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If We Surrendered “Isis” the Terrorists Would Win


24 January 2019

Brian Bendis’ broad hints of late, in re a resumed, rebooted, or re-imagined Legion of Super-Heroes, have fueled a flurry of speculation, prognostication, and condemnation. I am not among those who would scorn the notion of a Bendis Legion. I’m presently enjoying his work on Superman and am willing to give his vision as fair a trial as I had Gerry Conway‘s, Cary Bates‘, or Roy Thomas‘. As a Silver-Age Supremacist myself I have my obvious preferences, but if Bendis and DC are going to sell us the Legion I’ll be there, whether it’s “my Legion” or another Archie Legion or even one of Mark Waid’s or Keith Giffen’s Edgy Legions.

If it is to be, I expect it will have to be after Geoff Johns and Gary Franks have taken their sweet time with Imra’s involvement in Doomsday Clock. Since Geoff and Gary are taking a very sweet time of it indeed, we all have plenty of opportunity to campaign for our particular favorites, or to propose new Legionnaires (or at least Cadets.)

From column A:
Brainy, Supergirl, the founding triad, Jo & Tinya, Chuck & Lu, Brin & Ayla & Vi (oh my!), ERG 2.0 & Dawny, Nura, Mysa, RJ, Marla, Jan & Schvaugn, Dr Gym’ll, Circadia Senius, Gigi Cusimano, and Rond Vidar.

And introducing…
Magic has been well established in the Disparate Continua (Doctor Thirteen‘s protestations notwithstanding), and so appears in most Legion incarnations as well. The specific image of Isis that I’ve swiped from CBS is likely not available, as her particular parentage could be split between Warner Communications, Columbia Broadcasting, and/or Filmation Studios themselves. She was licensed to DC for a while, but such arrangements are usually perishable.

As a member of the ancient Egyptian pantheon however, Isis predates copyright and trademark considerations, and is as up for grabs as are Hercules or Thor or Jesus. While Filmation’s interpretation is off the table, Isis herself, as a thematic ancestor of both Athena and Aphrodite, remains a laudable and powerful concept. Besides, it might be a good opportunity to make this particular Isis an actual Egyptian native rather than the generic “anglo-mediterranean” we might remember from Saturday morning.

The name of “Isis” could stand some rehabilitation, too, as the televised version was pretty weak. Then there are the Losers, Ignorant Savages, and Irredeemable Sadists (LISIS) who would insult both Isis and Allah with their homicidal excess and spiritual commitment. She’s infinitely better than they are.

Of course, some might argue that in a universe that includes a Diana of Themyscira, an Isis of Memphis would be redundant. Fine. So are the Super-Cousins and the whole Bat-Family. Besides, Diana and Isis can patrol separate centuries.
And Brainy always needs a little magic around to keep him on edge.

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Emphatic Yield

22 January 2019

We could call it “The One Jerk Rule.”
Every time you see a cop pull someone over you can be confident that there is at least one jerk involved.

Ideally, the jerk in question would be some jackass who had been driving like a maniac and threatening the rest of us with expensive inconvenience and mortal injury. Or perhaps the jerk is nowhere near the scene. Suppose my evil twin were to hold up the local Quikk Stopp. When Officer Friendly pulls me over he doesn’t know I’m not the jerk he seeks. He sees that my vehicle or I match the suspect description he was provided. If I’m patient and wise it will eventually be sorted out. Such events are rare, but do warrant mention. But those aren’t the jerks I wish to discuss.

Anyone who joins a cadre whose policy mandates that members fill quotas of abuse, whether it be Komrade Kruschev rounding up Ukrainians for mass-murder, or Officer Speedbump lying in wait for the tenth pickup going at least five miles per hour past the limit, has also chosen to be a jerk.

I’d say that more often than not I “run” the stop sign nearest my home on my way to work. “Run” is an exaggeration. I slow down to assess the situation and then conduct myself with both discretion to Deputy Fife’s possible presence down the next block, and deference to my own skin.

If I weren’t so lazy and cowardly (your basic Pussican American), I’d be tempted to ignore the next parked cruiser I saw when I safely negotiated entry into an intersection. As tickets for such an infraction could range from forty to two hundred bucks (your mileage may vary) I would thereupon demand a jury trial (and stand pro se), arguing that such dicta are a violation of the Fifth Amendment’s prohibition against uncompensated takings. Ignoring a stop sign is in and of itself neither trespass nor threat. FAILURE to YIELD can be reckless endangerment, and when rights of way are posted or otherwise understood it is also breach of contract.

But when an intersection is well lit and it is clearly safe to enter I do no harm to society by conserving my perfectly good momentum. I paid for that momentum by burning my own gasoline, which I purchased ultimately with my labor and irreplaceable time. By legislative or administrative fiat am I to be deprived of my just property? Or am I to be fined, and therefore deprived of my just property? (Am I to be forced to burn more gasoline and enlarge my carbon footprint and thus accelerate global coo– warmi– climate change?) There is no discernible benefit to “society” from this policy, just injury to the innocent and riches for the ruling class.

I will concede that stop signs at security checkpoints, factory or refinery gates, military installations, hygiene stations etc may well be appropriate. On public streets they are offensive. It is just as easy to mark thoroughfares with “Yield” signs. Failure to yield is already stupid and dangerous.
Let’s stop harassing the harmless and return to sensible security.

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Convoluted Confession

19 January 2019

Congratulations to the nationally renowned and Cincinnati’s locally celebrated drug dealer Molly Wellmann, whose outstanding record of serving toxins to junkies (et al) has earned her the recognition of her peers.

One might prudently hope that former Lieutenant Governor Mary Taylor doesn’t get word of this elevated acclaim. In light of her confession (also in Friday’s Enquirer) that “without real border security [I am] at risk of becoming… drug-addled,” and in light of her long-standing record of interfering in the lives and businesses of strangers, there is a very real danger that Ms Wellmann’s newly found fame my redound to her disadvantage. (Two points about paraphrasing — Ms Taylor said “we.” This was rude. She seems to arrogate to herself the authority to speak on my behalf, as if I shared her inability to make grown-up decisions in the face of pharmaceutical temptation. Because she said “we”, which is a pronoun that ALWAYS includes the speaker, “I” is an apt substitution.)

While we might take comfort from the fact that Ms Taylor is safely out of office, we should heed newly installed Enforcer Mike DeWhinge when he claims that “it is appropriate to hold accountable those who dispense… drugs that can kill.” Should Ms Wellmann and I (and every other clerk at every other Quikk Stopp along the Interstate) expect to be jacked up by Maleficent Mike’s legions of eager DAs for our contributions to emphysema, bronchitis, cirrhosis, and despair?

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Automotive Misbehavior

I admit that the fantastic and preposterous headline on Sunday’s Enquirer (“Cars keep hitting people.”) is a lot more interesting and entertaining than actual (boring) journalism, but still, it strains one’s credulity.

Where are these mythical mechanisms that start themselves, put themselves into gear, and go out on the road and hit people? Are they owned by the same folks whose magic guns load themselves, cock themselves, and “just go off” and “shoot people”? Are there ever any actual people involved in any of this activity?
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Adventures in Bad Lyrics, volume four: Leaving No Trace of Doubt

14 November 2017

So, by “bad lyrics”, I mean (in addition to my own work) poorly or sloppily executed, as in (sometimes unnecessarily) forced rhymes (“…she twist and turn that thang…like a puppet on a strang…”) or extending a single syllable over several beats (“Eight Six Seven Five Three Oh Nigh Eee Ayn!”).

Also bad as in wicked, cruel, or evil.

I love The Beatles but I am a little creeped out by Maxwell’s Silver Hammer (“…came down upon his head…”), and even more disturbed by Run for Your Life (“I’d rather see you dead little girl…?” Please Paul, help John with his lyrics.)

Pop lyrics tell us that we are slaves to our impulses ( “The girl can‘t help it!”) and that free lunches are real. “Somebody hit the lights, so we can rock it day and night” leaves out too many steps. What I hear is, “Somebody [else forego consumption, and accumulate the capital reserves, to finance research and development, and build the infrastructure, to generate and distribute power, so some spoiled child can] hit the lights!”

They also tell us that women love to be dismissed, diminished, and denigrated. If it’s not true how could a popular song boast such beautiful sentiments as, “Hey, [insignificant object], let me [take care of the technical stuff. Due to my mother issues], I’m [difficult to deal with.]” Or, if you prefer the original Klingon: “Hey little thing let me light your candle. ‘Cause o’ Mama, I’m hard to handle.”

19 January 2019

If I DON’T like girls who are faster, or stronger, or smarter, or braver than me, then I MIGHT not like her, I MIGHT not like her.

Nice of her to settle the issue. In fact, it’s just plain decent of her to confess her deficiencies so clearly. Since “might” equals “might not” she’s telling the world that if I satisfy the first condition (not liking girls who are faster, stronger, &c), I still might like her (because “might not” equals “might”), so therefore I am faster, stronger, smarter, and braver than she is.

Okeh… but so what? Actually I‘m a little miffed that she would think so little of my ego as to suspect that I’d have any problem with competent women in the first place, and a little sad that she thinks so little of her own ego that she has to clarion her weaknesses to the world.

10 February 2020 — Introducing Ultimate Extreme Fierce Ice!
“It’s IN TENTS! …JACT! …WOAK“

15 February 2020 — In my Wye Isledest Dreams?
“Just to reveal your schemes, that is why I’ll dust dreams!”
-or- “When coaxing foam from steam, we use Wild Irish Cream!”


“Adventures in Bad Lyrics” is sponsored by The Confederate Mint (purveyors of metallic securities in gold, silver, copper, and lead).  For sample sheets of Metallic Certificates (total face value One Tenth Silver Dollar) send One Silver Dime plus a self-addressed stamped envelope; or Three United States Legal Tender Federal Reserve “Dollars” in scrip, check, or money order, to Greigh Area Associates, c/o Gene Greigh //  843 Carson Drive;  Lebanon, Ohio;  45036

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We’re havin’ a Democrat party!

Well-intended restaurateurs in Tijuana report that the alleged “refugees and asylees” now clustering at our southern border are unappreciative of the efforts made on their behalf to provide food and accommodations, that they complain constantly, and that they generally just mess things up wherever they go.

It’s like they’re ALREADY registered Democrats!
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FanBoy Fun

20 November 2018

Many of us lately find our congregations on-line.  Or so we hope.
In my pursuit of Legion of Super-Heroes oriented good times I join in on discussion groups composed of similarly minded geeks.
Turns out the discussions are not all geekery.

Someone had posted an illustration called “Dream Boy” featuring an elfinly masculine analog (perhaps) of Legionnaire Dream Girl, or maybe a fellow Naltorian with the same indigenous prognostication power as she. Who knows? Anyway, it was mostly a fine illustration, however someone had gotten into a bit of a twist over the illo’s vaguely androgynous look, and then someone else got into an even tighter twist over someone calling someone a “deviant” and then calling for the mods or the admins or Mommy or Pop to squelch the heretics for blasphemy, homophobia, apostasy, and transphobia. And I’m only kidding about two of those crimes. So by now I’m wondering, “What happened to the fun and the camaraderie? Aren’t we all deviants on this bus?”

So of course I have to weigh in.
A deviant is that which deviates from the norm.
Norms and their derivatives the deviants are simply mathematical constructs. We expect the norm because it is the most common, and we are sometimes surprised by deviations depending on their rarity.
So what exactly is the problem with “deviant”(a concept that embraces the left-handed in a right-handed population and the lactose intolerant in a lactose digesting population equally)?
There is neither anything exalted about normal nor anything disgraceful about deviation.
I recommend a dose of Trichillin.
(from the makers of Chillax, use only as directed)

And then, just because that was too reasonable, I had to add a little more.
Or remove me for insufficient piling on.

Correspondent JK asserts that I “can’t be that stupid”, without specifying exactly HOW he thinks I’m being stupid. Since I am riddled with doubts I thought it might be prudent to go back and check my math and English. Nah, there’s no need to check my math, or the statistics, as many minorities are abundantly obvious. As for English, Merriam-Webster’s first definition of “deviant” refers to it as an adjective, to describe something that has deviated from the norm — as in deviant results, deviant data, or deviant behavior. The SECOND definition vindicates my usage, as it is a person whose characteristics or behavior deviates from the norm. And still, deviations remain good, bad, OR indifferent, according to circumstances.

Correspondent JM recommends that I depart for the Nether Kingdom, and also possibly to Spoil the Friendly Urchins(?). It’s a little hard to make out through his seething ire. Often it seems that the greatest outrage is that others aren’t outraged enough. I cheerfully reply.
Or simply anger on… as umbrage is so ambrosial… Happy Daze!

Apparently not one to be mollified, JM cuts me deeply with “Quiet down troll,” and goes on to declare (I presume) that I have a “fake profile.” This, somehow, is “very brave” of me. Meanwhile, admins seem to provide JM no succor, just as JM provides no clue as to what aspects of my profile he believes are fraudulent or courageous.

I may have developed too thick a skin after a lifetime of deviation… Tough.  I am a multi-threat deviant myself: anarchist in a statist world, atheist in a mystic world, polyamorist in a monogamist world, and a shameless fan of super-heroic fantasy in a “them funny books is fer kids” world. You don’t think I know from ridicule? The fact is, every one of us who participates on this forum is a deviant. So what?

Chameleon Boy, Saturn Girl, Phantom Girl, Colossal Boy, Gigi Cusimano, Cosmic Boy, Triplicate Girl (all depicted by Steve Lightle), Shvaugn Erin, and Jan (Element Lad) Arrah (both depicted by Colleen Doran & Al Gordon), are all held de jure by Detective Comics and Warner Communications.  Their images are reproduced by Piracy Press for purposes of analysis and scholarship.  If anything, their use here constitutes free advertisement for DC‘s properties at the considerable expense of Piracy Press and Greigh Area Associates.

Stories are selected with the greatest of discrimination, but even numbered issues of Daring Love are specifically edited with the prurient interests of atavistic fanboys in mind.  Reader discretion is advised.

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“Slapped Down” (early February 1986, GT)

Our outstretched hand was slapped down on January 28th by a merciless fate. To be sure, there are those who will take the shuttle explosion as an omen to scurry back to our caves lest a vengeful nature seek us out and inflict more ill upon a presumptuous mankind. The weak of heart and the short of sight will admonish us to take our swollen, stinging hand and relish the pain as a lesson not to think so highly of ourselves that we would yearn for the universe.

They are wrong, of course, just as they have been wrong for all of history. It is not to the faint of heart that nature reveals herself. It is to the daring and the bold. Without this drive for knowledge, man is no more than a great ape.

The lesson of the catastrophe is not just that exploration is a risky business. It is part of an even greater truth: Life itself is dangerous. Those who condemn the proponents of space exploration will no doubt continue to drive automobiles, fly in airplanes, and purchase electrical appliances for their homes. There is no safe technology, there is only the acceptance of minor risks — that can prove to be killers — to be balanced against benefits to our physical, intellectual, and moral well-being.

For a moment, Challenger was our outstretched hand toward the cosmos, and then it was slapped down. But, if sometime in the future the manifests of Discovery, Columbia, or Atlantis find themselves short by about seventy kilograms of warm protein, I would be happy to oblige.

update 181115: once again correspondent TM exercises his editorial prerogative and “corrects” my work. For some reason (human error? conflation? caprice?), upon publication, the word “manifests” was replaced with “destinies” and the elegant and poetic expression “short of sight” was truncated to the blunter and cruder “short-sighted.”
Upon additional reflection, it occurs to me that The Daring and the Bold would be a great title for an anthology comic book series, except that DC beat me to it long ago with The Brave and the Bold.  Besides, Lethargy Lad already has his hands full with Daring Love and Daring Features.

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* don’t miss these great issues *

 Hawkman, Triplicate Girl, Lightning Lad, Cosmic Boy, Saturn Girl, Supergirl, Phantom Girl, Stone Boy, Flame Lad, Polar Boy, Chlorophyll Kid, Night Girl,Superboy, the Legion of Super-Heroes, the Legion of Substitute Heroes, & the Army of Living Kryptonite Men are all held de jure by Detective Comics and Warner Communications.  Their images are reproduced by Piracy Press for purposes of analysis and scholarship.  If anything, their use here constitutes free advertisement for DC‘s properties at the considerable expense of Piracy Press and Greigh Area Associates.