Obnoxious Gal

The wonders and frustrations of technology. Just as I’m 1/4 of the way through the next installment of the Disney Afternoon comic recap, I learn that the scanner is having issues. Nothing that a recent driver can’t fix, but the problem is finding the right one and making sure that Vista accepts it. And, no, I’m not calling Dell tech support for assistance. I can’t speak Hindi.

So instead of the usual “Sorry guys, update next week, I swear, tee-hee!” spiel, I’m doing something different: mini-reviews of five books I’ve read or am still reading. So quit yer bellyachin’!

Stray (Shifters #1) by Rachel Vincent: I shouldn’t like TSTL (too stupid to live) poor little rich girls, but no one’s done a werecat story before. I hate to admit it, but I actually enjoyed this Harlequin 600+-page doorstop novel, despite the brutal attacks against tabbies/women. Hopefully the sequel, Rogue is more tame. (Absolutely no pun intended.)

Outlander by Diana Gabaldon: Time-traveling, attempted rape, forced marriage, attempted rape, sex all over the place, attempted rape, wife beating, actual male rape. Despite all this and the neverendingness of it all, I enjoyed the atmosphere of 17th century Scotland. I began the sequel, Dragonfly in Amber, but I’m still stuck around page 120. This is one of those books that I’ll have to read in bits and pieces throughout the year, I guess.

The Last Rainbow by Parke Godwin: A truly rare book that’s hard to find, even through Amazon and eBay. This is actually the third book in a King Arthur/Camelot trilogy the author began, and the subject matter is a strange departure. For one, the hero is a young priest who will eventually be known as St. Patrick. For another, it deals with his life among the Prydn, or Faerie folk. These aren’t the delicate, gossamer-winged fairies, though; these are a primitive people who strongly resemble the ancient Celts in every imaginable way, though they’re very unique. (How’s that for vague?) Almost done with this one; the entire section concerning warfare nearly bested me, and it’s hard to muster the desire to continue.

Ethan of Athos by Mary McMaster Bujold: Men reproducing IN SPACE. An all-male colony faces extinction when it’s discovered that a shipment of ovarian tissue cultures has spoiled. In order to save his people, Dr. Ethan Urquhart must venture to another world and get to the bottom of the mystery. Along the way, he meets the very attractive, and very female, Commander Elli Quinn. Only 1/4 of the way through this one, but I hope to see fireworks between these two… and more gay undertones from the other Athosians. From what I’ve gathered, this is part of a series, but it stands alone very well.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams: I enjoyed all the the Hitchhiker novels, save the last one, which was dragged down by romance. I actually howled with laughter while reading The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, which was the second and final Dirk Gently novel. But I can’t get through this one. I’m reminded of a review I read on GoodReads where the (English) fellow remarked that Douglas Adams couldn’t write real plot, and that his novels just serve to remind British people of “how depressingly British they are.” I can’t claim the latter, but I do kind of agree with the “no plot” accusation. Another book I’ll have to read in bits and pieces, if I don’t end up taking it back to the used books place.

Looking back on this list, it’s almost saddening to realize that I’ve only finished two out of the five. What’s even sadder is that I’ve got several more books I need to start reading… or finish reading. I’ve given myself a year to finish my To Read Shelf; I can get it done in three.

Hoowah! Welcome to another installment of the critically acclaimed Disney Afternoon comic book. Well, it might have been critically acclaimed by kids back in ‘94 and ‘95, but… well, let’s just say your mileage may vary and get on with the show. Issue. Whatever.

Somewhere, a Merry Christmaser is frothing at the mouth with RAGE.

This is one of the more unusual comic book issues I’ve ever come across. First of all–and I know you can’t see it that well–this ish is dated January. Yep, in bright red letters, in that little white box in the upper left corner. Yet there’s a cheery Christmas scene on the very same cover. An obviously, blazingly Christmasy scene with Goofy playing Santa Claus and his son, Max, happily catching him in the act. There’s even snow. There are lights on snow-decked evergreens. And the comic book is dated for January.

Yes, I looked at the copyright info on the first page. The Disney Afternoon Vol.1, No. 3, January, 1995. Yes, I’m aware that some cultures don’t consider Christmas to be over until January 4. I’m half-Puerto Rican and I observe Three Kings Day. But it’s a freakin’ Christmas scene on a January issue! (If you think I’m babbling now, wait until I show you the next issue’s cover.)

Now that I’ve had my fill of incongruity-inspired discontentment, let’s get on with the first story. Remember in the last post when I said that this issue would be filled with more Flapping Terror than you can fit in your mouth? Ignoring the fact that that was a terrible analogy, you’ll soon learn that I wasn’t kidding. Both stories in this issue concern nothing but Darkwing Duck. Either Disney had some strict proviso in its contract with Marvel, or the Marvel guys just couldn’t get enough of DW. Don’t get me wrong, I was obsessed with the show as much as any other kid back in the 90s, but I knew when I’d had my fill.

At least they got the alliteration right, but is the characterization spot on? I just recently got DW Volume One, but I haven’t watched any of the eps yet. I do vaguely remember puns. Lots of puns. Megavolt and Bushroot don’t have any. I mean, “You big-billed busybody?” Bushroot might have been kind of a pansy, but he would have said something far more cutting. [insert rimshot]

While the villains keep shouting about getting ‘im, and letting me at ‘im, Megavolt declares that DW is down for the count! “If he can count!” Bushroot adds.

Just before the villains can move themselves from their spots, Darkwing flies for the far end of the room, only to stub his webbed foot on the open drawer in a dresser. At least it looks that way. Stars fly everywhere as our hero just lies there, wrinkled like an accordian from his bill to his tail feathers. “Darn it!” Megavolt seethes. “He’s not hurt–he landed on his head!”

Okay, that was kind of funny. I’ll give the writer a point for effort.

Drake Mallard wakes up on the floor with a blanket over his head. Confused, he tries to get his bearings and comes to the realization that it was a recurring nightmare “of all my enemies ganging up on me!” I guess the other two of the Phantasmic Four and other solo villains went to terrorize other cities if that was all of DW’s enemies.

Later, Darkwing heads to SHUSH Control to discuss his personal issues with J. Gander Hooter, the director of SHUSH. Knowing that even the best nighttime warriors need to recharge every now and again, Hoover authorizes Darkwing to go on a vacation. When your boss practically orders you to take a break, you’d be a fool to pass it up.

Darkwing ogles the brochure that a nameless, anonymous person dropped off at the headquarters. It’s a resort called Club Mud. What a charming name! And look at the amenities! An Olympic pool, lovely cabanas, great food, and tennis courts! Pictures never lie! What a wonderful idea!

Wow, food! I’m sold!

Soon, Drake Mallard is on his way to the vacation of a lifetime. (Yes, that’s what the little text square says: “soon.”) He gets off the plane, carrying all his luggage, floaties, and sports equipment. But instead of having the staff fall at his large webbed feet and praise the gods for his beautiful presence, Drake is met by a surly taxi cab driver who asks him, “You opening a sports shop?” And he’s smoking a cigar. In a kids’ comic! Something sinister is going on!

Club Mud is really just that: mud. Run-down shacks, overgrown grass, dead trees, stray animals running about, and mud, mud, everywhere. I highly doubt this place gets repeat business, except from the lowliest of trailer trash who liken WalMart to Nordstrom’s. Worst yet, the pool has been replaced by a mud bath, which is “much healthier,” according to a staff member. As for competitive sports, they moved the tennis court to Wimbledon. But there’s always mud wrestling!

After an afternoon of fun and frolic, Drake retires to his cabin, lucky number 13! Even his mattress sucks, since it pops out its springs and curls up around him. Sleeping on the floor would be a safer option–but I imagine there are mutant termites living there.

But what’s this? Drake hears something in the other room… “At least the weather isn’t foul–” says one of the voices. “Shut up!” says another. “Never use that word or SHUSH will discover this is really a F.O.W.L resort!”

Drake uses his “marvelous mechanical mind” to improvise a high-tech listening device… which is a glass cup. Pressing the mechanical wonder to the wall, he listens in on the two F.O.W.L agents. Turns out that this resort is an R&R destination for F.O.W.L agents. Really? This old dump? Personally, I think agents like Steelbeak would find this resort way beneath their tastes.

But wait! The F.O.W.L agents know that someone dropped off one of their professionally published brochures at SHUSH Control–and they’re expecing one of the SHUSH agents any time now! (By the way, they really do write the headquarters names like that. F.O.W.L and SHUSH. Don’t ask me why. I’m just copying what I see.)

Drake is aghast. They know about him! But never fear, kiddies, Darkwing Duck will boldly leap into action to take down this horrible, hated haven of F.O.W.L–

What the hell, Drake?! You’re Darkwing Duck! DW wouldn’t be running for his life. He’d be concocting a plan to capture these corny criminals! But it’s just as well, because the next plane out of this hellish hellhole from hell doesn’t come for two days.

Two whole days to hide. Don’t worry, Drake. I’m sure you can forage for food in the wilted grass around your delapidated cabin. That, or you can pull up a few floorboards to eat. They’re high in fiber!

Drake looks for a quick disguise, and I’m beginning to suspect that he didn’t pack along his DW costume. This might have been a vacation for SHUSH’s top agent, but you’d think he’d be prepared for a crimefighting emergency. Despite this setback, Drake searches diligently for a dandy disguise. What luck! The resort offers mud paks!

Just as Drake enters the spa, he gets a face full of mud. “Here’s mud in your eye!” the staff member says clicheingly. The two staff guys waste no time in pouring mud all over the harried hero. “When we finish, you won’t recognize yourself–that should please you!”

A staff member tells him to lie down for half-an-hour, after which they’ll wash off the mud. But Drake lumbers off, telling the guy that he wants to enjoy “this marvelous muddy mug much longer!” He does for a short while, and that’s when he sees…

What the hell are you talking about? Your kid’s dumber than a bag of hair.
He’ll be lucky to see the sixth grade… for the third time.

The two agents shoot the shit, talking about how awesome it’d be if Darkwing Duck was the one who got the brochure and how he’d only need a “one-way ticket,” yuk yuk. Drake escapes to the Wreck Hall, formulating a plan. Plane doesn’t come for two days, mud pak probably won’t dry off for two hours… Trust me, Drake, that thing is going to fucking dry.

For your squinting pleasure, here’s a full page scan, because this one was actually kind of funny.

Hey, I was under the impression that Drake didn’t bring his costume! Oh, what the hell. At least he fits in. By the look on his face, he’s in heaven, what with being in a room filled with nothing but his lovely likeness. Personally, I’d be weirded out by so many Ellies in one room. (”Holy shit, why do I wear my hair like that?”)

But his joy is short lived. An announcer tells the crowd that it’s time for his “fair F.O.W.L brothers” to unmask themselves. DW runs off to another part of the building where he finds a tool box and a microphone. “While those fiendish, fetid F.O.W.L agents dump their Darkwing disguises, I will cleverly convert this mundane microphone into a sophisticated short-wave transmitter. Let’s get technical!” Yeah! That’s the DW we all know!

No worries. DW’s got this in the bag!

Oh, sheeeeit. The F.O.W.L agents are ready with their own attack: mud mortars! Well, if you’ve got enough of a resource, you may as well us it, right? “Fire at will!” screams an agent. “Sir, I don’t see Will,” says another. “Can I fire at Jim!” (No that wasn’t my typo.)

The SHUSH paratroopers are pelted with mud and fall out of the sky like mud-caked flies. “Uh-oh! This messy mud barrage is turning my rescue into another muddle!” Darkwing quips. He quickly hops into action–by hopping into a… I guess it’s a bulldozer or a front loader truck. Anyway, he starts going crazy over the controls. “Beware, F.O.W.L! I am the bar of soap you slip on in the shower!”

A SHUSH agent screams that the baddies are driving them to sea. If that’s just secret agent slang for “they’re kickin’ our asses” or if the dumbnut actually believes there’s a major body of water, we’ll never know. In any case, Darkwing scoops up the baddies in the construction vehicle’s bucket and dumps them in the mud.

It took me fifteen minutes of Googling to find the name for this damn part.

Not one to pass up a chance for justified torture, Darkwing turns up the head in the mud bath, which bakes the F.O.W.L agents way past a golden brown and straight into third-degree burns. A SHUSH agent is impressed by DW’s work. “They look like a row of cookies, Darkwing,” he says. “I knew this was more than a half-baked idea right from the start!” Darkwing grumbles. Then it’s time to whisk away into the inky night… and maybe go on a real vacation.

Flee for the hills!

Okay, I’ll admit it. I didn’t have high hopes for this one, especially with the corny beginning, but things started to pick up right around when Darkwing declared that Club Mud was almost worthy of his presence. Having Drake panic when he learned that the agents were expecting him felt a little out of character (as if my reaction didn’t convey that). But it’s forgiveable since there were a few parts that got a genuine chuckle out of me.

Maybe there’s some hope for this series after all! But we still have another story to get through before I can declare this one a dud or a… non-dud. Stay tooned, kiddies!

It’s Friday night, and I’ve been busy, just a little dizzy, bringing you a Disney Afternoon comic installment. I’ve got spills, I’ve got thrills and more–more, more, MORE! So you better like it!

Last week, we left our fashionably-dressed hero trapped in a device created by the unfortunately named Dr. Anna Matronic, who is quite possibly one of the worst villains, I’d ever seen in a kiddie comic. The ill-fitting device is none other than a mind-controlling helmet that will render Darkwing helpless to the commands of his ineffectual foe once he’s fallen asleep. As part of her dastardly plan, Dr. Matronic had her robo-hounds committing breakins around St. Canard, thus running Darkwind ragged. With sleep gently tugging at the caped crimefighter’s eyelids, it won’t be long until DW meets his doom.

But first, some lighthearted frolic…

Either that’s one bizarre curvature of the spine or she’s just bootylicious.

Gadget Hackwrench (AKA the only Rescue Ranger that fans really, truly, obsessively like) is showing off her inventions to Professor Sniffsnout, one of the scientists on the judging committee for the All-City Technology Competition. Look closely and you’ll see a puff-topped tail on the professor. That’s right, she’s a poodle. A damn poodle in the Rescue Ranger headquarters. Which is in a tree. Which fits the smallest of creatures, like mice, chipmunks, and flies. A fucking poodle. And don’t tell me she’s one of those teacup dogs that old biddies love to collect like Precious Moments figurines.

Anywhoodle, Sniffsnout is quite bored with Gadget’s inventions, disparagingly describing them as “cute” and saying that her fellow scientists will “get quite a giggle out of [Gadget's] tinkerings.” Naturally, Chip is offended that someone would insult his unrequited love interest’s works.

“HOLD IT!” he screams unnecessarily. “What about Gadget’s invisibility machine?” True to her stuffy scientist training, Sniffsnout doesn’t believe that such a thing is possible. Chip invites her into the kitchen where they begin gathering supplies to create Gadget’s wondrous machine.

First a tureen, which is nothing more than an acorn. Then some of Monty’s Limburger cheese sauce. I’m sure ol’ Monty won’t mind. He can always head down to the alley to his cheese dealer and get another shipment–after he’s murdered everyone in a junkie rage.

Then Chip adds some garlic cloves and baby onions. But now he has to touch the “pot” to the ceiling. He innocently wonders aloud how he can ever do that. Professor Sniffsnout, ironically asking if Chip himself is dim, offers to perform the incredible feat. Now all she has to do is turn the pot over and…

Wow! I’m amazed! A pompous, arrogant, educated elitist hoisted by her own petard in an incredibly see-through scheme!

“How can I report to the other scientists like this?” Sniffsnout rages as she stomps away from the headquarters. A brilliant scientist such as yourself can’t go home to take a shower?

Gadget and Chip watch on from the doorway. Gadget thanks Chips, but he shouldn’t have lied. That wasn’t an invisiblity machine, after all.

“Sure it was!” Chip says. “It made Sniffsnout disappear, didn’t it?”

No, Chip, you just made her go away–and stink to high heaven and beyond. Stop trying to be clever. By the way, you’re nowhere closer to getting into Gadget’s jumpsuit.

Let’s get on over to St. Canard and see how DW’s doing.

Not that well. Either Dr. Matronic must have lined the inside of that helmet with Crazy Glue, or the sheer size of Darkwing’s brain created a vacuum. Whatever the cause, that thing isn’t coming off. What else could our heroes do?

DW tries a device that emits a signal strong enough to interfere with Dr. Matronic’s remote signal. It should render the mind-control helmet useless. The signal is pitched so high, only dogs can hear it.

Left no with other option, DW orders Launchpad and Gos to tie him to his bed. (Suddenly I feel the force of a million fangirls shuddering in ecstasy. Brr.) “Without my body, Matronic can’t have my mind!” he reasons. Sounds like a failproof plan. I don’t see how it could possibly go wrong, except, say, Matronic finds out where he lives using some sort of tracking device that’s in the helmet.

Anyway, with DW incapacitated, Gos gets her chance to watch the Senseless Gore & Violence Film Festival on the eleven o’clock movie: Body Count 2000. Reminds me when I used to stay up watching Saturday Night Live–you know, back when it was good. (Mine’s the Bad Boy Era featuring Farley, Spade, Sandler, and Schneider. What’s yours?)

CRASH! Holy crap, what was that? Did DW fall out of the bed? That was some pretty flimsy ropework if that’s the case. But it’s something far more worse…

How the hell did they fit the bed through that window?

I’d worry more about the fact that Dr. Matronic found Drake Mallard’s residence. I think outright destroying her instead of locking her up is a surefire way to eliminate this problem in the future. But my ideas are far too violent for a kiddie comic such as this.

“We’ve got to get him back!” Gos cries obviously. But Launchpad ixnays that: “Drake would never forgive me if I brought you along.” So he hops into the Rat Catcher (DW parked it at his civilian home?) with the declaration that he won’t let anything happen to his best friend and the only person in the Disney universe who will ever put him on a payroll.

But ho ho, dear reader, Launchpad is going to get some much needed assistance after all…

Bless you, you little rule-breaking, snot-beaked rebel. Bless you.

Soon, we’re in Dr. Matronic’s high-rise apartment or wherever the hell she keeps her top secret science-y crap. “Forget the promised crime spree, Darkwing,” she says. “I’ve decided to get rid of you! With you out of way, I can do whatever I want and no one can stop me!”

See anything wrong with that sentence? I see three: 1) Why did she suddenly decide to not make DW go on a fantastic crime spree? That would have made up for the uninspired first part. Is Dr. Matronic indecisive? What’s she like in different scenarios? “I’ll have fries. No, forget the fries, I’ll have tater tots!” “Let’s go with the powder blue satin finish. No, forget that shade, my living room needs to be fuschia!” “I do. No, forget matrimony!” 2) “With you out of way.” I can take lazy coloring in a cheap comic, but grammatical errors in a professional publication really grates my cheese. 3) “No one cane stop me!” Is DW the only law enforcement in St. Canard, or has Dr. Matronic never heard of the police?

With Darkwing completely under her control, Dr. Matronic commands him to step out of a window and “plummet to your doom“… in a totally nonchalant way.

What an inspiring gesture. Just sends shivers of fear down my spine.

Launchpad comes running in, screaming for DW to snap out of it. DW mutters something about breakfast, and Dr. Matronic breaks into song: Rock-a-bye Darkwing/My little mind slave/Lis-ten to my voice/Just ig-nore that knave. Sure enough, the nursery rhyme lulls Darkwing right back to sleep–on top of a pillow with a blanket, no less.

Dr. Matronic sics Robo-1, one of her robo-hounds, on Launchpad. The bulky, dim-brained duck grabs the nearest device and shoves it into the metal mutt’s maw. And believe it or not, this action electrocutes the robo-hound and dismantles it in the next panel. What the hell did LP pick up? A mega-remote that fries circuits and loosens bolts? If so, I want one. I have an enemy whose car needs a little fixing up.

With Launchpad suddenly out of action, Dr. Matronic sings another verse: Sleep-walk to the window/This building’s so tall–/Take my troubles with you/When out you fall…

Darkwing is right on the balcony ledge, just inches away from certain doom… clutching a pillow to his sleeping nogging, natch. The obituary writer for the paper is really going to have a ball with this one. As the clocktower bongs in the midnight hour, who should come in but our favorite stowaway?

Gos blows a whistle–the same whistle Drake used to rudely wake her up in part one. This comic may be corny as all hell, but at least the writer had some knowledge of Chekov’s Rule: If a whistle appears in part one of the story, then it needs to appear at a critical time near the very end of the story. Or something like that.

Dr. Matronic seizes Gos, but she won’t let up. She screams for Darkwing to wake up, but he just talks in his sleep. He’s just inches away from certain doom…

Finally, he wakes up, just as he falls over the edge. “Twelve o’clock?! Gosalyn! It is way past your bedtime! What are you still doing… up?”

Quite a lot to say as you’re falling to your doom, huh? By the way, the clocktower rang eight times on the whole page, even if its face did say 12 o’clock. Crappy clocktower or poor page planning? You make the call.

As Gos cries for the loss of her adoptive father, Dr. Matronic cackles with glee. “HA HA HA! At last! Darkwing Duck sleeps eternal!” Which is a really overwrought line that a lame-ass villain like Dr. Matronic really shouldn’t say. I sure hope the writers saved these lines for Negaduck or some other, better villain.

But wait! DW’s alive! And why wouldn’t he be?! He snatches the remote from Dr. Matronic and smashes it on the street below.

Oh, shut the hell up, you half-bit stock villain.

Dr. Matronic has had it! “Fetch with extreme prejudice!” she screams lamely at her two remaining robo-hounds. The mutts launch themselves at a woozy Darkwing, who slumps down to get some much needed rest. Totally missing their target, the robo-hounds go sailing over the balcony. “MY PUPPIES! NO!” Dr. Matronic shrieks, thus securing herself a spot on my People Who Need to Be Burned for Fuel list.

I mean, what self-respecting villain out for blood is going to scream like a banshee about her easily repaired mecha-mutts falling from a high-rise building? Moreover, what fearsome villain is going to call said mecha-mutts “puppies”? Ugh, she reminds me of every middle-aged woman who insists on calling their dog a puppy, no matter how fucking old they are. It doesn’t keep them young, you dumb bitches. Argh.

Yes, I’m assuming those robo-hounds are easily repairable because this is a comic based on a cartoon. Don’t argue with me!

Look at that. She isn’t even putting up a fight. You fail, Dr. Matronic. Cripes, I’d rather see the ineffectual Phantasmic Four again. At least they were fun.

Whee-hee… two issues in. Cripes, it feels like it’s been a month since I’ve started this. Next week, it’s part one of issue #3, crammed with more Flapping Terror than you can possibly fit in your mouth.

Fine, you come up with a better hook. Stay tooned, scuzzbags!