Unca Cheeks the Toy Wonder's Silver Age Comics Web Site!
(With Apologies To the Creators; Cast; and Crew
of MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000. . .)
[Part One]
Two confessions, here, gang:
One: Unca watches very, very little in the way of network television programming. (He has never, for instance, watched a full episode of any of the following, to completion: ALLY MCBEAL. BABYLON 5. BAYWATCH. DAWSON'S CREEK. DOCTOR WHO. FAMILY MATTERS. FELICITY. FRIENDS. HOME IMPROVEMENTS. LAW AND ORDER. MALCOLM IN THE MIDDLE. NYPD BLUE. ROSWELL. SABRINA. SEVENTH HEAVEN. SLIDERS. STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE. THAT '70s SHOW. WHO WANTS TO BE A MILLIONAIRE? XENA: WARRIOR PRINCESS. THE X-FILES.) Just not much of a TV-type person, really, I guess.
Two: Unca's list of All-Time Favorite Television Shows is (therefore) brief, and to the point:
THE AVENGERS. FAWLTY TOWERS. MONTY PYTHON'S FLYING CIRCUS. POLITICALLY INCORRECT. THE PRISONER. RANMA 1/2. SOUTH PARK. STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION. The original TWILIGHT ZONE...
... and: best bestest of all --
... the immortal MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000. 
More to the point: Unca used to bloody dream of one day writing for MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000.
Which won't actually ever happen, obviously. The show in question having long since been canceled and everything, I mean.
So: kindly allow Unca this brief indulgance, please, one and all.
What the hey. Everybody's gotta have themselves a dream...
right?
MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATRE 3000 PRESENTS:
ALL-STAR COMICS #3 (Winter, 1940): "The First Meeting of the Justice Society of America"
[OPENING: ... insert "la-la-la's" at various points; end with guitar "twang" and door sequence. Go directly to the bridge of The Satellite of Love, where we find]:
[CROW T. ROBOT and TOM SERVO, giggling maniacally as they bat a giant, suspended plastic bag back and forth; inside the bag is a somewhat dazed and battered-looking JOEL ROBINSON.]
TOM: ... and this is for that ridiculous, overpriced RED RAIN graphic novel, where Batman becomes an incredibly dorky-looking living vampire -- ! [Gives the bag -- and hence, Joel -- another good, solid WHUMP; the bag swings towards Crow.]
JOEL: OWWWWWWW -- !!
CROW: ... yeah, yeah... and this is for all of those mind-bogglingly dopey stories written by "David V. Reed," back in the 70's -- ! [Gives the bag another healthy wallop; bag swings back towards Tom.]
JOEL: Yeeee-OUCH!! Okay, fellahs... I think that's just about enough for right now, don't you...?
TOM (ignoring Joel completely): ... AH-hah-hah-hah-hah!! And this is for all of those way stinky "Batman II and Robin II Meet the Joker II" stories from the 1950's -- ! [Rams bag full-tilt; sends it back towards Crow again.]
JOEL: AAAAAGGHHH -- !!! Hey, c'mon, guys... you don't expect me to put up with this sort of abuse all day, do you...?
CROW (a la classic JAMES BOND villain, "Auric Goldfinger"): No, no, Mister Bond... we expect you to diiiiiee -- ! [Body-slams the bag back towards Servo once more.]
JOEL: UUUUHHHHFF -- !!! [To the audience]: Oh... hi, everybody, and welcome to the Satellite of Love. We've gotten word today that the Mads' latest experiement is a little change of pace for us: an actual DC comic book, right out of the legendary "Golden Age" of comics --
TOM: ... and this is for Adam West as "the Batman," and Burt Ward as "Robin" --! [Rams into the bag once again.]
CROW: OOOOOoooooh... classic "call," Tom -- !
JOEL (wincing): ... and so the 'bots came up with this cute little idea, to sort of pay "tribute" to those classic "New Look" BATMAN stories of the glorious 1960's: a life-sized reproduction of that unforgettable cover, where Batman --
CROW (savagely): -- that's "the Batman," Joel! THE Batman! We've gone over this andOVERthis with you, pally -- ! [Gives bag a "mega-slam".]
TOM: ... oh, for cryin' out loud! Don't tell me he went and forgot the definite article again -- !
JOEL (woozy; slightly panicked; obviously "feeling" that last blow): -- the Batman! I meant THE Batman!!... anyway, that classic cover where THE Batman is held captive in a giant Super Lock-Top Baggie (tm), and a bunch of hired goons all take turns beating the pea soup out of him -- !
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign in five seconds. Guys... are you certain Joel is all right in there...?
TOM (savagely batting Joel back towards Crow): Don't waste any of that sweet, girlish sympathy on the sordid likes of him, honey! Not after he gunned down our parents in cold blood, all those years ago! He's the one who made us the relentless, unfeeling man-stalkers we are today -- !
CROW (a la THE JOKER): One... bad... day, Joel. That's all that separates you... from us! Just. One. Bad. DAY! [KerWHUMPS bag again; inside, Joel is clearly beginning to lose consciousness.]
TOM: HAhahhaha! Yeah! [Sidesteps the swinging bag; leans closer to Crow.] Say, Crow, ol' buddy, ol' droogie, ol' pal... what say we go raid the pantry for some Count Chockula, huh? All of this "striking terror into the underworld" stuff has really worked me up a hero-sized appetite -- !
CROW (allowing bag to swing back past him, unmolested): Brilliant idea, Boy Wonder! It's no wonder I took you under my paternalistic and mildly-obsessed wing, that day your parents tragically fell to their deaths while changing the "Millions Served" numbers on that McDonald's sign, all those years ago --!
[The two 'bots wander off-screen together, still bantering. Unnoticed, the now-unconscious Joel hangs, still and unmoving, within the slowly- swinging baggie.]
MAGIC VOICE: Commercial sign now. Joel? Joel...? JOOOOOOOELLLLLLLL -- ?!?
**********************************************
[Back in the SOL, post-commercial. A wheezing, red-faced Joel is leaning over the console; a solicitous GYPSY hovers to one side, obviously concerned. Crow and Tom are slouched at the far side, just as obviously not.]
GYPSY: Are you sure you're going to be all right, Joel? I could increase the oxygen output by another 2%, you know...
JOEL (gasping; shaking his head): No... no, that's... okay, Gypsy. I'm just... darned grateful you happened to wander by when you did. I... I can remember... there were these black-and-red spots in front of my eyes, and... and a high-pitched whining sound in my ears -- !
CROW (sniggering): ... yeah, well... that's nothing compared to the high-pitched whining sound in my ears right about now, "Flex Mentallo".
TOM (braying): HAH!! That's for sure, Crow! Looks like the "inherent superiority of Man versus The Lowly Machine" is just another example of carbon-based bushwah, if you ask me!
JOEL (glaring at the two 'bots): Oh, yeah...? Well, I'd sure like to see one or both of you big metal tough guys take a turn inside of that overgrown "Bop'Em" bag -- !
[A red light flashes on the console.]
TOM (dismissively): Yeah, well... gonna have to take a rain check on that, Mr. Ali. Looks like Daphne and Velma are calling.
[CUT TO: the interior of Deep 13. DR. CLAYTON FORRESTER and TV's FRANK are both hunched over several open-topped comic book "long boxes," pulling out various carefully double-bagged-and-cardboard backed comics; pausing only long enough to occasionally scowl at one another, ferociously.]
DR. F: ... a-hah! A-HAH!!! Look at this one, Frank! SUGAR AND SPIKE'S TWO FISTED TERROR TALES #178!! "Beware the Wrath of Goombah -- the Woman That Walked Like a Man!" The very first time Ultra, the Multi-Alien met Ace the Bat-Hound: his future love interest! Read 'em and weep, fan boy -- !
FRANK (smugly): Au contraire, oh Merry Marvel Marching Socialite! Submitted for your approval: a little gem familiar to the true comics cogniscenti -- LANA LANG'S HOUSE O' WEIRD WAFFLES #57! It is herein, my want-list wastrel, where Ultra and Ace first crossed paths, as the third panel crowd scene on Page Twelve clearly demonstrates; a full five months before the events detailed in your absurdly overpriced bit of OVERSTREET PRICE GUIDE bait -- !
[Dr. Forrester stares at the comic dangling from Frank's outstretched hand; narrows his eyes into a hate-fueled glare as he takes in Frank's smarmy grin of fannish superiority and one-upsmanship.]
DR. F (in clipped, measured tones): Frank... do you recall that set of full-color nudie paintings of Perry White that you paid Kurt Schaffenberger a small fortune to do for you last year, during the Chicago ComicsCon...?
FRANK (suspiciously): ... yeeeeeeeeesssssssss...?
DR. F (blandly): Traded 'em last week for a complete run of Marvel Comics' CRYSTAR: THE CRYSTAL WARRIOR.
FRANK (collapsing into a sobbing, hysterical heap): ... no... no! NOOOOOOOOOOOO -- !!!
DR.F (leaning over the quivering Frank): Two words, Fearless Front Facer: Get. Over. It. [Turns towards the viewscreen; preening in obvious self-satisfaction.) Well, now, Jimmy Smits... while Frank, here, is busy undergoing his own personal "dark night of the soul"... why don't you and your little Go-Go Gophers start off this week's invention exchange... hmmmmmmmm... ?
[Back to the SOL. Joel and the two 'bots are standing at the console, which is littered with a fantastic array of plastic super-hero "action figures."]
JOEL: Well, sirs: our invention this week is based on the observation that -- right now -- super-hero "action figures" are hotter than ever.
TOM (continuing smoothly): That's right, Joel! And --even more importantly, from a marketing perspective --- the current "greying" of comics fandom means that the vast majority of these obscenely- overpriced little beauties must be ending up in the personal collections of large, doughy, thirty-something "graphic fiction afficianados" with a decided preference for the spandexed he-man icons of their respective childhoods --
CROW (helpfully): ... to say nothing of possessing demonstrably UN-childlike reserves of discretionary income, Tom!
[The two 'bots start cackling "money, money"; "we're going to be soooo stinking rich"; "MWAH-ha-ha-haaaa"; and suchlike. Joel shushes them; they are muted (somewhat), as he continues.]
JOEL: Therefore, sirs: we've come up with these timely plastic "must- haves" for today's wholly obsessed "buffs" -- [sweeps hand over the largest of the three displays, which contains nearly a dozen standing figures] -- the "PLANET OF DOOMED OLSENS" Action Playset!
TOM (in "Don Pardo"-style voice): AH-ha-ha-ha-hah!! That's right, Joel! The fabulous "Planet of Doomed Olsens" Playset, including such immensely popular -- and, hence, eminently collectible -- figures as the powerful "Giant Turtle" Olsen; the feral "Wolfman" Olsen; the super- heroic "Elastic Lad" Olsen -- !
CROW (not missing a beat, in "Robin Leach" voice): -- not to mention the absolutely essential limited edition "Orthodox Rabbinical Student" Olsen; the collector's item classic "Wet Hacking Cough" Olsen; the certainly-not suitable-for-small-children "Elephantiasis Olsen"; the Gareb Shamus-approved "AMERICAN PSYCHO" Olsen! The Doin'-A-
Nickel-At-Attica "Soap-On-a-Rope" Olsen -- !"
JOEL (visibly annoyed): Hey! HEY, you two scamps! I thought we all agreed: no "dark stuff" this week, huh? [The two 'bots just stare at him, in blank, wordless silence.] You know... in keeping with the fun, eternally optimistic spirit of the super-hero genre...?
CROW (unblinking; at Joel): Still waiting for that big SWING WITH SCOOTER revival to happen, aren't you, Joel...?
TOM (sniggering derisively, while Joel shoots Crow an irritated glance): Yeah, well: my contribution to this week's invention exchange is just a weeeeee bit more oriented to today's young, hip and bleakly ironic "post-modern" generation of ahistorical comics devotees -- [gestures (as well as he can, anyway) towards a pair of simply-dressed figurines, sprawled face-down in what appears to be a pool of blood] -- the ultimate in BATMAN collectibles: the "Thomas and Martha Wayne INaction Figures" -- !
CROW (in saturday morning kidvid "toy huckster" voice): The "Thomas and Martha Wayne INaction Figures!" Some painful soul-searching about the inevitability of your own mortality required! "Flying Graysons INaction Figures" sold separately!
JOEL (scolding): Now, Tom! You know that's not what Imeant, darn it!
CROW (bumping Joel off to one side): Yeah, yeah... step aside and make way for the future, Charles Schulz. [Tom guffaws; Joel is now visibly struggling to keep his temper in check.] MY invention this week is simple... elegant... and a true classic -- [indicates the remaining figure: a well-crafted, heroic-looking winged man] -- the "Modern DC HAWKMAN" action figure!
JOEL (beaming paternally at Crow): Well, there, now... you see, Tom? Crow, at least, understands the spirit we're aiming for, here! [Runs a hand admiringly over the figurine.] Gee... Hawkman! That noble, adventurous policeman from a distant alien civilization... one of the true "linchpin" characters of the legendary Justice League of America -- !
TOM (to Crow, sotto voce): ... he just doesn't see it coming, does he...?
CROW (to Tom; the same): ... juuuuust like swerving the Mazda towards that fluffy li'l baby bunny napping in the middle of the interstate... [turns to address Joel]: I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, Joel -- well, kind of, anyway -- but you're obviously thinking of the "Hawkman" from your lazy, halcyonic semi-rural childhood back in Wisconsin... or Idaho... or wherever. [Tom giggles in ready anticipation; Crow continues]: This, my friend, is the "Modern DC Hawkman" figure: a character so fouled and fuddled by a bewildering cat's-cradle of contradictory continuity conundrums, that -- just recently -- he underwent a painful and humiliating continuity meltdown!
TOM ("innocently"): Oh, Crooooow... is it at all possible that the "Modern DC Hawkman" figure can be utilized to... y'know... demonstrate this dire recent turn of events for our fleshy-and-oh-so-innocent pal's benefit...?
CROW: Why, certainly, Dr. Servo! All we need do to witness the dreaded "Post-CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS Continuity Meltdown" effect in horrifying 3-D action is light this handy fuse, just at the base of our Winged Wonder's skull, here... [strikes a match and does so.]
JOEL (miserably; shaking his head): Four years up here... FOUR. LONG. YEARS... and, yet, I still dare to hope...
[The Hawkman figure's head suddenly explodes with an impressive amount of noise and flash. The now-headless figurine wobbles, defiant, for a long moment... and then keels over to one side, as if in wordless resignation.]
CROW (with obvious relish): ... and, voila! Instant "ZERO HOUR Malaise!" [Conversationally, to Tom]: The really neat part, of course, is that this funfunfun option is also available for the "Modern Marvel Comics SPIDER-MAN" Figure -- !
TOM (excited "fan geek"-style): Ooooh! Oooooh! And I just read in last week's WIZARD that they're thinking of adding it to pretty much the entire X-MEN line of action figures, as well! That is sooooooooo boss -- !
JOEL (voice mufled, as his head is currently cradled in his hands): Well... what do you think, sirs...?
[Back on Deep 13. Close-up of Dr. Forrester, sneering into the camera.]
DR. F: Sounds as if maybe you should consider renaming your little free-floating daycare center "the Satellite of Tough Love," Mister Green Jeans. Now, put away your toys and get ready to eat my intellectual dust -- ! [Clears throat]: My invention this week is inspired by those ubiquitous collectors aids -- [holds up a rectangular plastic bag, with a little flap at one end] -- the "Mylar 'Snugs'." Favored and savored by basement-dwelling fanboys the whole world over, these little dollar-signs- on-the-hoof have become virtually indispensible to the modern-day four-color fetishist, due to their unique ability to keep all known contaminents out --
FRANK (off-stage): -- and all the yummy, garden-fresh goodness locked IN!
DR. F (turning to glare at the unseen Frank): The next time I schedule you for a lobotomy, Frank: I'm going to bring a bigger spoon. [Back to the camera]: To continue, then: it occured to me that here was a prime example of a simple and effective bit of technology being utilized in egregiously IMproper fashion! Rather than attempting to forestall the ravages of time from simple pulp fantasies... why not turn those powers to something truly useful: keeping icky, disease-laden things from spilling out? Therefore, gentlemen: I give you --
[Dr. Forrester gestures grandly; there is a tinny fanfare of trumpets, and a sullen-looking Frank enters, bearing a squalling infant in his arms. Said infant is wearing -- in place of the standard diaper -- a grossly uncomfortable-looking plasticene affair around its nether region, obviously fashioned (crudely) from old comics bags.]
DR. F (exultantly): -- the Mylar Snuggies!!!
FRANK (looking very uncertain): My sister's gonna kill me if anything happens to little Kyle, Jr. here, Dr. F... !
DR.F (exasperated): Ohhhhhh... think SOYLENT GREEN, Frank. [Back to the camera]: "Mylar Snuggies" -- the wave of the parenting future! No more worrying about getting something of the approximate toxicity level of, say, dioxin on your hands while changing little Bobby's didies; nothing beats a "Snuggie" for waterproof protection! [Behind Dr. F., Frank is attempting to draw to his attention the fact that the baby's "Snuggie" is expanding at a rather ominous rate]: Tired of having to pinch pennies on dinner meats, because a box of PAMPERS (tm) costs approximately as much as a mint condition ACTION COMICS #1? Stop clipping those coupons, Winnona: one bag of a hundred of these little darlin's sets you back ten bucks... TOPS! Have steak for dinner tonight... and every night!
[Frank is becomming increasingly panic-stricken, as the baby's "Snuggie" is now, obviously, reaching Critical Mass. He finally manages to snare Dr. Forrester's attention]: Sick of... huh? Ohhhhh... what is it now, Sweet Polly Purebread? I... I... [he notices, at last, the imminent disaster looming in the form of Frank's sister's kid]: ... oh, sweet merciful JESUS -- !
FRANK (in Star Trek "Scotty" voice): Captain! I canna hold her! I think she's gonna blow -- ! [In GONE WITH THE WIND "slave mammy" voice]: Oh, lawsy, lawsy, Dr. Forrester! Ah don' know nothin' 'bout containin' no 'splodin' babies -- !!!
DR.F (unable to tear his terrified gaze from the pulsating horror in Frank's arms; speaks very rapidly): Ahhhhh... your punishment today, Joel, shoudl be something of a "holiday" for you, relatively speaking: ALL-STAR COMICS #3. It's written by Golden and Silver Age great Gardner F. Fox; drawn by various and sundry; and a sure sign that I'm getting soft-hearted in my sunset years. I -- [ominous "creaking" sounds from the baby's "Snuggie"]: -- Danger! Danger, Will Robinson! The button, Frank! It's our only hope! Push the BUTTON --!!!
[A shrilly-bleating Frank hurtles the shrieking infant in the general direction of The Button. There is the sickening squish of sudden, horrible impact; Doctor Forrester and Frank scream in wide-eyed unison as we hear a mind-bogglingly loud explosion; and we CUT SHARPLY to the SOL.]
JOEL: Oh, no! We've got COMICS SIGN!!!!!!!!
[Flashing lights, sirens, buzzers, door sequence, etc.]
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