Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
...OR: "SECRET SHAMES OF THE SILVER AGE OF COMICS"
(PART ONE)
(For Jason; Jay; Ray;
and Drew... because they've never once threatened to call the
authorities.) 
Actually... I suppose there were (upon sober reflection) a few "Silver Age" comic books -- out of that entire, incredible fifteen- or twenty-year span -- which maybe were a little on the "silly" side.
No. Really. I mean that.
Understand, however: for myself, at any rate -- and for thousands upon thousands of other children fortunate enough to have undergone the greater portion of our respective "Wonder Bread" years during that matchless, magical epoch -- "silly" is not (inherently) a pejorative term.
That's one of the aspects of the modern-day fannish mind-set I find the most
baffling of all, in fact. I mean: people giving themselves funny
"code names" and poncing about town in tights is (really; truly) a pretty
"silly" notion, right from the git-go. Maintaining a separate "secret
identity" (so that "evil-doers may not strike out at me through my loved
ones") is a fairly goofy little conceit, as well. And tarting up a
small child in a costume thematically similar to your own -- so that the two
of you might "strike stark, unreasoning terror within the black hearts
of the criminal underworld" -- is (let's face it) just plain ol' whack-a-ding-hoy.
So: given that the mainstream American super-hero genre lends itself (demonstrably, I think) to a sprightly sort of... well... goofiness, overall...
... I'm genuinely and honestly perplexed whenever I hear some younger
fan tsk-tsking over how "so many of the stories back then just
seemed so darned... I dunno... ridiculous." I mean: some
nutbar frolicking about the rain-slick nighttime rooftops of a major urban metropolis
whilst fruited up as a giant flying rodent isn't...?
Nonetheless: "silly" -- like everything else in this life, really -- comes shaded in varying degrees and stripes.
Sometimes: a story can descend into such unutterable, gape-inducing depths of imbecility unparalleled as to render itself (ultimately) Well and Truly Without Any Friggin' Justification What. So. Ever.
Much like the brace of brain-dead li'l gobblers you're about to see here,
f'rinstance.
A quick caveat, before commencing with this week's atrocity exhibition:
We've already covered a number of the more famous (or, rather, infamous) nominees, storytelling-wise, previously on this site.
Had said four-color abominations unto the sight of God and the mind of Man
not already received their requisite allotment of the patented "Cheeks
Treatment," already... these little literary road apples would have placed high
within the ranks of the notorious. Easily.
If anyone is interested in checking out these particular "(dis)honorable mentions" themselves -- and you might just as well, if you haven't already; I mean, you can only go blind or sterile once, right? -- they are as follows:
BROTHER POWER, THE GEEK #1 & #2
"Jimmy the Red: Thor's Best Pal" (JIMMY OLSEN #112)
"The Most Dangerous Dreams of All" (JUSTICE LEAGUE #89)
"Once Upon a Time, In the Wild, Wild West" (JLA #198 & #199)
"The Tragic Fate of the Superman Sweethearts" (LOIS LANE #82)
Okay, then: on to the Grand Guignol.
Of course, you just knew I was going to lead off with a JIMMY OLSEN
story.
"The Murderous MagnaMan" (JIMMY OLSEN #112; July, 1968; writer and artist both [wisely] uncredited) lets us know, right off the bat, that we're in for some deep, deep hurting with the following introductory caption: "At the Jimmy Olsen Fan Club one day..."
(A fan club. A bloody fan club.
For a pushy, freckled-faced wannabe whose sole claim to fame, mind you,
is... what? Being the most shameless and inveterate brown-
noser in all of Metropolis? For being the only guy
in the DC universe who was actually -- even throughout the tail-end of the 1970's
-- so hopelessly delusional as to believe that bow- ties were
an honest-to-God fashion statement? For being the oldest professional
virgin in comics history -- ?!?)
It's okay. I can get past this. I can COPE.
(... a freakin' fan club. And people wonder why I have a "I [heart]
Dr. Kervorkian" bumper sticker. I'm just sayin'...)
Well: after an impromptu li'l "surprise" birthday celebration in honor of Mama Olsen's Night of Degradation and Shame ("Gosh! Thanks, fellas!" Jimmy stammers. "I didn't think you'd remembered my birthday!")(Pssst. Jimmy. F-A-N C-L-U-B... remember...?), Jimmy and his posse are shakin' it down to the swingin' sounds of... I dunno... "Tennessee" Ernie Ford, or something...
... when -- all of a sudden, like -- shhe sashays into the room.
"She," in this instance, being "Princess Vannia, of Duxania"; or -- in the manly, working-class argot of Big Jim, here: "... what a chick! WOW!" (You just know this guy memorizes the testimonials in The Penthouse Forum, each and every month, don'cha...?)
Apparently, nothing will do for the voluptuous Vannia, save that she be granted the incalculable boon of worshipping at the altar of Herr Studmaster Olsen. ("See? I wear a bow-tie... and an imitation Superman signal- watch! My parents, too, were first cousins!")
"You're hip, Vannia!" Jimmy enthuses. (... and who better to validate your own "hip"-ness quotient, really, than some pencilneck with a bow-tie who's just called you a "chick"...?) "But I'll have to give you an initiation test!"
(Regrettably, said "initiation" does not involve Jimmy sheathed in a tight-fitting, black leather bustier and spiked heels, demanding that Vannia "bring me crack... and more HAMSTERS!")
(Remember, kids: keep flooding DC with those cards and letters,
demanding that they "let Unca Cheeks do a Prestige JIMMY OLSEN
maxi-series... NOW!")
Her voice honeyed with commingled longing and regret, Vannia informs Jimmy
that "I must return to Duxania! Will you drive me to the airport?"
The good-natured and unsuspecting Jimmy readily assents, after casting covetous
eyes upon the gargantuan stretch limo idling at the curb, outside. ("Oh,
man!" he gushes. "Let me at the wheel of that groovy
gas-burner!" Oh, yeah. Go, Speed Racer.)
However: it turns out that one of the "options" for this particular make and model of vehicle is the special "Gassing-the-Brain-Dead-Moron-
Unconscious" feature, and -- hours later -- Jimmy groggily awakens to find himself strapped aboard a private jet, somewhere in the immediate vicinity of (you guessed it) sleepy, bucolic Duxania.
Escorted from the plane and onto an awaiting red carpet,
Jimmy is greeted by a smiling King Otgar ("We are your friends,
Jimmy Olsen!"). Still a little sore over that whole "gas 'im up
and ship 'im out" thing, however, Jimmy -- espying a familiar red-and-blue
figure streaking through the skies, overhead -- activates the ol' Signal Watch,
smugly informing the royals that "... anybody who gets tough with me
is sure to get what-for from my pal!" The little wuss.
Imagine his surprise, then, when said emergency summons results not in the expected Superman-style rescue... but, instead, the arrival of an exceedingly surly and belligerent behemoth by the name of MagnaMan, who clouts the startled Jimmy upside the head and snarls: "Stop that infernal whining noise, or I'll break your stupid neck!"
MagnaMan ("Does Whatever a Magna Can") informs anyone who might conceivably care, at this point, that "... my job is to assassinate the King!", and promptly demonstrates his devotion to the principles of the Protestant work-ethic by attempting to do precisely that, displaying a wholly convincing compliment of Superman-type powers in the process. Only some quick "A=B=3.14159" thinking on Jimmy's part manages to keep the aforementioned red carpet from getting any redder. ("He complained about the sound of my ultra-sonic signal seconds ago! It's inaudible to ordinary people... but he obviously has super-hearing! So, if I turn it on full-blast -- !")
Unable to bear the shrill, incessant whining (not to mention the sounds coming from Jimmy's watch) another second longer, a plainly frustrated MagnaMan hurtles himself up, up and Outta There, scant seconds before managing to forcibly relocate King Otgar's head somewhere in the vicinity of, say, Albania.
A damned grateful Otgar later informs Jimmy that this whole mess came about in the first place because of some incalculably stupid gene-meddling on the part of Duxania's leading scientific intellect: one Damien Thork (whose previous claim to fame within the scientific community, incidentally, was the landmark treatise: "MMMmmmm... Biscuits!")
Locking himself up in a vault-like "laboratory" and "experimenting" upon a series of large, friendly gophers [Insert Your Own Joke(s) Here], the Very, Very L-O-N-E-L-Y Professor Thork (rhymes with... naaahh. Too easy.) develops a serum by means of which he may bequeath lower life-forms with all the powers and abilities of a Superman.
One of those lower life-forms, in fact -- Professor Thork's brutish assistant; a slope-brow by the name of Klarz -- decides that this sort of thing is just tres niftique to waste on a bunch of gophers (no matter how darned "hot" they might look, once you get 'em into those little "Girl Scout" uniforms), and chug-a-lugs a beaker of this stuff his own bad self.
After briefly considering (and then discarding) the notion of re-christening himself either as "Bigger, Stronger Klarz" or "Darth Gopher," the hateful henchman assumes the costumed identity of "MagnaMan"; impales Thork to a wall with his own quill pen (no; seriously); and flies off, vowing to set himself up as Ruler Absolute of Duxania Entire.
On his deathbed, a wheezing Thork manages to rasp out one of the following Plot Points. You tell ME which one sounds the most likely:
1.) "My... *gasp*... serum wasn't perfect! Klarz has one weakness... just as the original Superman is vulnerable to Kryptonite! You can stop Klarz with... Ghaaaaaaa...*"
2.) "Tell Klarz that... this is... definitely... going to end up... in his six-month review..."
3.) "God, but I love those hot, shaggy little vixens... heh-heh-heh..."
4.) "... Rosebud..."
I might have opted for #2, myself... but: the following page shows Jimmy and Vannia combing the ruins of Thork's lab for "a clue as to Klarz's secret weakness"... and discovering, in turn, a tell-tale scrap of paper with some code-encrypted formulae scrawled all over it.
Said code, once de-crypted by means of one of Thork's conveniently programmed super-computers (... and this guy was scratching out quadratic formulae with a quill pen...?), reveals that "MagnaMan's Nemesis Is LEAD!"
As it turns out, however: that oh-so-helpful scrap of paper was nothing more than a big, stinky ol' red herring, strategically placed amidst the rubble of Thork's lab by an extremely pleased-with-himself Klarz... and even he doesn't know what his One Big Weakness might really be! ("Not even a computer could crack the real code Thork used!" he cackles to one of his worshipful Duxanian underlings, whilst ostentatiously juggling a few leaden cannonballs. "But as long as no one knows what can stop me... I'm safe!")
Believing that the plucky cub reporter has provided them with the means of safeguarding themselves against the stone EEEEvil that is MagnaMan, King Otgar and Vannia promptly award Jimmy the coveted status of "James Olsen: Duke of Duxania," and invite him to join in the planned festivities of the country's annual "Superman Day" celebration, the following afternoon.
The Big Blue Boy Scout shows up for for the party being held in his shamelessly narcissistic honor, and -- after being given the 4-1-1 on the whole Big, Super-Powerful Would-Be Despot situation, thereabouts...
... decides that it's more important to dazzle the crowd with a few Stupid Kryptonian tricks, instead (!!).
("A rival 'Superman' who wants to rule Duxania, eh?" the Justice
Leaguer muses. "I'll take care of MagnaMan later! Right now,
I'll do a super-feat to entertain the crowd! It's a Superman
Day tradition here!" Well... sure, big fellah. Don't
let a little impending carnage and regicide stand in the way of that
much-needed mass adulation, f'chrissakes...!)
So saying, Superman promptly buries himself in a lead-lined coffin, while an excited Jimmy (whose already shifted back into Full Brown-Noser Mode, for the occasion) gleefully informs the (doubtless) puzzled Duxanian onlookers: "No other man could stay alive ten minutes without air! But Superman will stay buried for two full hours, and then crash out and return to the surface!"
(Oh, yeah. "Let's all stand around and watch the ground for a
couple of hours." That sure sounds exciting, doesn't it?
Party on, Jimmy.)
Unbeknownst to the eager revelers aboveground, however -- while they're all shifting laconically from one foot to the other and waiting for MagnaMan to show up and start killing people -- a hysterical Superman is down below, hammering away frantically at the lid of his coffin and shrieking: "Help! Help! Can't anybody hear me? I... I've lost my super- powers! [...] ... air... nearly gone! I'll suffocate... in seconds! *gasp*!"
When the coffin is finally chain-cranked back up into the bright, Duxanian light of day, once again...
... well: Ol' Marse' Supes: He Be Daid.
King Otgar -- displaying the rock-jawed resolve which has ever been the hallmark
of those born to the purple, and noblesse oblige -- promptly orders his
trained guardsmen to begin slapping big, red-lettered "50% OFF: EVERYTHING
MUST GO!!" signs on all remaining "Superman Day" memorabilia.
Meanwhile: the Royal Physician has pricked the silent and unmoving Superman's skin with a pin, and (with no more examination than that) announces that "Superman is dead!"
A grieving Jimmy all but collapses in hysteria, segueing
into what appears to be -- to the untrained eye, at any rate -- a near- flawless
re-enactment of the final, heart- wrenching scene from OLD YELLER.
"Superman!" he wails, his head thrown back; his features contorted (even more so than usual, I mean) in naked anguish. "*Sob*!... My pal! Goodbye... forever... *sob*!"
It's enough to make you just want to slap the freckles right off that ugly
little kisser, I'm tellin' ya.
Mere nano-seconds before a disgusted King Otgar can command his marksmen to fire a commemorative twenty-one gun salute somewhere in the general direction of Jimmy's head, however: another Superman arrives on the scene, declaring the dead spandexed guy in the coffin to be: "An imposter! My x-ray vision shows he's wearing a face mask of me!" (sic)
It turns out that said "imposter" is, in actuality, a seriously deceased MagnaMan! Apparently, ol' Klarz had intended to (see if you can "follow" me on this one, here) "super-BORE his way to Duxania's royal treasure cave (!!)... and loot it... and then accuse the king of EMBEZZLING the treasury!"
(Just why this scheme necessitated Klarz's tarting himself up a
la SUPERMAN in the first place [much less going through the whole
"buried alive for the crowd" rigmarole]; why the obscenely powerful
despot-in- waiting couldn't just, y'know, smash his way into the "treasure cave"
and loot the place bare in the first bloody place; or even how
the nation's reigning monarch [Otgar] could conceivably be accused of "embezzling"
his own damned treasure in the FIRST place... are all, ultimately,
questions left to our eternal conjecture. Sort of like that old philosophical
chestnut: "If God is all-powerful... can He make a rock
so big that even He can't lift it...")
"But there was no lead underground!" a puzzled Jimmy exclaims. (Remember that whole bogus "lead" thingie, from a while back...?) "What killed MagnaMan?"
Ahhhhhh. What, indeed...?
Okay: Standard CheeksWarning, here, harbinging A Particularly Hideous
and Unspeakable Comics "Moment." Bail out now, if'n you're a-gonna.
MagnaMan was cruelly slain byyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...
... a renegade SUPER- GOPHER!!!!!
That sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in your temples...?
That's called: "a brain embolism."
"MagnaMan's ears were hurt by my signal watch's super- sound,"
Jimmy exposits, helpfully. "He must have been vulnerable to anything
'super'... including that little super- gopher, which --
by pure chance -- super-dug its way to where MagnaMan
was buried... and when it got close, they both must have lost
their super- powers!"
Why... no: actually, I suppose you're not the first person ever
to characterize kindly old Unca Cheeks as "a nightmarish creature of singular
and unrelenting evil," come to think.
Okay. So:
That was but the first exhibit in our mammoth, multi-chambered atrocity
exhibition, this time out... and, already, I can see that some of you
have taken on significant amounts of damage.
"Oh, Unca Cheeks, Unca Cheeks!" (I hear you wail). "Can it possibly get any worse than THIS? Worse even than super-GOPHERS -- ?!?"
Oh, hell yes.
Page Two of "The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published"... comin' right
up.
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE TWO
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE THREE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE FOUR
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE FIVE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE SIX
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE SEVEN
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE EIGHT
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE NINE
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE TEN
"The 12 Silliest DC Comics Ever Published": PAGE ELEVEN
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