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

CONTESTANT #3: the '60s DELL SUPER-HEROES

[UNCA CHEEKS' ASIDE: This site entry comes to us courtesy of our two extra-special guest reviewers. this week: the purple spandex-

garbed Dracula and his fetching blonde sidekick Fleeta -- LAST week's contestants in The Great Four-Color Feeb-Off.]

[SCENE OPENS on a shot of two swivel chairs on a raised Washington Week In Review-style sound stage; a low, circular table equidistant between them both, with a pitcher of water and two glasses resting atop.

[Fleeta ENTERS from Stage Left, to audience APPLAUSE; she waves prettily, favoring the studio onlookers with a high-wattage smile worthy of any VOGUE or COSMOPOLITAN cover girl. Dracula STAGGERS IN from Stage Right, to audience APPLAUSE; he pauses midway to his seat, blinking in naked confusion, as the swell of the crowd's amassed approbation rolls over him. He finally manages to lumber over to his chair, more falling into it than actually sitting in any recognizable sense.]

FLEETA (demurely): "Oh, my goodness... well, thank you... thank you all, for such a generous welcome! My name is Fleeta, and -- along with the dark, mysterious and oh-so-handsome gentleman seated alongside me -- I co-starred in the Silver Age Dell Comics comic book, DRACULA!"

[Unnoticed by Fleeta, the motionless Dracula -- staring vacantly into the middle distance -- begins drooling, noticeably.]

FLEETA (continuing): "We've been asked to peep back out of retirement just long enough to walk you all through a fond backwards glance at our fellow Dell super-heroes: the... ummmm... THE SUPER- HEROES."

DRACULA (mumbling): "... need it..."

FLEETA (smile frozen in place; sotto voce): "Hussssssshhh, darling. We're in public, now..."

DRACULA (more audibly): "... NEEEEEEEEEED iiiiiiiiiiit -- !"

FLEETA (hissing it): "No, damn you. It was just half an hour ago... "

DRACULA (building from a moan into a strangled, frenzied sobbing): "... braaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnsssssss -- !"

FLEETA (turning on him; forgetting the audience): "Shut up! Shut UP! Freakin' junkie weirdo -- !"

DRACULA (covering his face with his hands; groaning): "... the visions... oh, God... they've come back again... I can see a woman... dressed in skintight blue spandex -- !"

FLEETA (harshly): "That's me, you feeble-minded sot -- !"

DRACULA (continuing): "... just a li'l taste, is all... Daddy needs his sugar..." [giggles, shrilly] "... it comes from brains, you know... it comes from the braaaaiiiiinnnnnssss of BAAAAAAAAATS -- !"

FLEETA (shrieking): "You're a JUNKIE and SCARY and DISGUSTING and a WEIRDO FREAK and shutupshutUPSHUTUP -- !"

[THE LIGHTS GO DOWN, and the massive screen positioned behind the two heroes flickers into life; displaying the cover to SUPER-HEROES #1 (January, 1967; see cover reproduction, at top of page).]

FLEETA (whispering again): "... when we're done, all right? Another half an hour, at the very most."

DRACULA (piteously; clutching spasmodically at his sides and doubling over): "... ohhhhhhhhhhhhhjeeeeeeeeeeesusssssss --!"

FLEETA (brightly): "The story opens with a shot of our four teenaged heroes-in-waiting -- Dan Boyd; Tom Dennis; Reb (no last name); and Polly Wheeler -- strolling their cheerful, carefree way through 'The Dell Hall of Heroes... where you lovers of muscle and might can go to inspect your favorites...' "

DRACULA (mumbling; confused): "... I... I'm still hallucinating, aren't I...?"

FLEETA: " 'Look, Dan,' Polly observes, gesturing towards one of the waxwork figures therein. 'There's Nukla, the U-2 pilot who was transformed by an atomic blast and who fights enemy agents!' "

DRACULA (sniggering): "... I was 'transformed' by an 'atomic blast,' once... heh-heh-heh..."

FLEETA (slightly louder, in desperation): " 'Look!' Tom adds, grinning. 'Toka, the Jungle King! He's tough!' "

DRACULA (sniggering again): "Heh-heh... heh-heh... dude looks like a lady..."

FLEETA (slightly frantic, now): " 'Man,' Reb exclaims, pointing towards an entrance bearing the legend FUTURE ROOM. 'It's chilly up heah in Yankeeland! What's in there?' "

" 'Reb is chilly in at the height of a heat wave!' Polly grins, by way of response. 'FUTURE ROOM, it says!' "

"The quartet of teens amble their way through said entrance, and stumble across the incredible, stupefying sight of -- "

DRACULA (excitedly): "... mounds and mounds of BAT BRAINS -- !"

FLEETA (exasperated; scolding): "NO! Bad boy! BAD boy!"

[Dracula cringes, whimpering; stares with fixed, avid hunger at Fleeta's handbag.]

FLEETA (sternly): "Is he going to be a good boy, then? Hmmmmm? Is he going to help with the presentation?"

[From OFF-STAGE, a WOMAN'S VOICE -- aggravated beyond endurance -- is plainly audible.]

WOMAN (disgusted): "Oh, for Christ's sake -- !"

[A plump, red-headed, middle-aged WOMAN storms out from the wings, Stage Right, scowling. She heads directly towards the spandexed pair seated at Center Stage; Fleeta staring in open-mouthed astonishment at the intrusion, and Dracula still regarding his shapely co-host's handbag with an aching, palpable hunger.]

WOMAN (continuing, as she advances]: "My God! The same joke! The same bloody JOKE as LAST time out! THE SAME JOKE -- !"

FLEETA (primly; affronted): "What on Earth... I mean... for heaven's sake... who are you, anyw -- ?"

WOMAN (bulldozing right along, unheeding): "Poor Captain Marvel and Billy, forced to run themselves through that whole, tacky MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL routine -- one joke; stretched out on and on into bloody infinity; longer than the friggin' Maginot Line, for the love of Allah! -- and now that ridiculous, low-browed "Unca Cheeks" person has both of you silly nits dumbshowing the Lower Duluth Dinner Theatre production of William Burrough's NAKED LUNCH -- !"

FLEETA (reddening; defensive): "I... I mean... that is to say..." [angrily, now] "... look, it's a paying GIG, all right? I'm tired of bagging groceries at the Piggly-Wiggly, just so I can keep this slobbering, spandexed sot, here -- "

[Jerking a thumb in Dracula's direction, Fleeta notices her erstwhile partner belly-crawling his furtive way towards her handbag; mewling and gibbering in needy, pathetic desperation. Features contorting in commingled rage and loathing, She aims a savage, stiletto-heeled kick in the general direction of his costumed cranium.]

FLEETA (shrieking): "Get AWAY from there, you filthy spandexed ANIMAL! Back! BACK, damn your eyes -- !" [turns towards the other woman once more; continuing] " -- decently supplied with his daily dose of brain nummies, f'chrissakes! It ain't exactly as if Kurt Busiek has been beating down the bloody door, begging either of us to make a special guest appearance in ASTRO CITY, ya know!"

[Dracula -- frantically crab-crawling in retreatt to his assigned seat -- shoots her a wounded, reproachful look; and whimpers]:

DRACULA (sotto voce): "... bastard based that "Confessor" character of his on me, you know... swore up and down he'd 'make it worth my while'... stole my stash, and then beat the crap out of me! Last thing I remember was him shooting up with Bat-Brain Serum, and laughing hysterically over the phone with that soulless monster, Mark Waid -- !"

WOMAN (visibly revolted by the display): "Right. Fine. Well: let's take this one step at a time, then, shall we -- ?"

[Bending slightly at the knees, the Woman reaches downward and grabs a startled Dracula by the collar and crotch; hefts him cleanly, and shot-puts him from the stage. There is a series of LOUD CRASHING SOUNDS, as the (now off-stage) super-hero impacts noisily against various unseen something-or-others.]

DRACULA (woozily; off-stage): "... oh, wow... is that my femur sticking out, there...?"

FLEETA (wonderingly; staring at the Woman): "Who are you, anyway...?"

WOMAN (wiping her palms against her slacks; pleased with herself): "The name's Schlinkelmeyer, kid." [Fleeta stares, blankly] "Polly Schlinkelmeyer." [Same unblinking response as before. Polly jerks a thumb in the direction of the oversized cover reproduction of SUPER-HEROES #1.] "Thirty years and thirty pounds after the fact."

[Fleeta does a classic "spit-take: goggling first at Polly; then the cover reproduction; then Polly, again.]

FLEETA (hushed; awestruck): "... omigawd... it is you -- !"

POLLY (settling heavily into the seat vacated by the evicted Dracula; grimacing): "Let's -- *unnff * -- let's not make a bigger deal outta tthis than it is, all right, hon? First Law of Super-Hero Aging in action, s'all. Happens to all of us, sooner or later."

FLEETA (puzzled): " 'First Law of Super-Hero Aging'...?"

POLLY (nods; grins in rueful resignation): "You got it, sis. Once any costumed comics character is no longer being seen on a regular basis: they start deteriorating quicker'n a snapshot of Dorian Grey."

FLEETA (arching one eyebrow, quizzically): "Oh, come, now! I've never even heard of such a -- !"

POLLY (interrupting): "Think about it, sugar. The Golden Age Starman; the Blonde Phantom; the Whizzer -- they all disappeared for a decade or three, and ended up wrinkled and liver-spotted... right?"

FLEETA (reluctantly): "Wellllllll... yes... I suppose so, but -- "

POLLY (nodding): "... and -- in the meantime -- Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent still look like the male models in a bloody GQ ad; even though they're older than damned near anyone in comics, this side of Alley freakin' Oop! Dick Clark doesn't age that slowly, f'chrissakes!"

FLEETA (scoffing): "Oh, really, now! Dracula and I haven't aged so much as a single day, since 1967... and it certainly isn't as if we've been loitering about the JLA Watchtower, these past few years! How does your little theory account for that, then...?"

POLLY (reaching into her own purse, and withdrawing an aged and yellowing phamplet): "I happen to have with me a Tijuana Bible, published no more than three or four months ago. 'SHOVING A BAT UP HER BELFRY: The Hot'N'Horny Adventures of "Long Dong" Dracula and His Insatiably Slutty Sidekick, Flee -- '."

FLEETA (hurriedly; a little too loudly): "AHHhahahaha. Yes. Well." [Turning towards the audience once more, brightly.] "We hope you've all enjoyed this very special Foreign Comics Retrospective portion of our program! And aren't we all oh, so very, very LUCKY -- " [Shoots a murderous glare in Polly's general direction.] " -- to have our Very Special and Completely Unexpected and Uninvited guest with us, this evening...?"

POLLY (shrugging; replacing the phamplet in her handbag): "Hey: I was already sittin' in the audience, all right? Just thought I'd make for a better 'co-host' than the poor man's Hunter S. Thompson, over there, is all." [Gestures towards the screen showing the previous page reproduction.] "Wanna tell D.W. Griffith, up in the booth, there, to roll 'em, sweetheart? The folks in the seats are gettin' that antsy, restless look about 'em."

FLEETA (warily; but markedly uncertain what else she can do, really, under the circumstances): "Welllllllllll... the four plucky, fun-

loving youngsters wander their way into the aforementioned 'FUTURE ROOM,' then; and discover, therein, an immobile quartet of costumed androids!"

FLEETA (continuing): " 'Ohhh,' the dimpled Polly breathes, gazing up raptly at the female of the four automatons. 'She's lovely!' "

POLLY (scowling; warningly): "Don't go there, girlfriend."

FLEETA (moving onward, smoothly): "The androids are identified as follows: blue-and-yellow suited EL, who 'is equipped with laser beams, infra-red, x-rays, etcetera'; POLYMER POLLY, 'fantastically fast and heat resistant'; red-garbed and skull-capped HY, who 'can bust an eardrum or a building with a single high note'; and bald-pated CRISPY, 'a cryogenic android! He's a one-man cold wave!' "

POLLY (muttering, sotto voce): "Not bad in the ol' sackaroonie, either. Had that whole Yul Bryner-In-THE-KING-AND-I mojo working for him, by God... big-time."

FLEETA (loudly; desperately attempting to change the subject): " 'MEANWHILE,' the following caption provides; "... there is another robot... perfected by a discredited scientist, who was ejected from the group which created THE FAB 4 in The Dell Hall of Heroes...' "

POLLY (nodding): "Twisted freak bastard. Got booted for trying to induce multiple orgasms. In zucchini."

FLEETA (scowling): "Your coming was foretold in The Book of Revealations, wasn't it? You're heralding the Apocalypse. You can tell me."

POLLY (sweetly): "Want me to drag Count Booze-ala back out to serve as co-host, Shari Lewis...?"

FLEETA (shudders, involuntarily): " 'They refused to sell me the U-235, my pet!' the geriatic genius chokes, standing before what appears to be an oversized barroom jukebox, with legs. 'If only I could expose you at the center of an atomic pile for a few hours... you would have life!"

POLLY (conversationally): "That's how Celine Dion happened, way I heard it."

FLEETA (continuing): "So: with no more expository preamble than this, the gibbering Dr. Luuki -- who has christened his addlepated automaton "Endo-Man," for no readily apparent reason -- sneaks said gargantuan construct into The MidCity Atomic Powerhouse -- "

POLLY (smirking): " -- which is conveniently situated right next door to the aforementioned Dell Hall of Heroes, mind -- "

FLEETA (nodding): " -- AND: after informing his silent, metallic magnum opus that 'Endo-Man... you are a poor, inanimate thing, now... but the moment I throw this switch... the power of the universe itself will give you life [...] With my brain, and your unlimited power, the world will be ours!'... the fateful switch is thrown -- "

POLLY (sighing, heavily): "... AND: We've. Got. Origin."

FLEETA: " 'Shattering bolts of lightning rip through The Great Hall of Heroes,' the accompanying caption reads. 'The great androids are toppling... !' "

POLLY (musing): "This comic reads the way Lee J. Cobb talks."

FLEETA (moving right along): " 'Our four friends are motionless," we read, as we observe the unsuspecting teens sprawled, unconscious, amidst several metric tons of smoking rubble. 'Are they dead?' "

POLLY: "... and, more importantly: is that an opportunistic Dan's horny, adolescent hand lodged securely up the crack of my -- ?"

FLEETA (hurriedly): "There's a slow, ponderous shifting of charred and splintered oaken beams; and then a poweful, basso voice booms out: 'Criminy! That was close! Polly! Are you all right -- ?' "

POLLY (shaking her head, sadly): "... even then: dumber than a bag of hammers, really. It's always something of a gamble, whenever first cousins -- "

FLEETA (mimicking Polly's voice): " 'I don't know what's happening,' a puzzled Polly moans; staring downward at her own unmoving, human form. 'I seem to be an android, now... but that's me, right there... Polly Wheeler... and I don't think I'm really dead! I... I mean she... seems to be breathing!' "

POLLY (making a sour face): "Yeah... well: the so-called writer of this four-color fever dream is full of pure grain ethanol crap. What I actually said was: 'Holy @#$%! That's my @#$%in' BODY, down there! This is some SERIOUSLY @#$%ed up @#$%, right HERE -- !"

FLEETA (staring, coldly): "The other Amazons forced you to swim away from Paradise Island at gunpoint, didn't they...?"

POLLY (knowingly): "Huh. The stories I could tell you about that place, honey -- !"

FLEETA (icily): "Do. NOT." [continuing] " 'That looks like my poor, shivering carcass right yonder!' Reb/'Crispy' laments, staring at his own inert and abandoned form. 'I'm heah, inside this android... but that's my body, theah... I'd know that handsome rascal anywheah!' "

POLLY (conversationally): "Like I said: about as bright as a nursery room night light... but, oh, what a massive POPSIC --"

FLEETA (hurriedly): " 'I know it's t-true,' an all-but-disconsolate Polly sobs; '... but I don't like being an android! I want to be a girl again, and wear pretty things!' "

POLLY (glaring, dangerously): "You're going to keep on keeping on with that crap, aren't you?"

FLEETA (flatly): "You're going to start behaving, aren't you?"

[The two women stare daggers at one another, for a long, elastic moment. POLLY is the first one, eventually, to drop her gaze.]

POLLY (muttering): "Yeah. Right. Whatever. FINE. Okay...?"

FLEETA (not unkindly): "Why don't you take the next page reproduction, then? Since it involves your character, I mean?"

FLEETA (starting things off): " 'I... I think if I tried real hard,' Dan/'El' theorizes; "... I can force my mind back where it belongs!' "

POLLY (glumly; clearly NOT relishing this): " 'Me, too!' Polly responds. My own head may not be as smart... but it's a lot prettier!' " [sotto voce; bitter]: "This is why they feed some writers' severed heads to palace-trained jackals, in certain Middle Eastern countries."

FLEETA: " 'I will go back where I belong!' the redheaded teen grits, concentrating mightily upon the task at hand. 'I will! I WILL! I WILL!' "

POLLY (to the audience; sympathetically): "It helps if you keep imagining you're watching a really cheesy Roger Corman flick. With Ed Wood providing additional dialogue."

FLEETA: " 'What a horrid noise that was!' the flesh-and-blood Polly moans; her eyes fluttering open. ' I've got an awful pain in my head!' "

POLLY: " 'It's a shame in a way, Dan,' the plucky youngster concludes, upon all four of them having successfully returned to their original bodies. 'We were so powerful as androids!' "

FLEETA: " 'If we could only become androids when we liked,' Dan muses, in an uncanny -- if, ultimately, failed -- attempt at replicating standard English grammar; '... and then change back to human form again... say, let's try it!' "

POLLY (shaking her head, sadly): "Dan's already worn out the Pause button on several hand-held remotes, freeze-framing select sequences in Kim Cattrall's MANNEQUIN. And SHORT CIRCUIT 2. With one hand."

FLEETA: "Meanwhile: Dr. Luuki and Endo-Man are in way, waaaay serious need of some 'couples' counseling."

POLLY (affecting an aged, querulous voice): " 'I'll shut you off! I'll disassemble you and turn you into a thousand Erector Sets! DO AS I SAY!' "

FLEETA: "Not exactly your typical, mutally adoring Frankenstein Jr. and Buzz Conroy-type relationship, is it...?"

POLLY (mechanically): " 'Asimov's-First-Law-of-Robotics-my-ass, puny-flesh-bag! Robot-holocaust! Robot-HOLOCAAAAUUUUSSSST -- !' "

FLEETA: "Upon concussing his creator, the rebellious robot promptly grants himself a three-day shore leave; crashing through the nearest brick wall and coming face-to-radiator-grill with an extremely startled Fab Four!"

POLLY: " 'Keep away from them, you refugee from a hairpin factory!' Dan/'El' demands, advancing towards Endo-Man with his brawny, plastic chest puffed out."

FLEETA: " 'There goes the ol' pitchin' arm, Endo-Man!' Dan/'El' mocks, charbroiling his opponent with a quick burst of optical laser beam."

POLLY: " 'True!' the behemoth relects, philosophically. 'PAINFULLY true!' "

[The two women stare at one another, for a silent, elastic moment; and then simultaneously erupt into shrill, hysterical peals of laughter.]

POLLY (still giggling): "Omigawd! That's very nearly as awful as anything from Dell's DRACULA #1!"

FLEETA (sniggering): "True! PAINFULLY true!"

POLLY (wistful, now): "Still... those were the days, though, weren't they? The Silver Age of the '60s... when practically any damnfool notion was good enough to get you at least six issues of your own four-color comic book.Bee-Man, for instance..."

FLEETA (grinning): "Tod Holton: Super-Green Beret!"

POLLY (cackling): "Matter-Eater Lad!"

FLEETA (scoffing): "Silly! Matter-Eater Lad never had his own comic book -- !"

POLLY (leering, digging Polly in the ribs): "Noooooo... but: I heard he 'had' Tod Holton -- !"

FLEETA (whooping): "GIRL -- !" [The two "high-five" one another, cracking up all over again.]

FLEETA (hiccuping slightly, as the joint hysteria eventually subsides): "... heh-heh-heh... oh, God... heh-heh... you are such a little SKANK -- !"

POLLY (winking, lewdly): "Remind me to tell you the one about Bob Phantom and Beppo, the Super-Monkey, someday."

FLEETA (moving on): "Eventually, the Fab Four -- utilizing their combined powers in a thrilling, dynamic display of four-color, super-

human spectacle -- triumph over their ferrous foeman."

POLLY (waving it off): "... meaning: he slips on a stretch of ice, several stories above ground level, and bounces off the pavement. Once."

FLEETA (staring at the page reproduction): "Y'know... I don't believe I've ever actually heard of a robot saying: 'WHOOOOPS!' before... !"

POLLY: " 'Poor thing!' the (HAH!) writer has me murmuring, sympathetically. 'It wasn't his fault he was programmed for evil!' "

FLEETA (nodding): "WINDOWS '98. AOL 4.0. I've heard stories..."

POLLY: "Having previously stashed their inert, flesh-and-blood forms safely in a deserted opera house, nearby -- "

FLEETA: "... right across the street from the atomic plant, in fact. Which was standing flush alongside "The Dell Hall of Heroes." Freakin' city was laid out by Roger Dean. With a little help from Dr. Seuss."

POLLY (continuing): "... the android adolescents scurry to retrieve their regular bodies."

FLEETA: " 'We don't even know what we can do!' Tom/'Hy' protests. 'For instance... does my hypersonic transmitter really work?' "

POLLY (burying her face in her hands): "... oh, Jesus... now I'm gonna need some bat-brain serum..."

FLEETA (staring, aghast): "You mean he actually -- ?"

POLLY (nodding; morose): "Weeks and weeks I walked around after that, with my ears ringing. Felt like Pete Townshend, f'chrissakes."

FLEETA: "Reacting quickly, Reb/'Crispy' immobilizes his runamuck teammate with a cryogenic blast; allowing everyone to hopscotch back into their non-plastiscene bodies and (comparative) safety, once more."

POLLY (conversationally): "Later on, we all took turns folding 'Hy' into the shape of a small compact car."

FLEETA (genuinely curious): "Really? Huh. I didn't know 'Hy' was a Transformers-type android."

POLLY (flatly): "He wasn't. Initially."

POLLY: "Hunkering down on his hands and knees, the muscular Dan -- his breath coming in tiny, ragged gasps -- eagerly commences to screwing the inert and defenseless 'El' -- "

FLEETA (scandalized): "HEY -- !"

POLLY (finishing, smugly): "... with his screwdriver."

FLEETA (scowling): "Oh. Well. That was certainly intellectual and adult of you. Assuming you've got Tourette's Syndrome, I mean."

POLLY (waving it off): "Lookit, hon: I'm sittin' here on my Mrs. Robinson-sized keister, re-living my being forced to spout dialogue so irretrievably lame and awful, it wouldn't make final cut in an issue of KISS: THE PSYCHO-CIRCUS, awright? I'm venting, here. I need to vent."

FLEETA (not wholly unsympathetic): "Wellllllllllll... let's wrap this up as quickly and painlessly as possible, then. God alone knows but that I can... y'know... relate, here."

POLLY (nodding, decisively): "On it, sis." [Briskly, then]: "Seven pages later, then -- "

FLEETA (horrified): "Whaaa -- ?!? Wait! WAIT! You can't just skip over nearly an entire one-FOURTH of the frickin' comic, for goodness' sakes -- !"

POLLY (blandly): "... because...?"

FLEETA (thrown for a loss; stammering): "... because... because..." [silent for what seems like an infinite moment, in the face of Polly's level, unwavering stare; finally]: "... because you just CAN'T, is all!"

POLLY (flatly): "Oh. Okay. Just so long as there's a logical reason, then."

FLEETA (exasperated): "It isn't fair to the bloody readers, you great, middle-aged tart! They won't even be able to follow the narrative thread the rest of the way!"

POLLY (definitely; shaking her head): "The readers don't care, by this point, Fleeta. They just want the pain and the hurting to stop, now."

FLEETA (plainly disbelieving): "Oh, really, now! I scarcely think that -- "

POLLY (raising her voice): "Hello? Is the caller there? You're on, sweetums."

CALLER #1 (electronically distorted): "Hello? Polly? Am I on? Hello...?"

POLLY (soothing): "Talk to me, hon. Tell Mama."

CALLER #1: "Polly, my name is Michael Hutchison: Eagle Award-

nominated editor of FANZING, and I -- "

POLLY (brightly): "Love your work, Michael!"

MICHAEL: "... and I just wanted to say that Unca Cheeks should oughtta have his still-steaming entrails torn from his rib cage and messily devoured by rabid, blood-crazed killer chihuahuas, for subjecting us all to this profane and unnatural... thing."

POLLY (chirpily): "Thanks for calling, Michael!"

MICHAEL: "Polly? My wife wants to know if we could maybe borrow your old costume, mebbe, this weekend...?"

POLLY (grinning, wickedly): "OOOOOooooooh... Michael! Wanna see the little woman tarted up in my old fighting togs, do you...?"

MICHAEL (long pause; then): "Welllllll... yeah... I s'pose she could wear it, too, if she really wan -- "

POLLY (hurriedly): Ohhhhhhkay, then! Next caller: you're on."

CALLER #2 (electronically distorted): "Hello? Polly...?"

POLLY: "Right here, caller."

CALLER #2: "Rob Liefeld, here, and I -- "

POLLY (disconnecting, abruptly): "Nobody cares." [Quickly]: "Next caller...?"

CALLER #3 (electronically distorted): "Polly? Tony Isabella, here."

POLLY (excited): "TONY! Long time, no see, you total hottie, you!"

FLEETA (blushing): "Polly! The man has children, for God's sake! What if they're reading this page, right now -- ?!?"

TONY: "Not bloody likely, Fleeta. We still have child abuse laws, here in Ohio."

POLLY: "You had something you wanted to say, Tony...?"

TONY (shifting to Latin): "Dominus, Pater nostrum, quod est tu nomen -- "

FLEETA (paling): "Good Lord! That's the Holy Roman Catholic Ritual of Exorcism -- !"

POLLY (nodding): "I saw him standing outside, earlier, before we started. Wearing an overcoat, and carrying a small satchel. Very Max Von Sydow."

TONY (shrieking, now): " -- TAKE ME, SATAN! TAKE MY WEB SITE! LEAVE THESE INNOCENTS, FOUL PRINCE OF LIES AND DARKNESS! TAKE MEEEEEEEEEEE -- !"

POLLY (disconnecting; then turning to face Fleeta, once more): "You were saying...?"

FLEETA (resigned to it, now): "So... that's it, then? We just fold up our tents; load up the camels; and call it a debacle...?"

POLLY (soothing): "It's not our time any longer, sweetums. New readership. New WORLD. We had our shot."

FLEETA (nodding; reluctant): Like disco, you mean. Or "New" Coke. Or the Giffen/DeMatteis JUSTICE LEAGUE."

POLLY (shuddering, involuntarily): "Like that. Yes."

FLEETA (brightening, in sudden realization): "Oh, but hey! We'll be seeing your three former teammates right here -- on this very stage, in fact -- next time out, in the fourth exciting installment of THE FIRST ANNUAL UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF -- !"

POLLY (sniggering): "Oh, yeah, hon. It's not as if any of 'em are busy co-starring in the next DC Comics "Fifth Week" mega-crossover, or nuthin'. Just tell 'em there'll be free sandwiches, or something."

FLEETA (brightly, then; turning towards the audience and waving): "Good night, everybody -- !"

POLLY (ditto): "... and God bless!"

[ ... annnnnnnd --

[ ... FADE OUT]

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE ONE)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE TWO)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE FOUR)

The First Annual UNCA CHEEKS FOUR-COLOR FEEB-OFF (PAGE FIVE)

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