I was just teasing, back on the previous page.

There is no "plot" here.

Just more hurting, is all.

You all thought your doting (if somewhat sadistic) Unca Cheeks was plain ol' full of it, last week, when he warned that this one was gonna make DOUBLE-DARE ADVENTURES ("... starring Bee-Man!") look like a cakewalk, by way of comparison.

Go on; admit it, now.

You all thought I was jes' joshin' y'all a mite, didn'tcha...?

Nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnope.

"Meanwhile," our introductory caption details; "... inside a government security agency building into which the Hangman has penetrated..."

"I'll get a fortune from selling these military secrets to a foe of America!" the Hangman silently chortles, pleased that someone's finally authored a sentence with his name and the word 'penetrated' both yoked in grammarial tandem.

"An enemy agent!" an eagle-eyed M.P. exclaims, racing towards the naughty knotsman with all the due alacrity and intent of a man who knows good and damned well those sensitive military secrets must never, no, never end up in the possession of America's Sworn Foemen. (Those damned Swedes -- !)

"The new Cellular-Immobilizer-Ray Pistol has rendered you unable to move!" the valiant guardsman announces, discharging said weapon at the Hangman point blank and paralyzing him, straightaway.

"Me, yes!" the Hangman observes with a wry, inward chuckle. "My magic rope... NO!"

Utilizing that selfsame coil of hyper-hemp, the hero-turned-hellion channels the paralytic power of the immobilizer ray and promptly stamps it Return To Sender; freezing the luckless non-com in a quick, impromptu session of Statue Tag.

The terrible tableau is shattered, however, by the window-smashing arrival upon the scene of that happy-go-lucky patriotic posse: the Shield; Captain Flag; and Buc -- errrrrrr... I mean: Dusty!

"Taste the knuckles of Captain Flag, vermin...!" the leader amongst their number thunders, in a line of dialogue which will (I assure you, one and all) live on and on in your collective memories, long after all the rest of this fragrant little four-color stinkburger has (blissfully) faded away into drooling, senile dementia. (Believe me: I know.)

"What's especially bad about you, Hangman," Captain Flag offers, by way of frank and well-meaning appraisal; "... is you were once a great force for good... and you've turned your back on it deliberately!" (OOOooooooh. OUCH. That's gotta hurt.)

Blindly stumbling his way towards what little remains of a once-proud and attractive window, a bruised and battered Hangman slithers his serpentine way down the ever-handy Magic Rope.

"He's at the end of his rope, Captain Flag!" a chipper Dusty helpfully chirrups; yet wondering all the while why he's being bedeviled by vague half-memories of yet another red-white-and-blue adult mentor, ages agone; one sporting a large, concentrically-circled shield

"Ha, Ha!" the fleeing felon sneers. "My mind's had enough time to clear, and regain control over the rope! Clobber the bums, rope!"

Out of simple, Christian charity: your kind-hearted and solicitous Unca Cheeks has steadfastly resolved not to subject the whole, frightened lot of you to the scene immediately thereafter, in which three card- carring super-heroes get their collective hinders good'n'stomped. By a big piece of rope.

After the mocking Hangman has made good his hempen escape, a clearly tormented Dusty approaches the Shield, out of earshot from any prying... ummmm... ears. I suppose.

"I know the Shield better than I know myself!" the Teen Copycat counsels. (... and, boy: wouldn't old Fredric Wertham have had himself a field day with that one...?) "I sense you aren't him! Tell me who you really are, mister... pronto!" To which the equally anguished Shield responds [Pick One]:

1.) "I guess I'll have to reveal how that crook, the Eraser, turned Dad into a metal statue...!"

2.) "I guess I'll have to reveal how that crook, the Web, turned Dad into a metal statue. And then Rosie -- sweet Rosie -- will be mine! All MINE! NYAHHH-ha-ha-haaaa -- !"

3.) "My goodness, but he's certainly the buff, butch little bruiser! rrrrrUFFFF -- !"

4.) "Luuuuuuuuuke... trust your feelings... you know I am your Father, Luuuuuuuke...!"

Before the Shield can cobble up a suitably convincing lie, however: the luckless Dusty vanishes in a gout of fire and smoke.

"The lad is returning back to his own time-era," a nearby Zambini helpfully explains. "My magical mastery of time could only bring him to the present briefly...!"

(In a follow-up issue of ARCHIE Comics title GOOBERS ON THE LOOSE -- issue #117, to be precise; the heart-rending "Good; Schmood! You Want the Script Wednesday, or Don'tcha?" -- we are later shown the tragic results of Dusty's having been arbitrarially yo-yo'd back and forth throughout the time-stream.

(Two words: "rubber bedsheets.")

"Simultaneously," we are then informed, via caption; "... an astounding craft streaks towards Crusaders headquarters!"

Said "astounding craft" is being piloted by none other than that Rotund Recidivist of villainy most vile (in times of greatest stress, I like to pretend I'm the guy who used to narrate the old live-action BATMAN television show): the Spider -- the only costumed super-villain secure enough in his own masculinity to flounce about with a big lace doiley atop his head!

Upon reconnoitering over the mass spandexed pajama party taking place at Ground Zero, however ("Gulp! What's goin' on down there? A super-hero convention? There are too many of 'em for me! I'm cuttin' out, quick!") --

... the big dummy loser panics; loses control; and crash-lands his "Spider-Craft" in a nearby pasture.

Along come the Hangman and his bearded, Pharoah-esque baddie buddy, the Wizard, however; reassuring the internally hemorrhaging Spider that they are on their way -- even now -- to put a serious stompin' on the heroic assemblage; Crusader and non-Crusader alike. (Which -- given that the Hangman's rope just finished up spanking at least three of 'em like squalling, red-headed step-children -- really doesn't seem all that darned unlikely, quite frankly.)

Just as the dastardly duo have commenced attacking, however: the unfailingly reader-conscious Fly-Girl exclaims --

"Look who's jetting in... the Jaguar! Master of the Animal Kingdom! He must've come to join our ranks, too!"

(I've already covered this particular bow-wow's penny dreadful "origin" in the article 1,001 Uses For a Dead Spandexed Goober. On the unlikely chance that anyone could ever possibly care, I mean.)

("Behold," the Wizard proclaims, in a bit of dialogue which has haunted my restless, hag- ridden slumber for quite the little bit longer than I care to think about just now, if it's all the same to you lot. "Through the flame-gate I have caused to yawn open... the sight of my beastie dragging the ethereal Mr. Justice down toward the eagerly awaiting shades of the worst villains of a thousand worlds who inhabit the nether-domain of... NITE-GARTH!"

(I'm assuming the man simply never had to breathe, is all; otherwise, he'd never make it through all of that without pausing long enough for a cold soda, and a nice lie-down.)

"We've toyed with them long enough, Wizard!" the Hangman demands. "Use your surprise weapon now... NOW!!"

So: the Wizard obligingly drops his pants, see; and then --

It's because I've been watching lots of MR. SHOW episodes lately, is all. I used to be much quieter and more well-behaved, before MR. SHOW. Also: old re-runs of THE KIDS IN THE HALL.

"Up, now," the Wizard portentiously intones. "Rearing up from far beneath the Earth's surface... the unknown ore Transfinite!"

That's when the big, scaly purple claw pops up out of the ground.

(My Good Buddy -- Long-Time Site Regular Jack Selegue; Mastermind Emeritus of the highly recommended CHEMICAL COMICS: A Comic Book Periodic Table, which you should only be checking out on a weekly basis, at least -- is going to freaking wet himself when he sees this'un. Seriously. He just plain ol' lives for this stuff.)

"And now," the malevolent mystic continues; "... my superego- malignancy transforms yon Transfinite into a Doom Claw, which has the wild talent to attract, then weaken, then destroy all ultra-heroes!"

(He's practically drooling right about now. Jack, I mean. Trust me on this one.)

The various heroes all end up sorcerously KrazyGlued to the Wizard's "Doom Claw" like so many flies to a mammoth pest strip.

"All of us... perishing!" a rapidly-weakening Kardak manages to rasp. "Zambini... if you and I can just t-touch hands... our combined might can summon the one hero who can save us and defeat the Wizard!"

"T-take my hand, sweet Kardak," Zambini husks, weakly. "I am but... a stranger in ... paradise..."

(NOTE TO SELF: no more KIDS IN THE HALL for the rest of the week. Be strong, dammit.)

The two conjurors marshall what little remains of their ebbing powers, then; and -- from out of the mists of sheerest neecromancy comes hurtling the jaw-dropping, gape-inducing, awe-inspiring sight OF --

[Pregnant -- ? Stop Reading. NOW.]

[Heart Patient -- ? For God's sake: go back to one of the menus and click onto another entry. NOWWWWW -- !!]

... the awe-inspiring, pants-wetting, brain-embolizing sight OF --

... ROY, THE MIGHTY BOY!!!

"Out of the past comes I," the cosmic cherub chirrups; "... ROY, THE MIGHTY BOY, who was your comrade years ago, Wizard, before you became evil!"

("Comrade." Heh-heh-heh. Oh, yeah. "Comrade." Uh-huh.)

"The evil I've done aged me prematurely!" the hoary hocus-pocuser explains; a trifle over-sensitive, perhaps, re: those unsightly crow's feet around the eyes and suchlike. "You can't defeat me, brat!"

"You're right!" the Youth of Yesteryear readily confesses. "I can't! But -- you yourself, as you were years ago, before you became evil, can!"

"You disgust me!" the Wizard's sorecerously-summoned younger persona self-righteously intones. "KADDABRA!"

...and -- with the moustachioed muttering of that single, solitary magic word: the last remaining wisps of whatever-you-want-to-call-the-feeble- gasping-thing-Siegel's-been-using-in-place-of-a-plot simply... evaporates.

The Wizard is summarily de-powered (along with the Hangman's magic rope); an iron cage materializes around them both; and -- as a slump-

shouldered and dispirited Wizard snivels, in summation -- "We'll have many years of imprisonment in which to regret the fate that changed you and me... who were once valiant heroes... into despicable villains."

Call it a pronounced case of Mighty Boy ex machina, if you like.

The story shudders itself to a spastic halt with the gargantuan assemblage of heroes degenerating into a senseless, mano a mano slugfest over the question of which one(s) ought to be granted membership in the Crusaders...

... which is pretty much where we came in, come to think.

"Go away, applicants!" a borderline hysterical Fly-Man ends up shouting at the assorted second-, third- and fifth-stringers. "Too many super-heroes want to get into the act! Perhaps, at some future date -- !"

"Future, phooey!" a departing Fox shoots over his shoulder, snidely. "Maybe we'll form our own new super-hero teams now! Chew on that, Crusaders! Good-bye!"

Not even if you were to smother it in sautéed onions and call it "porterhouse steak," Winky.

Still: maybe there's something in the notion, at that.

Bob Phantom. The Fox. Captain Flag. And Roy ("... the Mighty Boy!"). All banded together, in the cause of justice. Adventures and exploits beyond all human ken... modern-day myrmidons who would one day become living legends...

... and, so long as we're at it: I'd like a pony next Christmas, too.

The Archie Comics MIGHTY CRUSADERS of the 1960s: PAGE ONE

The Archie Comics MIGHTY CRUSADERS of the 1960s: PAGE TWO

The Archie Comics MIGHTY CRUSADERS of the 1960s: PAGE THREE

The Archie Comics MIGHTY CRUSADERS of the 1960s: PAGE FOUR
The Archie Comics MIGHTY CRUSADERS of the 1960s: PAGE FIVE

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