. [checks list again] And "Amazing Man," as well! [pumps fist in air] YEEEEEEESSSSSSSS -- !!!

[At this last part, Kyle's head pops up from underneath the table.]

GREEN LANTERN (puzzled... as always): Heeeeyyyyyyy... I liked that li'l " 'Mazing Man" guy! We teamed up a couple of times, you know... !

BATMAN (leadenly): Apparently, my subscription to WORLD'S LAMEST has lapsed again. Oh, drat.

GREEN LANTERN (still in reverie; the Batman's commentary having flown over his head so quickly, it left a visible contrail): Heh-heh... cute li'l guy, really. Always ran around in those polka-dotted underpants of his... [pause; then:] ... hey! You guys know what would happen, whenever he got konked on the noggin by some bad guy...?

[J'onn and Diana exchange a wordless "look." Then the two of them are flanking Kyle before he even knows they're there. The two JLA veterans try to see if they can get their fists to meet somewhere in the center of Kyle's skull. Tragically, they fall just short of their goal.]

WONDER WOMAN (staring down at the unconscious "slacker"): Actually, I believe the correct answer is: he would warble old "Simon and Garfunkel" tunes.

J'ONN (shuddering): God... what a stupid weakness...

[Aquaman drops to his knees and scrabbles his way desperately towards the fallen Lantern.]

AQUAMAN (shrilly): Dibs on the ring! Dibs! DIBS -- !!!

[Superman snares the crazed Sea King roughly by the back of his harness rigging, drawing him up roughly to his feet. His expression is one of steely reproach.]

SUPERMAN (sternly): NO! Not after what happened the last time, you Damp Degenerate!

AQUAMAN (pleading; his voice now a piteous whine): ... but I couldn't help it, damn you! I've wanted to slip her the old "Mrs. Paul's Fish Stick" ever since I first laid eyes on her -- !!!

SUPERMAN (screaming): SHE'S A BLOODY CARTOON, YOU FREAKING PERVERT -- !!!

AQUAMAN (wailing): Not when I use the ring, she isn't!!! [Throws back his leonine head and shrieks to the uncaring Heavens above] Ariel!!! ARRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIELLLLLLLLLLLL -- !!!!!

[Calmly, the Batman glides over to Aquaman and gently eases his mortal anguish by repeatedly banging the Sea King's head against the nearest wall. Orin drops floorward faster than the ratings for MEN BEHAVING BADLY.]

SUPERMAN (bitterly, to himself): I suppose this means that -- SOMEwhere -- the Bizarro Superman is working alongside people whose parents weren't also first cousins...

[J'onn shakes his head sadly as he stares at the Sea King's unconscious form.]

J'ONN: ... you know... I actually used to wonder why Mera left him...?

BATMAN (nodding, somberly): The signs were always there, though... even in the very beginning. Remember our first battle against Starro the Conqueror? You were fighting... I was fighting... and there he was, whispering to it: "I'm a real, live king, you know. I'm richer than God. C'mon ... how much for... you know... just a quickie...?"

WONDER WOMAN (regarding the fallen Aquaman sorrowfully): "Uneasy hangs the head/ Which bears the lobotomy scar." I wonder who it was who first said that...?

[The Flash -- all healed up, if you manages to overlook the assortment of nervous facial tics -- approaches the group.]

FLASH (snidely): Probably the same putz who came up with "Etta Candy" and "Egg Fu," most likely.

[Wonder Woman attempts a lunge at the smirking speedster, but finds her path blocked by a scowling Superman.]

SUPERMAN (affixing both Flash and WW with a coldly murderous glare): Enough -- BOTH of you!! This is a meeting of the Justice League, dammit -- not some high school drama club production of WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF -- !!!

FLASH (sneering, as Diana struggles to get past Superman): Ahhhhh... it's not all her fault, you know, Supes. Heck... I'll betcha damn near any woman would end up a sexually frustrated psycho queen, after a pointless decade or three of chasing that Steve Trevor freakzoid around the carnal mulberry bush...

WONDER WOMAN (straining to get her powerful hands somehwere in the immediate vicinity of Wally's windpipe): You leave poor Steve out of this, you... you monster! It wasn't his fault he was... he was... [choking on it] ... born... different -- !!

FLASH (stifling a languid yawn): Oh, he was "different," all right, toots. [chuckling at the memory] I can still hear the nickname ol' Ollie gave your pwecious widdle Stevie-Wevie, that day we all caught him slipping into his swimming trunks, after you brought him along with you to the annual JLA picnic: "Ol' 'Anatomically Incorrect' Trevor"... "Ol' 'Egg Fu' Trevor"... "Ol' 'Smooooooth-as-a-Ken-Doll' Trevor..."

[Diana lets out a strangled shriek, attempts to bull her way past Superman. The latter grips her more tightly around her shoulders.]

SUPERMAN (despairingly): Just one meeting, dammit... just ONE MEETING, without all of you attempting to out- testosterone one another -- !!

WONDER WOMAN (and if looks could kill, Wally would be leaving the Watchtower in a sponge): Hah! As if there were any doubt which one of us would win that contest... right, Waaaaaaaalllllllllllllyyyy...?

[Flash puffs out his chest in manly, macho pride... but: there's just the slightest trace of... something in his voice. Something like... fear, perhaps...?]

FLASH: Hey, babe... just ask Linda if she's ever had it so good! They don't call it "the Speed Force" for nothin', ya know...!

WONDER WOMAN (sweetly): Ohhhhhh... but, Wally: you don't think we comic book ladies bother keeping any secrets from one another now... do you? Linda's told me alllllllll about your cute little habit of talking in your sleep. [mimics the voice of a pre-adolescent boy, in the throes of sexual ecstasy] "Oh, Baaaarrrrryyyyyy... this is the bestest 'Flash Fact' evereverEVER!! Let me Ride the Lightning again, BAAAARRRYYYY -- !!"

[Wally spins away from the smirking Amazon; his voice is thick with emotion as he responds, quaveringly, like the aged Katharine Hepburn.]

FLASH (dismally): ... he... he was just trying to show me how to vibrate... things got kinda crazy, after that... [wails, heart-wrenchingly] IT WAS JUST THOSE THIRTY OR FORTY TIMES, DAMN YOU -- !!!

[Superman strides over to the Main Power Console, begins frantically flipping switches and whatnot.]

SUPERMAN (shrill desperation in his voice): ... Doomsday... come in, Doomsday! For chrissakes... I know you're out there somewhere! Come back!! I'll let you WIN, this time!! DOOOOOOMSDAAAAYYY -- !!!

[Eventually, however, the still hysterically shrieking Kryptonian is dragged away from the console by his caring and solicitous teammates, and order -- of a sorts -- is (after several hours of group interaction and loving mutual support enjoyed by such other famous families as the Bradys; the Cleavers; and the Mansons) restored. Everyone is conscious once more, and seated at their proper places about the table.]

SUPERMAN (his voice obviously strained; clearly, he is nearly at the end of his emotional tether): J'onn... would. you. summon. the. next. applicant. please...?

[J'onn quickly glances down at the list... and then shoots a look of open consternation Superman's way.]

J'ONN: Ummmmmmmmmmm...

[Superman smiles. It is a thin, weak, watery sort of smile... but a smile nonetheless, for all of that.]

SUPERMAN (gently... but firmly): J'onn... I appreciate the obvious concern; believe me, I really do. But: I am Superman, you know. I'll be all right; I can take it.

J'ONN (very, VERY worried): Kal... old friend: are you certain...?

SUPERMAN (evenly): Is the next name on the list "Ultra, the Multi- Alien," or "the Red Bee"...?

J'ONN (diplomatically): ... nnnnoooooooooooooooo...

SUPERMAN (regally dismissing all concerns with a languid wave of the hand): Then I can take it, J'onn. Call in the next applicant, please.

[J'onn swallows audibly... and then announces, miserably:]

J'ONN: Would the Blue Beetle please enter the Main Meeting Room...?

[Superman's resolute grin hasn't wavered one iota. He stares at J'onn benignly.]

SUPERMAN (his voice eerily calm): The Blue Beetle, you say...?

[J'onn nods, mutely.]

SUPERMAN (still looking cool and "centered"): Well, now... that's just fine, J'onn. Really. Marvelous news. The Bluuuuuuuue Beetle. I've always rather liked that name, you know; has something of a ring to it, don't you think? [lowers his pitch to an old-timey "radio announcer"-type voice] "Ladieeeeees and gentlemen: the Bluuuuuuue BEEEEEEEETLE -- !!!" [chuckles, mirthlessly]

[Everyone is staring at Superman, uncertain of how exactly to take all of this. Still chuckling amiably, Superman turns towards Green Arrow and addresses him in a fatherly, avuncular fashion.]

SUPERMAN (winking, conspiratorially): ... oh, say... while I'm thinking of it: Connor, my lad...?

GREEN ARROW (eager to please; he hasn't said anything for pages and PAGES, now): ... yes, Superman...?

SUPERMAN (smoothly): In the League Trophy Room -- just alongside J.M. DeMatteis' mounted head -- there's a medium-sized metal box, with the words "Incredibly Stupid Thing To Keep In the JLA Trophy Room" inscribed on the plaque directly below it. Do you know which box I'm referring to, here...?

GREEN ARROW (his head bobbing up and down like a cork in rough water): Sure thing, Superman! You betcha!

SUPERMAN (winking broadly again): Stout lad! Now, then, Connor... what I want you to do for me, is: go into the Trophy Room; pick up that box we've just finished chatting about... and bring it right back here for me. You can do that, can't you, son...? [smiles winningly at him]

[Connor leaps out of his seat; in his mind, he's already there and back again.]

GREEN ARROW: On my way, mon capitaine!

[Turns towards the Trophy Room; pauses; snaps his fingers; and faces Superman again. A sheepish grin lends his face an endearing, elfin look.]

GREEN ARROW (embarrassed): .... ummmmmmm... Superman? I think maybe you kindasorta forgot to tell me just what it is that I'm getting for you, here. Is it... like... you know... real fragile, or anything like that...?

SUPERMAN (laughing a hearty laugh of bonhomie): Oh, good heavens, no, son! [Connor relaxes visibly at this; Superman goes on.] All it is is an eighteen inch long... ummmm... "marital aid"; lovingly carved out of solid, 110% pure Green Kryptonite by my old nemesis, Lex Luthor. Part of a particularly nasty little "death trap" he had originally set up for Supergirl back in the day, as I recall. Nothing whatsoever for you to worry about, son!

GREEN ARROW (recoiling in abject horror from the very notion of the awful thing): ... migod... but... but... why do you want me to bring such a terrible thing in here in the first place, Superman? And why now...?

[Superman rises from his seat; strolls over towards the perplexed Boy Bowman; and throws a comradely arm around the younger man's shoulders.]

SUPERMAN (jovially): AH-ha-ha-haaa -- !! Oh, Connor... [shakes his head, in wry bemusement]... Connor, Connor, Connor... I only want you should hustle dat bad boy right on in here... strap 'er right on ya... wait for me to grab my ankles... wait again, as I close my eyes and think of Christmas back in Kansas...

[Superman suddenly grabs a startled Connor by the lapels of his costume; hefts him roughly, upwards; and slams him into the wall of the Meeting Room. His features are now contorted into a lunatic, death's-head-style grimace; lips peeled back over bared teeth; eyes bulging.]

SUPERMAN (screaming just micro-inches away from a terrified Connor's face, at the top of his Kryptonian lungs): ... AND THEN, LADDIE-BUCK, YOU CAN GO AHEAD AND DO TO ME THE EXACT SAME THING THAT MORRISON AND THAT @#$%ING "UNCA CHEEKS" ARE DOING TO MEEEEEE-- !!

[It takes the combined efforts of the remaining six Leaguers to peel the raving Kryptonian away from a hysterically sobbing Connor. As Wally and Kyle are dragging him bodily away, his insane, tormented shrieking echoes throughout the Watchtower:]

SUPERMAN (in a voice VERY much like that of the Joker's, re: BATMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES): Bluuuuuuuuuuuuuuue BEEEEETLE!!! Bluuuuuuuuuuuuue BEEEEEEEEEETLE!! BWAAAAAAAH-ha-ha-haaaaaaaaaa -- !!

[In the stillness which follows, the silence is nearly a palpable thing. Finally... Orin is the first to speak:]

AQUAMAN (drily): Let's record that as a "no" vote, then, shall we...?

[With grim purposefulness, the Batman strides towards the abandoned chair which Superman had occupied only moments earlier.]

BATMAN (flatly): If there are no objections, then... I'll see this nightmare
through to its tawdry and inevitable conclusion, in
Superman's... absence. [Turns towards the Martian
Manhunter.] J'onn... go find out what's keeping the Blue
Beetle. I suppose it isn't completely impossible that he's made

something of himself, during his absence from the League.

[J'onn hurriedly scuttles over towards the closed door adjoining them to the Waiting Room; opens it a crack; and takes a cautious peek. Through the slender opening now afforded, the voice of Ted Kord can (faintly) be heard:]

BLUE BEETLE (forlornly): ... haaaaalllllllllllllp.... haaaaaallllllllllllllllp...
aw, come on, guys! This isn't funny any more!
HAAAAAAALLLLLLP --!!

BATMAN (frowning): What in the name of -- ?!?

[J'onn's shoulders sag ever so slightly, as he continues to gaze at whatever it is he sees in the adjoining room. Without turning around, he responds to the Batman's unfinished query.]

J'ONN (resignedly): Wellllllll... you remember how Ted had to struggle with something of a weight problem a few years ago, Batman...?

BATMAN (scowling at the distasteful memory): Yes, unfortunately. Absolutely disgraceful, a man letting himself go like that. Truly pitiful. As I recall, however, we eventually got him to shed the grotesque excess poundage by dressing him up in one of Tora's old costumes and having Guy Gardner chase him around the embassy non-stop for a week. [a brief flicker of smile -- thin and sardonic -- plays at the corner of one lip at the happy memory of a hysterically shrieking and blubbering Blue Beetle] Why do you mention it, J'onn...?

J'ONN (still not turning around): Well... apparently, the... ummmmmm...
incentive Guy provided Beetle to keep his weight down... ahhh... wore off, I guess...

AQUAMAN (snorting derisively): Cripes. Soooo... how big a gut are we talking here, J'onn...?

J'ONN (still staring out through the crack in the door): Ever see Eddie Murphy in THE NUTTY PROFESSOR...?

BLUE BEETLE (faintly): I heard that, mister! Don't you think for one second that I didn't!

BATMAN (exasperated): Oh, for the love of -- ! Then I'd say he's clearly in no shape to be considered for League membership at the present time! Tell him to go home, J'onn -- !!!

BLUE BEETLE (faintly): Was that Batman's voice I just heard?!? You tell that psycho son of a bitch that as soon as I get out of here... I'm eating him FIRST -- !!!

[J'onn finally turns and faces the other heroes... and we can see utter despair and ruination creasing his craggy alien features.]

J'ONN (miserably): He's... stuck.

WONDER WOMAN (puzzled): "... stuck..."? For goodness sakes... "stuck"
where, J'onn...?

J'ONN (a single, fat tear rolling down his cheek as he regards the others, miserably): "Stuck" in the transporter tube, Diana.

[As the others all gape at J'onn, a second high-pitched whining sound -- independent of the Beetle, I mean -- can now be heard coming from the Waiting Room: the sound of indescribably powerful alien energies, building and building and BUILDING -- ]

BATMAN (his face ashen): ... oh, merciful Christ... that sound!
J'onn...?!?

J'ONN (nodding, morosely): Yes, Batman. The sound of dozens and dozens of second-, third- and tenth-rate comics characters -- your Steels; your Fires; your Guy Gardners; your Vixens and your Tempests -- all trying, DESPERATELY, to teleport up here, for their respective auditions... and all of them piling up -- one after the other -- as purest energy.

AQUAMAN (nodding along, almost robotically; he looks several stages past whatever lies beyond One Poor, Numb Bastard): ... until they all

finally end up here... and find themselves impeded by the one
thing in all of the DCU more powerful even than a lousy

character's sad, desperate attempts to stave off their well-

deserved anonymity...

J'ONN (too miserable even to return the Sea King's nod): Yes, Orin: a "fan favorite's" worthless, blubbery butt.

[Wordlessly, Diana gets up from her seat and crosses over to one corner of the room. Quickly fashioning the end of her magic lasso into a serviceable hangman's noose. she expertly tosses it over a jutting ceiling suspension beam. The Batman, meanwhile, has taken a what appears to be a creased and well-worn photograph of some scraggly, snaggle-toothed hound in an ill-fitting black leather mask from one of the pockets of his voluminous Utility Belt; he is kissing it, passionately, over and over and over again. Aquaman -- fatally hamstrung by the author's inability to think of anything suitably funny for him to do -- stares fixedly into the middle distance.

[While all of this is going on, however: Connor grabs J'onn by his chest straps and shakes him. His eyes are wide and staring with panic; he knows what the answer to his next question is going to be... but he needs to hear the answer, nonetheless.]

GREEN ARROW (hysterically): ... but... but... those energies, J'onn! What happens to all of those energies, bottlenecked behind that massive blue hinder -- ?!?

[By way of reply, J'onn scoops up the terrified youth into his massive Martian arms, and begins carrying him towards his own private quarters, within the doomed Watchtower. His eyes gaze down tenderly into Connor's frightened own as he murmurs:]

J'ONN (soothingly): Why... they explode, of course. Here, Connor...
allow me to demonstrate, in what little time we have left...

[... and -- somewhere; an incalculable distance away into the infinite -- someplace where the voices of children playing and singing and laughing in timeless, innocent merriment may faintly be heard, if only one listens intently enough... the sweet, high giggling of a playful li'l plush toy may ever-so-faintly be discerned, from over the faraway hills...

[... folowed, of course, by the sound of him giving comics fandom, en masse, one mutha of a wet, juicy raspberry. And then making A Very Naughty Gesture with his finger.]

Poster #1 [pro-Waid]: "What are odds HyperTime will be applied poorly?"

Poster #2 [anti-Waid]: "Unknown, but estimatable based on how other similar ideas has been applied.

"Point? Track record.

"DC and Waid [both] have track records." (4/16/99)

Why... yes. I suppose they both do at that, don't they...?

Mark Waid's Track Record, To Date (short list): CAPTAIN AMERICA. THE FLASH. JUSTICE LEAGUE: YEAR ONE. THE LEGION OF SUPER-HEROES. KINGDOM COME. And the only readable issues of X-MEN to come down the storytelling pike in the last five or ten years, give or take.

Naysayer's Combined Track Record, To Date (short list):

"The 'concept' is to give lazy hacks like Waid a built-in excuse for not

researchering [sic] their characters properly."

"If hypertyme [sic] is real, then there's no way to punish the writer for

getting things WRONG WRONG WRONG!"

"I'm serious! Turkish laws should apply to continuity errors!"

Oh, yes... by all means: let's comparison shop "track records," do.

Terms such as "hack" (on the "lighter" end of the spectrum) and "racist apologist" (on the other) are easy enough to lob about, I suppose. The former is a matter of opinion (however thuggishly given utterance); and the latter, nowadays, is more often utilized as a sort of catch-all "trump card," whenever its wielder cannot achieve their goal(s) by any other means, save for crass bullying and moral "one-upmanship."

That there is real, true and genuine racial (or gender-based) bigotry and prejudice in this world, I harbor no doubts or illusions whatsoever.

To whatever extent such abhorrent barbarisms limit the rightful happiness or advancement of even so much as a single individual in the real world -- whether in employment; in fair housing; or the simple attainment of equal opportunity -- they are rightwise counted, in all particulars, as being singularly repugnant and indefensible to any thinking, feeling individual; and should, therefore, be opposed and abolished.

However: employing such verbal "doomsday weapons" in order to pillory; hector; or humiliate a comic book writer for stating (in effect) that "I Value Story Considerably More Than I Do Continuity"...

... or for electing to utilize particular comic book characters of their own preference, rather than (again; in effect) "counting noses" in order to assuage those who'd prefer to make such things a sort of (quasi-)moral "litmus test," re: a writer's inner landscape and/or purity of intention...

... well: the word loathsome springs unbidden to mind, for some odd reason.

As does the phrase: "sense of proportion."

There are times -- every so often; every now and again -- when I don't much like my fellow funnybook fanciers, really...

... and: it wouldn't surprise your goggle-eyed and ashen-countenanced Unca Cheeks overmuch if -- upon stumbling across such poison-penned sentiments as those referenced on this page, and the previous -- the vast majority of working comic book professionals felt pretty much the same way about it, overall.

I'm just sayin', here. That's all.

"WHAT'S MORE PATHETIC THAN A SACKFUL OF FANBOYS...?": When Fanboys Turn To Hate Speech (PAGE ONE)

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